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“Doesn’t mean he paid it,” I said. “Or I’m wrong and he was just a young guy with an independent income.”
“Don Giovanni,” he said. “Enjoying the good life and never imagining.” He shook his head. “Okay, let’s see what the cyber-gods have to say about poor Meagin. Creative spelling should make it easier.”
The data-gods held back,meagin marchpulling up only two hits: a Planned Parenthood silent auction and a 5K run for a group that fostered and homed stray dogs called The Paws That Refresh.
On the donor list of both, Meagin and Douglass March. Five grand a pop.
“Another inventive speller,” said Milo. “Maybe that’s what the two of them bonded over.”
—
A search fordouglass marchproduced six small-print legal postings related to real estate syndications organized by Venture Quest Properties.
B. Douglass March, MBA, CEO and Primary Operating Partner. Corporate headquarters in Elko, Nevada.
The company had invested in large-scale residential complexes. Memphis, Orlando, Reno, Spokane.
Milo said, “Guy doesn’t believe in keeping it local.”
I said, “They’re all in places with no state income tax. If March is hands-on, we could be talking a frequent flier and another layer of convenience for her.”
“Feline’s on the jet, the rodents pet? Makes sense. Maybe her phone will be more productive. I get freakishly lucky, there’ll be deceptive calls to hubby on the same day she’s setting up trysts with Giovanni and a tower ping that puts Dougie-with-two-esses near the scene last night. Though if he was home, we could be talking the same tower.”
“Why were there no prints on Aggiunta’s phone?”
“The more fibrous the surface, the worse for lifting.” He produced the black case. “Cashmere. And whatever was on the face had smudged. Maybe due to hot hands.”
He pushed hair from his forehead, sat back nearly bumping into his monitor. “Those Italian numbers could include his parents. Notification’s bad enough but long distance is the worst. And what if they don’t speak English—hey, do you know Italian?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Just thatspezzatothing, huh? I’ll have to remember that and tell Rick. He’ll be stunned into silence. Anything else come to mind?”
I said, “Who cleans the house?”
“Pool guy said he’d seen a service a few times but didn’t know howoften they come. No paperwork in the house. Nothing in the house but the lease so maybe you’re right and someone else pays the bills. He does have three credit cards, hopefully they’ll teach me something.”
He stood, stretched upward, hands nearly brushing the oppressive ceiling. “Ready for some lunch? I’d say Italian but that feels wrong. Like we’re minimizing the poor guy.”
CHAPTER
5
By the time we’d walked to Santa Monica Boulevard and covered a block, he said, “Changed my mind, I’m thinking Italian will be an homage.”
That epiphany had occurred a few feet from a small Italian-deli-cum-café. Aromas spilled out to the sidewalk. Strong cheese, fresh tomatoes, followed by the earthy perfume of truffles.
In most of the eateries Milo frequents he’s treated like a homecoming hero. Payoff for a police presence proprietors view as a deterrent to problems.
More important: huge tips.
The proprietors of Mangiamo were a husband and wife in their sixties. He ran the counter and she made pasta from scratch. A long-haired guy in his twenties who looked like an actor in a soap opera served and bused. All three beamed and shouted“Buongiorno!”as we stepped in. The older man raced from behind the counter, seated us, and endowed Milo with instant promotion.
“Capitano!Sit, relax, today we have thetartufo nero.”
“Good news is always welcome, Marco. What are you putting it on?”
“I recommend tagliatelle, if you want smaller, you could do tagliolini.”
