Part 38 (1/2)
”Used my predecessors,” said Lindstrom. ”My goal on this one is being seen as outside the loop.”
At five forty-three p.m., Milo ate junk food at his desk, preparing for the beginning of his alley s.h.i.+ft.
He had a mouth full of packaged burrito when Sean Binchy called.
”Got her, Loot! Cuffed and in the back of my car, she went down real easy!”
CHAPTER.
32.
Helga Gemein, in all-black and her Bettie Page wig, parked her Buick carelessly, barely clearing Hiram Kwok's area. She had her key in the lock of the bomb factory when Sean Binchy took her from behind.
Shouting ”Police” and drawing her arms back, Binchy used long-fingered ba.s.s-player's hands to secure her wrists, had the cuffs on within seconds.
Helga said, ”All for twigs?”
Binchy patted her down lightly and spun her around. ”Twigs?”
Helga's look said he was beyond help.
By the time Moe Reed arrived from the opposite end of the alley, Sean had her in the rear seat of his unmarked, belted in. She glared through the window.
Reed said, ”Excellent, bro.” Opened the door to get a better look.
Helga said, ”You look like a storm trooper.”
Reed said, ”And you're an expert on that. You didn't think to change your appearance?”
”Why would I?”
”You look just like on the news.”
”What news?”
”The TV broadcast.”
”TV,” said Helga, ”is garbage. I don't waste my time.”
Two hours later, she sat in a West L.A. interrogation room, as bored as she'd been when Milo spieled off Miranda. A group watched from next door: Binchy, Reed, Don Boxmeister.
The guest of honor: Captain Maria Thomas, a tweed-suited, blond-coiffed, well-spoken aide to the chief.
The last few minutes had been spent discussing the Western Avenue rental, which Helga dismissed as ”my studio.”
”For what?”
”Conceptual art.”
”Those fuses-”
”For a collage.”
”What kind of collage?”
”You couldn't hope to understand.”
Milo hadn't bothered to ask her where she was living. A rental-agency key was traced to a house in Marina del Rey. Del Hardy had gone there with a crew of cops. Five flat-screens but no cable or satellite hookup in place. No computer, either, but drawers full of paper included a trove of e-mails. Everything in German, which Hardy sent for translation to Hollenbeck Division Detective Two Manfred Obermann.
Hardy said, ”Guess who she's renting the place from, Alonzo Jacquard.”
Milo said, ”Doctor Dunkshot? He have any idea who his tenant is?”
”He's coaching in Italy, everything went through an agency. Ms. Friendly paid up front in cash, just like with the storefront. Funny choice for her, the place is tricked out way past vulgar, pure Alonzo-trophy room, six fully stocked wet bars, disco room, stripper's pole, home theater, racks of the kind of DVDs I wouldn't keep out in the open. Great view of the water, though. But she had the drapes drawn, is sleeping in a small guest room near the service porch, might as well be in a convent. Except for the toys.”
”What kind of toys?”
”I'm a churchgoing man, Milo, don't make me go into detail.” Chuckle. ”Let's just say the latex lobby likes her.”
Milo said, ”You're sure they're not Alonzo's toys?”
”No, these were definitely hers, all girlie stuff.” Hardy sighed. ”Alonzo, man he was talented. Too bad he wasn't around to sign an autograph for my kid.”
Milo asked a few more questions about art.
Helga answered each with ”Don't waste my time, you are ignorant.”
Captain Maria Thomas said, ”She's breathtakingly arrogant.”
Boxmeister said, ”That could work for us, no? She thinks she's in charge, doesn't lawyer up.”
Thomas checked her BlackBerry. ”So far so good, but he hasn't gotten into serious stuff.”
Milo made a show of putting on reading gla.s.ses, dropping papers, retrieving them. ”Um ... okay ... so... how about we talk about the house on Borodi-”
Helga cut him off: ”Blah blah blah.”
”The house on Borodi Lane, where-”
”Blah blah blah blah blah.”
Milo grinned.
”Something is funny, Policeman?”