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“Saw that, too, but I’d be here anyway because beggars are forbidden from exercising options—yeah, of course, I figured there might be immigration issues.”
He drank, grimaced, put his cup down. “Maybe they’ve got all those flavor options because the basic stuff tastes like wastewater.”
I said, “Gonna go back and ask for pumpkin spice?”
“Not unless they’re peddling pies.”
“Closest thing I saw was zucchini bread.”
He was about to reply when his eyes focused over my shoulder and toward the door.
The man who’d entered was forty or so, six-three, pencil-straight and thin with sparse gray-black hair and the watchful yet adventurous eyes of a raven contemplating a swoop into something nasty. He wore a beautifully cut navy-blue suit, an ecru shirt, and a confidently knotted wine-colored tie. Brown suede loafers with brass buckles propelled him toward us. He smiled faintly as he pushed a wheelie bag that matched the shoes.
“Lieutenant? Tony Porras.” Smallish, light-brown eyes shifted to me. “You’re his sergeant or just a detective?”
Milo said, “Dr. Alex Delaware is our consulting psychologist.”
Tony Porras blinked. Amusement fought wariness. That same avian ambivalence. I wondered if balancing his emotions exhausted him by day’s end.
“You thought I might be a nut-job?”
“Of course not, sir. Dr. Delaware works with us on certain cases.”
“Certain, being…”
“Cases we think a psychologist can help with.”
“And you think—”
Milo pointed to a chair. “Please. This has nothing to do with you, sir. I could be wrong about why you contacted me and if so, the doctor will be on his way. If I’m right, he’ll stay because he’s been working on the March/Aggiunta murders.”
Tony Porras’s head drew back. “Two victims?”
“Yes, sir. Though I’m sure Ms. Ruiz only knew about her employer.”
The attorney breathed in deeply. Grimaced as if air intake had been insufficient and sat down. He took in our barely touched cups. “Not decent?”
“Not to our trained palates.”
“Darn,” said Porras. “It got four stars on Yelp. Okay, fine, we’ll proceed. But you understand my caution.”
“Not sure I do but I respect it.”
“The people I tend to represent often have an unpleasant history with the police.”
Milo nodded. Tony Porras gave me a long look until I did the same.
The kind of silent Socratic approach a law professor might use. I wanted to sayWhere do you teach?But the question could do nothing but harm. If I was wrong, I’d look foolish. If correct, Porras would feel psychoanalyzed.
He said, “Okay, you’re right, this is about Mrs. Ruiz. She’s actually my partner’s client.”
Teresa Guzman. We both knew the name; we both kept our mouths shut.
Tony Porras said, “Terri—my partner—does immigration law.”
Milo said, “Got it. Please assure her we couldn’t care less about legal status.”
Porras smiled. “You’re murder snobs? That’s what my uncle calls homicide detectives. He did patrol in Hollenbeck for twenty-eight years.”
