Daisy said, “I’ve never heard of Qeesha, we knew her by another name—what was it again, Jackie?”

Weathers shook his head, drew his finger across his lip.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” said Daisy. “The way those black girls can be with their big dark eyes. What was her name … something with an ‘S,’ I believe, I’d have to check the—”

“Shut up, Daze!”

Daisy Weathers stared at her husband. One hand bounced on her desktop. The other rose to her face, pinched cheek-skin, twisted. Her eyes turned wet.

Jack Weathers said, “Oh, baby.”

Daisy sniffled.

He turned to us. “Now look what you’ve done—I need you to leave.”

Standing, he pointed to the door.

Milo said, “Suit yourself, Mr. Weathers,” and got up. “But here’s what puzzles me. You run a business based on the ability to judge character. You said before that whatever happened to Adriana wasn’t a big deal because she was a woman of good character. But from what I can tell, you’re only batting five hundred, sir. Good for baseball, not so good for job placement.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were right about one thing, wrong about the other. Yes, Adriana seems to have been a woman of excellent character. But what happened was a really big deal.”

“What happened?” Weathers demanded.

“Your lawyer can tell you. After we return with your friends at BHPD armed with a search warrant for all of your records.”

“That’s impossible!” Weathers shouted.

“Jack?” said Daisy.

“It’s not only possible,” said Milo, “it’s probable.”

“You’re not making sense!” said Weathers. “Adriana had excellent character but she still committed some kind of … bad deed?”

“She didn’t do anything, Mr. Weathers. Something was done to her.”

“She’s hurt?” said Daisy.

“She’s dead, ma’am. Someone murdered her.”

“Oh, no!”

“I’m afraid yes, Mrs. Weathers.”

“I never even knew her, Jack hired her. Poor thing.” She cried. It seemed genuine, but who could be sure about anything on the Westside of L.A.

Her husband remained dry-eyed.

Milo said, “Care to fill us in, sir?”

“Not on your life,” said Jack Weathers. “Not on one blessed second of your blessed life.”

CHAPTER
32

We lingered outside the door Jack Weathers had just shut. Conversational noise began filtering through the wood: Daisy Weathers’s higher-pitched voice, plaintive, then demanding. No response from Jack. Daisy, again, louder. A bark from her husband that silenced her.

Several seconds later his voice resumed, softer, less staccato. A long string of sentences.

Milo whispered, “On the phone, now it’s a lawyer game.”

We left the building.

Milo drove a block, U-turned, found the farthest spot that afforded a view of the marble-clad building. Red zone but until a B.H. parking Nazi showed up, the perfect vantage point.

I said, “Waiting for Jack to leave?”