“What can I say? She kept promising to come up with the rent. And crying. One look at her and she’d burst into tears. I figured it for histrionics, lost my patience, said, ‘From the way you’re going on, you’d think someone died.’ That really uncorked the dam. That’s when she told me. Her patron had died—that’s what she called him. ‘My patron.’ As if she was Michelangelo and he was a Medici. She just broke down and sobbed for I don’t know how long, said she needed time to get herself together, if I’d just give her time, she’d make it right.”

I said, “Did she ever offer nonmonetary payment?”

“Such as—oh,” said Haldeman. “Yeah, that would’ve been a nice porn script. No, she didn’t and had it come to that I would’ve refused. If that sounds self-righteous, so be it. Janice is my fourth wife and I’m determined to make it work.”

Crossing a leg, he massaged an ankle. “She was good-looking but there was nothing particularly sexy or seductive about her. At least from my perspective.”

I said, “What was her demeanor?”

“Quiet, pleasant.”

Milo said, “Unless her patron came over and the house was a-rockin’.”

“Yup. Till he kicked,” said Haldeman. “Good for him. Getting some fun, I mean.”

“Did Tara have any other visitors?”

“Not that I saw.”

The shot of Steven Muhrmann elicited a head shake. “Looks mean. He’s the one who killed her?”

“We’re not even close to a suspect, Mr. Haldeman. In fact, we were hoping you could tell us her real name.”

“Tara Sly’s what I knew her by.”

“What else can you tell us about her?”

“Nothing. I’m up early to catch the international markets, generally asleep by late afternoon. Weekends I go to my place in Malibu. Once a month I fly to Milan to be with Janice and sometimes I stay longer than I should. If I saw Tara once a week that was a lot.”

“Her mail came to Tara Sly?”

“Whatever she got went into her box, I never saw it.”

“Mystery woman,” said Milo.

“You could make it sound like that in retrospect. To me she was a dream tenant. Minded her own business, paid half a year in advance, never threw a party, never even played music that I could hear.”

“She have a car?”

“BMW—the smallest model. Silver. It had a rental sticker on the bumper.” Haldeman brightened. “Here’s something: It came from the Budget place in Beverly Hills, maybe that’ll help you.”

“Appreciated, Mr. Haldeman. Is the Beemer still in her garage?”

“Oh, no, she cleared out. Not just the car, everything.”

“When?”