CHAPTER 21

Assistant District Attorney John Nguyen rubbed a baseball.

Pristine Dodger ball decorated with lots of signatures. Three other orbs in plastic cases shared shelf space with law books and case folders. Nguyen was senior enough to get a corner-view office on the seventeenth floor of the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center. Foltz had been the first woman lawyer on the West Coast. I wondered what she’d think of the soulless, twenty-story fridge that bore her name.

The vista was downtown rooftops and chrome-cold parking lots; square footage was minimal. Milo and Moe Reed and I crowded Nguyen’s city-issue desk, leaving no room for dancing.

“That’s it?” said Nguyen, massaging a tightly laced seam. “A possible victim has a possible john but he’s just as likely to be an imaginary boyfriend without hair?”

Reed said, “Plus there’s Big Laura Chenoweth escaping from a homicidal skinhead, and Selena Bass getting into a car with a baldie.”

“Both stories were obtained from recollective third-person accounts, making it hearsay twice removed. Don’t you guys follow pop culture? Bald is the new lush.” Nguyen touched his own thick, black brush cut. “Sorry, no one will give you paper with that.”

Milo said, “C’mon, John, it’s more than that. Travis Huck’s shown clear signs of evasion.”

“Not being home when you drop in is evasive? Plus, he was wearing a hat, you can’t be sure he’s a cueball.”

“What was visible beneath the hat was clearly skinned.”

“What if he skins around the sides and on top there’s a shaving brush? Like the freak in that movie David Lynch did years ago… you know the one I’m talking about.”

Silence.

Nguyen said, “Eraserhead. Hell, what if you yank off the hat and out pops a one-foot Afro? You’re relying on some dinkyshit physical description that’s worth less than flea-spit. But I won’t stop you, go judge-fishing. I just can’t put in a good word with anyone, way too anemic.”

His eyes dropped to Travis Huck’s most recent DMV photo. “Here he’s got surplus locks. But let’s say he shaved his dome. You’d have to prove it happened during a time frame that matches him to the dude seen with Selena. No, even farther back-to Montouthe. Which was what, two years ago?”

“Fifteen months,” said Milo.

Nguyen played with the baseball some more. “I’m sure your instincts are right about this guy, but what you’ve got is feeble. Let’s stretch and say you dig up enough so Mr. Huck becomes a viable suspect. We’ve still got a problem getting into the house. It’s not his residence, belongs to his employer. Who is not a suspect.”

Moe Reed said, “Not yet.”

Nguyen rolled the baseball between his fingertips. “Is there something you want to tell me? As in the full picture?”

Milo recounted the swinger parties Selena Bass had described to her brother, her subsequent hiring as Kelvin Vander’s piano teacher. The fact that the Vander family had left town.

“Okay, she advanced from bad girl to Bach,” said Nguyen. “So what?”

Reed said, “Or Bach was a cover to get her over to the house at regular intervals.”

“Kinky rich people,” said Nguyen. “Boy, that’s a novelty in Holly-weird. Same question, guys: Who says ‘swinger parties’ is anything more than good, clean, adulterous fun? You’ve got absolutely no connection to the S and M stuff two of your hookers allegedly engaged in. And, frankly, your other hooker… Chenoweth, doesn’t sound like she’d let anyone tie her up. Just the opposite.”

“There was a riding crop in Selena’s-”

“So she liked horses. Girls do.” Nguyen swiveled in his chair, placed the baseball on a plastic stand, placed the box over it with loving care. “I know I’m being an asshole but you’ll get worse from the other side, so better to proceed with caution.”

“Meaning?”

“Get better evidence.”

I said, “If the Vanders gave permission to search, would it extend to Huck’s quarters?”

Nguyen leaned back. “Interesting question… might depend on the nature of Huck’s arrangement with the Vanders. Is his room a stipulated component of his salary? If so, it would be a legally contracted domicile, no different from any rented or leased space, and only the resident can grant permission.”

“If the resident is still in residence.”

Nguyen smiled. “You could’ve been a lawyer, Doc. Yes, if he’s vacated and the Vanders grant permission, you’re in. And if there was no formal agreement vis-à-vis the job and he just moved in, I suppose a case could be made that he’s a guest. How long’s he been there?”

“Three years,” said Reed.

“Nope, no way that’s a guest. One more thing to be aware of: Even if you get someone to sign a warrant for the room, Huck’s belongings won’t fall under its provisions unless he’s abandoned them. And you can’t play fast and loose with that, they need to be obvious discards. It’s exactly the kind of privacy issue the courts get picky about… though the exterior surfaces of permanent furniture previously owned by the Vanders might be… it’s possible you can swab the furniture.”

He scratched his head. “To be honest, I don’t have a clue without doing some depth research. It’s not the kind of thing that comes up.” Smiling. “You could make case law but lose your bad guy.”

Milo said, “If we get permission from the Vanders and see something creepy in plain sight-”

Nguyen covered his ears.

“What?” said Milo.

“That game might work on a brain-dead bar-murder mope. Plain sight, indeed. Huck hasn’t answered your phone calls, so he’s clearly opposed to cooperating. Who’s going to believe he’d leave evidence around?”

“Stupid criminals,” said Moe Reed. “Without them, the job’s as funny as a heart attack.”

Milo shot him a sharp look that took on amusement. Turned back to Nguyen. “Detective Reed makes a good point, John. What if Huck thinks he’s all fortressed up and gets cocky? We get in somehow, use the element of surprise, there’s no telling.”

“If he’s even there, Milo. Two days running, none of you have seen him coming or going and that Lexus is gone. You’re the detectives. Doesn’t that smell of bunny hop?”

“Running for president of the Pessimist Club, John?”

“I thought of it,” said Nguyen, “but they’re too giddy a bunch.”

Moe Reed said, “He can’t have it both ways. Guy rabbits with intention never to return, what he leaves behind is abandoned, right?”

Nguyen studied the young detective. “LAPD’s growing them sophisticated, huh? Yeah, you’d be okay if it’s indisputably obvious that he moved out permanently. And believe me, that’s going to be challenged, they’ll claim it was a vacation with expectation of privacy.”

“Vacation from us?” said Reed. “That indicates guilt.”

“Vacation from work, boredom, whatever he feels like getting away from, Detective Reed. The point is the Founding Fathers wanted people to be able to enjoy Yosemite without returning home and finding their house subjected to a police state ransack. And for this particular suspect a rabbit can be construed as something other than guilt. He was railroaded as a kid. What better justification for avoiding the cops?”

Reed’s lips turned down. He ran a finger under his collar.

“Listen,” said Nguyen, “you get permission from the Vanders, there’s some latitude. But make sure it’s in writing. At the least, you’ll be able to go in, get a feel for the place, make contact with other people-maid, a gardener, whatever, see if they can incriminate Huck.”

Milo said, “So far there’s been no sign of any staff other than Huck.”

Reed said, “But the place is huge, there’s got to be someone.”

Nguyen stood. “Always a pleasure, guys. Got a meeting.”

As we reached the city parking lot, Reed got a call.

“Liz Wilkinson,” he said, clicking off. Blushing. “Doctor Wilkinson. She wants to talk about the hand bones.”