“She sounded pretty old,” said the owner. “If I’m remembering correctly, the deal was to honor the guy who built the place or something. But she didn’t want to spend anything and all she’d go for was two people.”

“Could I have those two names, please?”

“They in trouble?”

“Not at all.”

“Let me emphasize,” said the owner. “We background-check, they had to come up clean.”

“That’s great. The names?”

Sherree Desmond, 43, bartender, address in Mount Washington.

Nelson Neil Mutter, 22, waiter, Gower Street, Hollywood.

No criminal history for either. Sherree wasn’t fond of paying parking tickets. Nelson who preferred Neil had just applied for a temporary license, requesting reciprocity from DMV Nebraska.

Nebraska said Mutter had been driving since the age of sixteen, maintained a clean record.

“Careful driver,” said Milo. “Given the state of her face, that doesn’t mean much.”

We drove to Mutter’s address on Gower. The building took up a third of the block, rising five off-white stories and shading its neighbors. Newish construction but already shabby, with rain streaks smirching the windowsills and stucco peeling at the corners. Potted plants, satellite dishes, and assorted junk filled narrow balconies. Nearly a hundred units behind the iron security gate. With no alphabetization, it took a while to find Mutter, N on the button-studded panel.

Unit 105, shared with Adams, T and LaScola, B.

The door pickets offered a glimpse of a cramped lobby and a red-door elevator. A female voice answered Milo’s button-push. “Yes?”

“Nelson Mutter, please.”

“Sorry, he’s out.”

“This is Lieutenant Sturgis, L.A. Police. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“Is Neil okay?”

“Far as I know, ma’am. I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

“Um … I think he went to the 7-Eleven to get some drinks. Or something.”

“You’re his roommate?”

“One of them.”

“Could you come out for a second? Or you can beep us in.”

A beat. “I’ll come down.”

The girl was black, gorgeous, with round gray eyes, apricot curls, and a slim body encased in a hot pink unitard. Sweatband just under the hairline. Sweat on her cute little button nose. Her arm muscles glistened.

Milo flashed the badge and she opened the gate.

“Thanks,” he said, “Ms.…”

“Tasha Adams. I don’t really know Neil, we’ve just been rooming together.” Not a trace of irony.

“How long have you been roomies?”

“A little over two months. It’s a one-bedroom, Brenda—my friend—and I share, Neil sleeps on the sofa bed in the living room. We don’t charge him a full third. He’s really neat, so it’s been okay.”

“How’d you guys get together?”