The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,101
drummed his desktop. “Okay, now that we know Amanda’s involved, I’m going looking for her. Starting with my own vulnerable prey. Pena, he’s a total beta, right?”
* * *
—
We drove to Strathmore, parked near the cemetery, hurried to the complex. Milo stormed up to Building B, kept his finger on the bell.
A male voice said, “Stop pranking or I’ll call the cops.”
“This is the cops. It’s Lieutenant Sturgis, Bob. Open up.”
“Bob?”
Now it was obvious: deeper voice.
Milo said, “Open the door now. Please.”
“This isn’t a prank?”
“Come out and see for yourself.”
Moments later a tall, athletically built black man wearing a brown polo shirt and khakis strode across the lobby. Younger than Pena—thirty-five or so.
Peering at Milo’s badge through the glass, he opened the door.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was told to expect pranks.”
“By who?” said Milo.
“The management company.”
“Academo.”
“That’s the owner. Management’s through a subsidiary, High-Level Incorporated.” A hand shot out. “Darius Cutter. How can I help you?”
“You’re the new manager?”
“Since yesterday,” said Cutter. “Still getting oriented.”
“What happened to Bob Pena?”
“If he’s the guy before me, what I was told was he quit. Today’s my first full shift, haven’t gone through any paperwork.”
I said, “Mr. Pena made a sudden decision.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Darius Cutter. “Three days ago I was working at the facility in Sacramento. Human resources emails me to call, they incentivize me to come down here A-sap. So here I am.”
Milo said, “When you say ‘the facility,’ we’re talking another Academo setup?”
Cutter nodded. “I went to Sacramento State, got a degree in engineering, got hired by the physical plant on campus—alternative emergency hookups during brownouts, coordinating power feeds. Couple of years ago, Academo built a place up there—bigger than this one—and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
I said, “Good employer.”
“Competitive salary, good benefits. But I grew up here, my mom lives in Mid-Wilshire, so moving back was fine.”
“Good job, good benefits,” said Milo. “Wonder why Pena would give that up.”
“You’d have to ask him,” said Darius Cutter. “Who knows why people do the things they do? Is there something I need to know about?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? That sounds kind of worrisome.”
“Let’s leave it at Mr. Pena being a person of interest to us.”
“The company never mentioned anything sketchy, just that he quit. Should I be worried about him?”
“Nah,” said Milo. “He’s a pussycat. Can we get his contact information?”
“If I can find it,” said Cutter. “Come on in.”
CHAPTER
42
We followed Cutter to the office Pena had occupied. No change to the furniture but the desk was barer. An Adidas athletic bag sat in a corner. Cutter said, “If I have time, I’m going to the Equinox in the Village. That’s one thing Sacramento had that this place doesn’t, a gym.”
He opened a file drawer, rummaged awhile. “Nope…nope…nope…nope nothing.” Same results with the next two drawers but the fourth produced a file tabbed Management Personnel.
Cutter shuffled, scanned, pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here you go.”
Robert Edward Pena’s vital stats included his Social Security number, driver’s license, a home address in Culver City, a landline, and the cell he hadn’t responded to.
Milo copied the info. “Thanks, Mr. Cutter. As long as you’ve got that folder, is there anything on Peter Kramer?”
Cutter began shuffling. “Nope…nope…actually there’s nothing in here but Pena. Who’s Kramer?”
“Mr. Pena’s former assistant.”
Cutter frowned. “He had an assistant? They didn’t give me one.”
* * *
—
Cutter walked us back through the lobby. At the door, I said, “Your tenants are mostly students but you do have some faculty living here.”
“That’s also the way it was in Sacramento. But not a lot, mostly visiting faculty and some emeriti—old retired profs who wanted a cheap place close to campus. In terms of who’s here, I have no idea, yet. Why?”
“Routine questions,” said Milo.
“If you say so,” said Cutter.
As we walked away, he remained at the entrance to B, arms folded across his chest.
Staring, but not at us. More like gazing out into nothing.
Milo said, “We provoked some thought in him, poor guy. Funny about Pena, huh? We talk to him about Kramer and he gives up his job.”
“Or someone made the decision for him,” I said. “Like they did for Kramer.”
“Jesus. Don’t even theorize about that.”
A block later: “Let’s check out Pena’s house. You don’t really think he got offed.”
I shrugged.
“Don’t do that. Not that way.”
“What way is that?”
“Like I’m a patient and you’re trying to nudge me to insight.” He rubbed his face. Grunted. “Even though I basically am.”