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I said, “Time to go through Meagin’s phone?”
He looked at me. “Changing the subject to relieve my anxiety? Very therapeutic.”
“Always happy to help but it was a real question. Doug claims not to know any of her friends but Verizon might.”
—
Back at his office, he removed the pink phone from a desk drawer, began scrolling, and stopped. “Looky here.” Showing me the screen, he resumed. Stopped several times at specific calls.
To and from “G.”
He said, “Let’s count…twice a week, every week for the time span I’ve got, which is…four weeks. I’ll subpoena her account and find out how long the affair’s been going on.”
I took the phone and reviewed the correspondence. “Sometimes he initiates, sometimes she does. The most recent pairing was him to her Saturday at five forty-two p.m. followed by her reply at six twenty-eight.”
“Setting up the date. Too bad she didn’t text. I’m hearing ‘Ready, baby?’ and ‘Jogging over, can’t wait.’ ”
I said, “She was careful enough not to text but didn’t delete the calls. Maybe she was confident Doug wouldn’t find out because they led separate lives and he’d never been interested in hers.”
He thought about that. “Then he got interested because something got him suspicious. Like paying the phone bill and noticing a pattern.”
I said, “Handling household bills sounds like below his pay grade. More likely he uses auto-pay or farms it out to an assistant.”
“Even better,” he said. “The assistant notices and tells the boss. Or maybe he was already suspicious, to hell with pay grade, and decided to check. For all I know, she had a stable of Romeos and got careless. Let’s see who else she talked to.”
Examining a month of Meagin March’s correspondence produced a slew of calls and texts ordering takeout from Grubhub and directly from restaurants throughout the Westside. Thai, Indian, vegan, health-conscious.
Nearly all her remaining contacts were also commercial: a nailsalon in Brentwood, a day spa in Santa Monica, a dermatologist on Camden Drive in Beverly Hills, lots of shopping in all three neighborhoods with B.H. the clear favorite.
Gucci, Chanel, Armani, Vuitton, and Hermès on Rodeo Drive, lesser mono-brands and boutiques, including a bikini store, one street east on Beverly Drive.
I said, “For all that, not much in her closet.”
“Shopping as a hobby.”
“What isn’t here is Tiffany or other jewelry sources. That could mean what we saw in Gio’s bedroom were gifts from Doug.”
“All the more motive,” he said. “Guy lavishes her with bling, finds out how she repaid him, and blows.”
His thumb picked up speed. “All right, finally some personal calls.”
Three contacts, the most frequent contact “The Hub.” Calling the number pulled up Doug March advising anyone interested to leave a message. In a tone that saidI don’t care.
Milo said, “Not the number I have for him.”
I said, “Could be his personal cell.”
“Doesn’t sound personal, wonder if he even knows what that means.” He counted. “Eleven calls from her to him in four weeks. A bit more than to Gio but it still doesn’t shout domestic bliss.”
“Any pattern related to her calls to Gio?”
“As in?”
“Same-day pairings.”
He scrolled, read, eyes widening. “See what you were getting at. Every contact with Gio was followed by her checking in with Doug. Keeping track of him so she could fool with Romeo. Crafty…okay, the other two contacts are ‘Toni’ and ‘Lana,’ so maybe I’ll get lucky and they’re pals she was with when she went fishing for Doug and hauled him onto the dock.”
I said, “No other recent Romeos, that could make your life easier.”
