Sue Kramer said, “If Barnett blamed Lara for being negligent, he never said so to me. Can I see him waiting for Duchay to get out and pulling a revenge thing? I guess. I know he was happy when the Turner kid got shanked in jail.”

“He said that?” said Milo.

“Yup. I called to tell him about it. Figured it might hit the papers and he shouldn’t find out that way. He listened and said nothing, there was this long silence. I said, ‘Barnett?’ And he said ‘I heard you.’ I said, ‘You all right?’ And he said, ‘Thanks for calling. Good riddance to bad garbage.’ Then he hung up. I have to say it creeped me out a little, because Turner was thirteen years old and the way he died was gross. Still, it wasn’t my kid he murdered. The more I thought about Barnett’s pain, the more I figured he was entitled.”

“Barnett ever talk about Rand?” said Milo.

“Only before the sentencing. He said he wanted them to get what they deserved. Which I suppose they did, in the end.”

Milo stopped at a light at Doheny.

Sue Kramer said, “I remember Turner’s death making the paper, but I didn’t see anything about Duchay. Was it in there?”

“Nope,” said Milo.

“Something like that, you’d think there would be coverage.”

“That would require a reporter actually ferreting something out,” said Milo.

“True,” said Kramer. “Those guys feed off press releases.” A beat. “Unlike us, huh, Milo? We just keep running after trouble. Sticking our fingers in holes as the world floods.”

Milo grunted assent.

Kramer said, “I’d better be getting back, guys. Just my luck to be gone when something exciting happens. And Fritzi’s due for a bathroom break.”

He circled back to Rexford.

“Drop me off in the alley out back, Milo. I left a little piece of tape at the bottom of the apartment door, want to make sure no one broke it.”

“Super-sleuth,” said Milo.

“Can’t wait to close this one. When I’m finished, Dwayne’s taking me to Fiji.”

“Aloha.”

“You should get some sunshine yourself, Milo.”

“I don’t tan.”

“Right here’s fine, big guy.”

Milo rolled to a stop behind a white-box apartment complex backed by parking slots. Stepping out, Kramer set the poodle down, leaned into his window, touched his shoulder. “The brassogracy treating you okay?”

“They leave me alone,” he said.

“That’s a brand of okay.”

“That’s a brand of nirvana.”

* * *

“What do you think?” he asked me as we exited the alley and drove west on Gregory Drive.

“She did a competent job, didn’t dig very deep.”

“What about that comment: the family living under a cloud?”

“Sounds like reality.”

He grunted. “Let’s find Lara’s other surviving relative. See what her reality is.”

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18

Nina Balquin was listed on Bluebell Avenue in North Hollywood.