a joint account and Corinne volunteers access…maybe. Lemme ask John.”
He speed-dialed Deputy D.A. John Nguyen.
In place of Nguyen’s usual wise-guy, baseball-reference-laced voicemail was a terse message. I’m not in, leave a message.
“Hmm.” He phoned the main office, was informed D.A. Nguyen was out, no idea when he’d be back.
I said, “John sounds grumpy.”
“That’s because John’s a rational human being—hold on.” His cell chirped an excerpt from Handel’s Water Music. “It’s Reed.” Click. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Struck out everywhere else but a bartender at The Booty Shop on Sunset says she used to dance there a couple of years ago. Not as Kim or Kimberly. He knew her as Sooze.”
“Short for Susie?”
“When I suggested that to him, he got all puzzled, like I was talking in Afghani or something.”
“Einstein.”
“Old guy, probably been pickling himself for decades with well booze.”
Milo said, “I’m not gonna ask your definition of old. Geezer was sure it’s her.”
“Says he is. And he described her the same way the bouncer did: lazy dancer, kept to herself. The backpack, too. She’s the only one he’s ever seen who did that, apparently dancers really do go for big designer purses. I asked him why he thought she acted different. He said she probably wanted to be different. I said maybe she’s shy. He said, ‘Shy people don’t flash their pussies at perverts.’ I kept that out of my notes.”
“Does the place keep better employment records than The Aura?”
“Don’t know, L.T., still trying to find out who owns it. Geezer gave me the name of what turned out to be a shell corporation, address near the docks in Wilmington that’s now a parking lot. The manager’s due in soon. I can wait around for her unless you need me somewhere else.”
“Wait, kid. Have a Shirley Temple on me.”
Reed chuckled. “You know me and sugar.”
“Your loss,” said Milo. “Female manager, huh?”
“How’s that for cracking the glass ceiling?”
* * *
—
Just as Milo pocketed the phone, it chirped again. Radical shift to something atonal—Schoenberg or the like.
John Nguyen said, “Finally, you ask me a no-brainer. With a joint account, you get permission from either account holder, it’s legally obtained evidence.”
“Even if the two of them end up in a nasty divorce.”
“Do it before the divorce.”
“Even with—”
“You want to debate? That’s the law.”
“Great. You okay, John?”
“I’m fantastic.” Sounding anything but.
“What happened to the old voicemail?”
“New boss,” said Nguyen. “Don’t ask ’cause I won’t tell, telling’s what got me in the shit in the first place. Did you know baseball represents white male privilege and is an inappropriate intrusion on work-related communication? Bet you didn’t. Bet you do whatever the hell you want over in Blue Land.”
“You’re white?” said Milo.
“When they want me to be I am.”
Click.
Milo’s lips fluttered, emitting a raspberry.
I said, “Good news on the phone.”
“If it’s in Corinne’s name and she agrees. But probably a waste of time. What’s the chance Denny would be stupid enough to phone his girlfriend when his wife has access to his call record?”
“Doesn’t sound as if he’s ever been discreet. Maybe part of the thrill is throwing it in her face.”
“Okay, I’ll try to get her permission. Maybe I’ll stalk the office later this afternoon, get lucky and catch her by herself. Meanwhile, we’ve got another sighting of Red Dress but with a different name.”
I said, “She’s been working in L.A. for at least two years, has to have some kind of residence.”
“It’s a big county,” he said, wheeling back and stretching his legs. “Kimby, Sooze. Backpack. Maybe you’re right about her being a student. Or the barkeep’s right and she was just putting on airs to stand out.”
He looked at his phone again. “Nothing from Alicia on the dress, yet. Which I knew without checking because I already checked twenty seconds ago. What’s the treatment for OCD?”
“It’s anxiety-reducing behavior,” I said.
“So?”
“Sometimes success does the trick.”
He pretended to study the phone again. “Maybe if I stare at it long enough, something wonderful will take place.”
“That happens,” I said, “write a book and make millions.”
CHAPTER
12
No word from Milo until Thursday, just after four p.m.
“Couldn’t catch Corinne, office was locked. Headquarters for Rapfogel marital bliss is in Sherman Oaks. Couldn’t see driving out there on the off-chance, so I left an ambiguous message on her cell, still waiting for a callback. Consistent with all that joy, the manager at The Booty Shop called in sick so Moe couldn’t talk to her. Some of the dancers showed up, though, and he talked to them, the kid owes