Mystery Read Free Page A

face can mean personal, but this could come down to a really ugly jack. Hollyweird at night, all those spacey Euro types are wandering the streets, thinking they’re gonna catch movie stars. If she was a tourist, she could’ve wandered into the wrong neighborhood.”
    “Where was she found?”
    “The Palisades, less than a mile short of Topanga. Bad guys had any consideration it woulda been the sheriff’s problem.”
    I said, “That’s a ways from wrong neighborhoods, and expensive clothes don’t say naive tourist. Maybe she got waylaid on the Strip, or somewhere else on the Westside.”
    “Wherever she started, she ended up far from the city. We’re talking mountains, ravines, open space, not much traffic. Maybe that was the point. She was left just off the road, a spot where the descent isn’t that steep. I’m figuring the bad guys walked her out of the car, took her goodies, had target practice.”
    “Bullet and pellets.”
    “All in the face. Almost like a ritual.”
    “Who found her?”
    “Some eighty-nine-year-old retired Unitarian minister combing for fossils.”
    “Fossil hunting at four a.m.?”
    “Three fifteen a.m. to be exact. He likes to do it when there’s no traffic, brings a flashlight, takes his time. Only thing he ever sees is animals—raccoons, rabbits, coyotes—and they’re not into archaeology. He said the entire area used to be submerged under seawater millions of years ago, he still finds stuff. He had two spiral seashells in his sack, some petrified snails, too.”
    “But no shotgun or .45.”
    “I should be so lucky. No, he’s righteous, Alex, really shaken up. I had an ambulance brought just in case but they said his heart was strong for his age.” He drummed the table, wiped his face with one hand, like washing without water. “One mile south it’d be tan-shirts yanked out of a beautiful dream.”
    “What were you dreaming about?”
    “Not getting yanked out of bed at four a.m.”
    “Lately you’ve been kind of bored.”
    “Like hell I have. That was Zen-serenity.”
    He ate more roast, topped with extra aioli.
    “Spicy.”
    “So what can I do for you?”
    “Who says anything? I came to visit the dog.” Reaching into a pocket of the windbreaker, he drew out a nylon chew-bone. “This okay for her?”
    “She prefers truffle-marinated elk ribs, but it’ll do in a pinch. She’s out back with Robin. I’ve got some mail to catch up on.”
    “Had your breakfast yet?”
    “Just coffee.”
    Swinging his attaché onto the table, he flipped it open, drew out his cell, downloaded a screen of thumbnail photos. Enlarging one, he handed the phone to me. “No breakfast, nothing to lose.”
    The body lay on its face, supple-limbed even in death.
    Wind or impact had lifted the hem of the dress nearly crotch-high, but the legs hadn’t been spread, no sign of sexual posing.
    Short dress. The flow of white silk.
    Same for the blood-and-gore-splotched white scarf that swaddled what had once been a face. One backless silver shoe remained in place.
    What had once been the face was a clotted horror.
    Milo said, “You just turned a really bad color. Sorry.”
    “Any idea what time she was killed?”
    “Best guess is midnight to four and the old guy was there by three fifteen, so that narrows it.”
    “I saw her from nine to nine thirty. She was young—twenty-five or so, sat ten feet from Robin and me. Extremely pretty, big dark eyes, but I can’t tell you about her hair because it was completely covered by the scarf. She was wearing a diamond watch, carried a white silk clutch, smoked a cigarette in an ivory holder and used a matching lighter. A few minutes in, she put on rhinestone-framed sunglasses. She seemed to be waiting for someone. There was a theatrical aspect to her behavior. Robin thought she was channeling Audrey Hepburn. No need to show Robin these pictures.”
    He inhaled deeply, placed his hands flat on the table. “Where. Did. This. Happen?”
    I described