Mystery (4 page)

Nebraska said Mutter had been driving since the age of sixteen, maintained a clean record.

“Careful driver,” said Milo. “Given the state of her face, that doesn’t mean much.”

We drove to Mutter’s address on Gower. The building took up a third of the block, rising five off-white stories and shading its neighbors. Newish construction but already shabby, with rain streaks smirching the windowsills and stucco peeling at the corners. Potted plants, satellite dishes, and assorted junk filled narrow balconies. Nearly a hundred units behind the iron security gate. With no alphabetization, it took a while to find
Mutter, N
on the button-studded panel.

Unit 105, shared with
Adams, T
and
LaScola, B
.

The door pickets offered a glimpse of a cramped lobby and a red-door elevator. A female voice answered Milo’s button-push. “Yes?”

“Nelson Mutter, please.”

“Sorry, he’s out.”

“This is Lieutenant Sturgis, L.A. Police. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“Is Neil okay?”

“Far as I know, ma’am. I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

“Um … I think he went to the 7-Eleven to get some drinks. Or something.”

“You’re his roommate?”

“One of them.”

“Could you come out for a second? Or you can beep us in.”

A beat. “I’ll come down.”

The girl was black, gorgeous, with round gray eyes, apricot curls, and a slim body encased in a hot pink unitard. Sweatband just under the hairline. Sweat on her cute little button nose. Her arm muscles glistened.

Milo flashed the badge and she opened the gate.

“Thanks,” he said, “Ms.…”

“Tasha Adams. I don’t really know Neil, we’ve just been rooming together.” Not a trace of irony.

“How long have you been roomies?”

“A little over two months. It’s a one-bedroom, Brenda—my friend—and I share, Neil sleeps on the sofa bed in the living room. We don’t charge him a full third. He’s really neat, so it’s been okay.”

“How’d you guys get together?”

“Craigslist,” said Tasha Adams, as if any other method was prehistoric. “Brenda and I are dancers, we came out from Chicago to audition for
Rock On
. We got hired then the show got canceled in preproduction but we already signed the lease and besides, we still wanted to try to break in somewhere. Brenda’s got a job teaching little kids ballet but I’m living off what I earned last year teaching modern. Neil pays on time and he minds his own business. Why do you want to talk to him?”

“A temp job he did last night.”

“That hotel.”

“He told you about it.”

“He said he finally got a gig through the temp agency but it was only one night, he might have to go back to McDonald’s or something.”

“When did he leave the apartment this morning?”

“Hmm,” said Tasha Adams. “I’d have to say forty minutes ago?”

“Going to the 7-Eleven.”

“That’s where he usually buys his drinks.”

“Beer?”

“No, soda. Neil’s straight as they come.”

“What time did he come home last night?”

“I’d have to say … eleven?”

“Could it have been later?” said Milo.

“Hmm … actually it was probably earlier … yeah, for sure,
Teen Cribs
was still on—but almost over. So just before eleven.”

Milo scrawled.

“Is there something you should be telling me?” said Tasha Adams. “He does live with us.”

“A guest at that hotel ran into some trouble last night, Tasha. Neil’s not a suspect, we’re just gathering information.”

“Trouble,” she said. “Like someone—oh, there he is. Hey, Neil, these guys want to talk to you. They’re the police.”

Nelson Mutter in a T-shirt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops stopped short. He studied Milo, then me. Mouthed,
Huh?
In one hand was a plastic Dodgers’ cup big enough to wash a family of parakeets.

Milo waved him over, shook his hand. “Neil? Lieutenant Sturgis.”

Mutter kept looking at me.

I said, “Nice to see you again, Neil.”

“Chi-vash,” he said, as if downloading a memory file on a balky computer. “Lots of ice. You’re police?”

“I work with the police.”

Tasha Adams said, “It’s about your gig last night, Neil.”

“Huh?”

Milo said, “Let’s all go inside.”

As promised, Mutter’s personal space—what there was of it—was spotless. The sofa bed was closed up, graced with three floral-print pillows. Mutter’s wordly possessions filled two duffels placed to the left of the couch. A glimpse into the single bedroom offered a view of exuberant girl clutter.

Milo said, “Sorry to displace you, Tasha, but we need to talk to Neil alone.”

“Oh. Okay.” Pouting, she entered the bedroom but left the door open. Milo went over and closed it, motioned Mutter to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable, Neil.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Directing the question to me.

Milo said, “Sit, please,” and when Mutter complied, settled next to him. “Last night you served a woman in a white dress—”

“The princess,” said Mutter. He blushed scarlet. “I mean that’s what I called her. I mean in my head, not out loud.” To me: “You can see that, right? She was kind of like a princess?”

I said, “Sure.”

“Yeah. She also talked like one—did you hear her talk?”

“I didn’t.”

“Just like Princess Di. Or someone like that.”

“British?”

“Totally.
Oh-right. Yes, of cawse. Aw-lihvs, please
. Like class, you know? I couldn’t believe someone that class was getting flaked on.”

I said, “She told you she’d been flaked on?”

“Uh-uh,” said Mutter, “but she kept looking at her watch and the whole time no one showed up. Why would someone flake on someone that class and hot?”

“The watch,” I said. “Pretty sparkly.”

“Oh, man, total bling. She okay?”

“Did she give you her name?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did she pay her tab with a credit card?”

“Uh-uh, cash.” He pinched his upper lip. Grubby nails were bitten raw.

“How many drinks did she order?”

“Just two. Hendrick’s Martini, twist,
aw-lihvs
on the side—also one of those little onions. Only we didn’t have Hendrick’s so I asked her if Gilbey’s was okay and she said
Cuhtainly
.” He repeated the word, pumping up the drawl. “Why are you guys asking about her?”

“She had a misfortune, Neil,” said Milo.

“Like a robbery?” said Mutter. “Oh, man, that watch? How about her sunglasses? She put on these sunglasses and I figured they were rhinestones but maybe they were diamonds, too.”

I said, “You knew the watch had real diamonds because …”

“I—because I just figured. I mean it looked class and she was class.” Looking from me to Milo. “I didn’t figure her for rhinestones.” Shrug. “But maybe the sunglasses were.”

Milo said, “Sounds like you paid a lot of attention to the watch.”

The color left Mutter’s face.

“No, I’m just saying.”

“Saying what, Neil?”

“She kept checking it and it kept flashing, you know? Also, it was the only bling she had. Except the sunglasses.”

“No rings, no earrings.”

“Uh-uh, not that I saw.”

“How late did she stay at the Fauborg?”

“Maybe another half hour.” Mutter turned to me. “I mean after you and your lady left.”

I said, “You’re sure no one showed up to join her.”

“Totally.”

“When did your shift end?”

“Ten.” Mutter frowned. “Sherree—the bartender—got paid to stay later, like till twelve, but they didn’t want to pay me for longer than till ten.”

I said, “I left around nine thirty so if she left half an hour later, that would be ten.”

“Guess so.”

“That means you and she walked out around the same time.”

“Uh-uh, she left before me,” said Mutter. “My shift ended at ten but then I had to change out of that stupid jacket and clean the tables, then I had to walk to my car, which was like three blocks away in a city lot because the place had no parking.”

“What street you park on?” said Milo.

“Same street as the hotel but down near Wilshire.”

“Crescent Drive.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a parking stub?”

“Why would I?”

“You didn’t see her when you left?”

“Nope.”

“Where’d you go after you got your car?”

“Where?”

“Where was your next stop, Neil.”

“There was no stop,” said Mutter. “I drove here.”

“What time did you get home?”

“Around … probably ten forty. Tasha was up watching TV.”

“What was she watching?”

“Teen Cribs.”
He lowered his voice, smiled. “Lame, but she likes it. Sometimes I watch with her ’cause I can’t crash until she and Brenda are finished with the couch.”

“Kinda inconvenient, Neil.”

“I only pay two hundred a month. I don’t find a real job soon, I’m gonna have to head back to Omaha. What happened to Princess?”

“For someone without a steady job, a diamond watch could solve a lotta problems.”

Mutter’s eyes bugged. “Oh, no, no way, no way, no way. That’s not the person I am, even when I worked for Mickey D I didn’t take an extra sesame seed, just what we got with the employee discount. Uh-uh, no way.”

He crossed himself. Protest had firmed and deepened his voice. His chin seemed stronger, too, as if proclaiming his innocence had triggered a burst of testosterone.

Shaking his head, he said, “Uh-uh, no way and I don’t know why you’re saying that, why would you say that?”

“You were among the last people to see her.”

“You can check my stuff, there’s no watch or nothing. You can put me on a lie-detector, whatever.”

I said, “Did you notice anyone else at the bar who looked shady?”

“Buncha old people,” he said. “And you guys.”

Milo and I remained silent.

“This is psycho,” said Mutter. “I served her two drinks, she tipped me twenty bucks and she left.”

I said, “Did she give you any details about herself?”

“Nothing. That was the
thing
.”

“The thing?”

“She was like super-nice and sometimes when people are like that it’s ’cause they want you to pay attention so they can talk about themselves. Not so much at Mickey D’s, people come in and out real fast. But at Marie Callender’s I was always hearing stories when I served the pie. But she was just nice to be nice.”

“She didn’t want attention,” I said, remembering the theatrical posing.

“It kind of makes sense if she’s someone famous. Not like stupid-famous—like brats on
Teen Cribs
, got their own house, Game Boys, rides.”

“A different kind of famous.”

“Like a princess but nobody knows her unless she wants, you know?” said Mutter. “First time I saw her, that’s what I thought. She’s probably famous but I don’t know enough.” Smiling. “She was nice and really hot. Hope she gets her watch back.”

e left Mutter sitting on the sofa bed and drinking his Big Gulp.

Milo slipped behind the wheel of the unmarked. “Unless Tasha’s lying for him, the time frame clears him.”

“He was good for one thing,” I said. “Her accent. So maybe it will come down to a waylaid tourist.”

“Let’s see what Big Brother has to say about recent entries of young, cute U.K. citizens.”

He put in a call to “Ralph” at Homeland Security, got a voice-mail litany that necessitated six button-pushes, finally left a vague message about “the British invasion.”

I said, “They’ve got that kind of data at their fingertips?”

“So they claim. All part of the war on terrorism—’scuse me, the alleged struggle with alleged man-made disasters. Now let’s work on my disaster.”