CHAPTER
42
Knock on the door.
Milo said, “Entrez-vous.”
A Mutt-and-Jeff duo of female sheriffs stood over Lara Rieffen.
“Thank you, ladies, give this one the full strip—use that room across the hall.”
The shorter cop said, “Will do, Loo.”
He turned to Rieffen. “See you around, Lara? Or should we start using Kathy? For old times’ sake.”
Her reply was scalding eyes and a toss of strawberry blond.
The taller cop said, “I like your highlights. What do you use, L’Oréal?”
Stepping back inside, Milo removed his coat from the table, checked the mini-video-recorder he’d secreted under the garment. High-tech loan from Reed’s half brother Aaron Fox, formerly an LAPD homicide D, now a Beverly Hills private eye with a penchant for toys.
A partial replay revealed clear images and sound. “Perfect. Except for those extra ten pounds, can’t they invent a camera won’t do that?”
Gloving up, he searched Rieffen’s bag.
Inside were coroner’s credentials, five photos of her and M. Carlo Scoppio wearing hiking clothes, backdropped by forest.
“She look intimidated to you?”
“Not in the least.”
A wallet held a hundred twenty-three dollars in cash and some change, I.D.’s and credit cards under Lara Rieffen, Kathy Lara Vanderveldt, Laura Vander, Kathleen Rieffenstahl, Laura Rice, Cathy Rice, Lara Van Vliet.
A push-button stiletto and a pepper-spray dispenser shared a zipped compartment with two tampons.
Milo said, “That cries out for wit, but I lack the energy.”
A second pouch held a pair of opal earrings. He inspected the backs.
One was engraved.
D F
“Trophy of the kill, poor Doreen.”
Another pouch, deeper and secured by a snap, contained lip balm, breath mints, a single sheet of white paper, letter-sized, folded twice.
Four-month-old e-mail from montecarlo@bghlaw.net to KLV@pkmail.com.
hey baby someone at the office put up one of those stupid posters today that affirmation for inner peace and I thought of you and made this up:
KATHY AND MONTE C.’S SUPREME NEGATION (FOR OUTER CHAOS)
I tell the truth. They lie.
I’m strong. They’re weak.
I’m good.
They’re bad.
that about sums it up, hey, babe? you want it you
name it you the
bomb LOL love you forever continue to light my fuse
Irvin Wimmers showed up with two more tan uniforms. After a brief, happy chat with Milo, Wimmers and his team took Rieffen away, marching her through the crypt, cuffed, head-down, past stunned co-workers and Dave McClellan’s look of utter contempt. When she passed close to McClellan he made a point of directing a thumbs-up at Milo.
Rieffen looked up at him. Cobra disturbed from its nap.
I said, “Master manipulator.”
“Lotta good it did her,” said Milo.
“I was referring to you.”
“Moi? I’m crushed.” Grinning. “So how’d I do, Cecil B.?”
“You deserve a percentage of the adjusted gross and a big chunk of the marketing revenue.”
“Hooray for Hollyweird—not that I really fibby-fooed.”
“Perish the thought.”
“Think about it: Monte will soon be in custody, I just got there a little early.”
“I’ll jump-start your election committee soon as we’re back in the office.”
“Once we get him, is there any doubt he’ll turn on her? And Bobby did kind of talk to me. From the grave. That’s a form of talking, right? And look, he was right, Bobby, I mean. I guess fibby-fooing about the gun was a little naughty, but I had to, I was so scared I’d never close the case, my boss can be so mean, when he yells at me it makes me feel bad. And hey, that worked, too, and now I can get hold of that nasty old gun and it won’t be used to make anyone else dead, please tell me I’m a good person, Dr. Delaware.”
I was still laughing when we reached the car.
He wasn’t.
I said, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter, life is grand. I’m just focused on playing one-card Monte.”