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“Hold on…okay, yup, her I’ve got, one warrant…three years old. But it’s penny-ante bullshit: traffic fines.”
Milo laughed.
Brush said, “What’s funny?”
“She did the same thing, here, Tom.”
Brush snorted. “Habitual offender, ooh, call the FBI and get a fancy-asspro-file.”
—
A check of three newspaper databases pulled up nothing. Social Security records were down due to technical difficulties so he shifted to sites that scoured graveyards and funeral records across the country, moved on to county property records.
A second try at Social Security got through. Waste of time.
I said, “Her line of work, she wouldn’t need a number.”
“But why nothing before then? Teenagers working fast food get numbers.”
I said, “Maybe there was no before then.”
“Career prostitute?”
“It would fit with a scary past. What if she ran out on a pimp or a violent boyfriend, came to L.A. and went solo along with her friends?”
“The four of them,” he said, “total pros. But they’re doing a girls’ night out when Doug comes in. Meagin likes younger guys so they kid her. She says watch me and picks him up. Then she finds out who he is and takes it to the next level.”
He hummed the wedding march.
I said, “Doug’s personality would’ve made him a dream match for Meagin if she’d already been traumatized by a possessive, controlling guy. He’s young, inexperienced, distant, and asocial to the point of being uncurious about people. Even better, he was gone nearly all the time, giving her freedom to do what she pleased.”
“Woman on the run finds her bliss,” he said.
“Until someone caught up with her.”
—
He drove me home and said, “Sure, why not, thanks,” when I offered coffee. As it brewed, he sat at the kitchen table, made no move toward the fridge.
Distracted. Defeated.
When I pulled out bread and eggs and milk and began whipping up French toast, he said, “Maybe some of that,” but with no passion.
Blanche had been napping in her crate with the door left open. She knows the ropes and as we ate, she lingered near his cuffs and scored occasional tidbits.
When he finished his sixth slice, he sat back, rubbed her head, and said, “Thanks for the blood sugar.”
Two cups later: “One thing I figured was taken care of was a nice easy victim I.D. Turns out hers was phony. You really think Doug has no idea about her past?”
I said, “Real estate, real estate, and real estate.”
“Guess so…he impresses me as one of those kids who got bullied in school, now one of the popular girls finally paid attention. But marrying her still seems crazy careless, Alex. All that money? So maybe hediddo some research, didn’t like what he learned, decided to end the relationship with no way for her to walk away with any of his bucks.”
“Either way,” I said, “it puts the focus back on Meagin as the primary target.”
“Gio was collateral damage.”
“That would be my bet.”
