Flesh and Blood (27 page)

As we left the final restaurant Milo said, "If Dugger and Lauren were trysting, they weren't doing it over food."

"Maybe food's not his thing either. How about motels?"

He groaned but nodded. Another hour was lost questioning desk clerks. Same result. Milo cursed all the way back to the 55.

"Maybe the guy's gay," I said. "You sense any hint of that?"

"What, I'm supposed to have gaydar?"

"Touchy."

"Low blood sugar—anything left in that bag?"

"One wonton."

"Hand it over." Between mouthfuls: "Maybe he is gay. Or asexual, or virtuous, or Lord knows what."

"Asexual," I said. "Wouldn't that be something? The Grand Stud spawns a son who's anything but."

"You don't like him. I wouldn't wanna go bowling with him either— guy's a priss. But being Tony Duke's kid isn't grounds for a warrant. He's untouchable with regard to Lauren, and so's all his intimacy data. When we get back I'm getting on the horn to Central and the coroner, see if anything's come up on Michelle. If they pull a bullet out of her head and it matches the nine millimeter in Lauren's, maybe I can talk to someone about leaning on Gretchen. Right now, it's time for that second face-to-face with Jane Abbot. Speaking of which."

He placed another call to the Sherman Oaks number, got another taped reply. This time he hung up without leaving a message. "I've also got a call in to Westside Vice about Gretchen. Be interesting if she's gotten active again. If anything leads back to her and Duke, I'll be on Junior like a rash. Let's hit the Abbot house, see if the neighbors know where Jane and Mel are. I'll leave my card in the mailbox, and if she doesn't respond to that, I'll really want to know why."

"Would you consider a detour to Westwood?" I said. "Mindy Jacobus works at the Med Center in public relations. Adam Green feels she didn't want to be helpful. Any statements from her in Riley's file?"

"Just the library story."

"Green checked out the library. No one remembers Shawna ever being there."

He looked at his watch, gazed through the windshield at the clean stretch of freeway. Midday lull: just a few trucks and cars, and us in the fast lane, under a browning sky that mocked the virtues of progress.

"Nice little off-ramp in Westwood," he said. "Why the hell not?"

Adam Green had described Mindy Jacobus as "no Shawna," but she turned out to be a stunning young woman with flawless, lightly tanned skin and one of the healthiest heads of glowing black hair I'd ever seen. A tall, long-legged sylph in a pale blue knit dress and high-heeled white sandals, she strode out of the public relations office into a hallway that reeked of rubbing alcohol carrying a gold Cross pen, moving with a confidence that made her seem older than twenty.

More planes than curves; Tony Duke would probably have walked right past her, so maybe that was what Green had meant. But her stride was a hip-swiveling sashay that transcended lack of flesh.

"Yes?" she said with a publicist's ready smile. Her ID tag read, M. JACOBUS-GRIEG. ASSISTANT PUBLICIST. Milo had given the front desk his name only, no tide. The smile wavered when she got a good look at him. No way could that face—that tie—mean philanthropy or any other brand of good news.

When he flashed the badge her confidence shut down completely, and she looked like an overdressed kid. "What's this about?"

"Shawna Yeager, Ms. Jacobus—"

"How weird."

We were in an administrative wing of the Med Center, far removed from clinical care, but the hospital smell—that alcohol stink—brought back memories of mass polio vaccinations in school auditoriums. My father accepting the needle with a smile, biceps tensing so hard the blood ran down his arm. I, five years old, fighting to squelch my tears as a white-capped nurse produced a frigid cotton swab. . . .

"Weird?" said Milo.

Mindy Jacobus-Grieg's fine-boned hand clutched the pen tighter. Closing the door behind her, she moved several feet down the hall and settled a lean rump against pale green plaster. The decor was photos of med school deans and famous benefactors at black-tie galas. Some of the angels were showbiz types, and I searched for Tony Duke's face but didn't find it.

"Hearing Shawna's name again," she said. "It's been over a year. Has something finally— Did you find her?"

"Not yet, ma'am."

Ma'am made her flinch. "So why are you here?" "To follow up on the information you gave during the initial investigation."

"Now? A year later?" "Yes, ma'am—"

"What could I tell you that I didn't already say back then?" "Well," said Milo, "we're new on the case, just doing our best to see what we can learn. And you were the last person to see Shawna." "Yes, I was."

"Just before she left for the library."

"That's what she said." She glanced down at her left hand. The third finger was circled by a gold wedding band and a one-carat diamond ring. She rubbed the stone—reminding herself she'd made progress since then?

Milo said, "Newlywed?"

"Last June. My husband's a rheumatology resident. I dropped out temporarily to help pay some bills— Does Shawna's mom know you're back on the case?"

"Are you in contact with Shawna's mom?"

"No," she said. "Not any longer. I did stay in touch for a while—a few months. Agnes—Mrs. Yeager—moved to L.A., and I tried to help her get adjusted. But you know ..."

"Sure," said Milo. "Nice of you to help her." A tiny pink tongue tip darted from between Mindy's lips, then retracted. "She was pretty destroyed."

"Any idea where she can be reached?"

"She's not working at the Hilton anymore?"

"Beverly or Downtown?"

"Beverly," said Mindy. "That's not in the file? You must be missing a bunch of stuff. That other detective—the old one. He seemed a little . . . Is he your friend?"

Milo smiled. "Detective Riley? Yes, he did tend to get a little distracted."

"I never felt he was really paying attention. Anyway, that's where Agnes worked. I was just thinking about her on Christmas. Because Shawna's birthday was December twenty-eighth and I knew her mom must be going through hell. I would've invited her to my parents' house, but we all went to Hawaii. ..."

"What did Mrs. Yeager do at the Hilton?"

"Cleaned rooms. She needed something so she could stay in L.A., and she couldn't find any decent waitress jobs. The U let her stay in a grad student dorm for a few weeks, but then she had to leave. She didn't know the city at all, almost ended up near MacArthur Park. I told her to stay as far west as she could, and she found herself an apartment near La Brea and Pico—Cochran south of Pico."

"So she stuck around."

"For a few months. Maybe she moved back home—I don't know."

"Back to Santo Leon," I said.

"Uh-huh." She rolled the pen between her fingers.

Milo said, "So the last time you saw Shawna was that night she said she was going to the library. Remember what time that was?"

"I think I said eight-thirty. It couldn't have been too much earlier 'cause I was out with Steve—my ex-boyfriend." Tiny smile. "He had football practice until seven, and I used to pick him up and we'd have dinner in the Coop and then he'd walk me back to the dorms. Shortly after I got back, Shawna left. I studied for a while, went to bed, and when I woke up she still hadn't returned."

"Was the library a usual place for her to study?"

"I guess."

"You're not sure?"

The hand clutching the pen tightened. "In the papers—the campus paper mostly—they said no one remembered Shawna in any of the libraries. Trying to make out like Shawna had lied. But the libraries are huge, so what does that prove? I had no reason to doubt her."

Footsteps and laughter caused her to gaze down the hall. A group of people in suits passed, and someone called out her name. "Hey, guys," she said, flashing the sunny smile, then turning it off as she faced us. "Is that it?"

"When Shawna left was she carrying books?"

"She'd have to be," said Mindy.

"She'd have to be?"

"Even if she wasn't telling the truth about studying, she would've covered herself, right? I mean, with no books, I'd have said something. And I didn't. So, sure, she must've had books. I would've noticed if she hadn't been."

"Logical," agreed Milo. "But do you specifically recall seeing books?"

Blue irises bobbled. "No, but. . . why do you doubt her?"

"Just trying to collect as many details as I can, ma'am."

"Well, no way I can give you details after all this time, but the logical thing was she had books. Probably psych books. That's all Shawna read, she was really into it—psychology, medicine. All she did was study."

"A grind," I said, remembering the phrase she'd used with Adam Green.

"Not in a dorky sense. She was just serious about her grades. . . . Do you think she could still be alive?"

Milo said, "Anything's possible."

"But unlikely."

Milo shrugged.

Mindy shut her eyes, opened them. "She was so beautiful."

"If Shawna did make up the story about going to the library, what do you think she was covering for?"

"I don't think she was covering, and if she was I wouldn't have the faintest." The pen slipped from her grasp. She moved fast and caught it.

"Could she have been hiding the fact that she had a boyfriend?" said Milo.

Mindy licked her lips. "Why would she hide that?" "You tell me," said Milo gently.

Mindy edged away from him. "I have no idea."

"Did Shawna have a boyfriend, Ms. Jacobus-Grieg?"

"Not that I knew."

Milo consulted his pad. "Funny, going over the file, I copied down something about a boyfriend. . . . For some reason I thought that came from you."

"No way. Why would I tell anyone that?"

"Must be a mistake, then. Oh, well."

The smooth skin behind Mindy's ears had pinkened. Milo began paging through his pad. Blank pages. From where Mindy stood, she couldn't see that. "Here it is. ... 'Possible boyfriend.' 'Maybe older guy.' Per MJ." Looking up, he favored Mindy with an innocent look. "I assumed 'MJ' was you, but maybe something got scrambled."

"Probably." The flush had spread to Mindy's jawline.

Milo kicked the wall lightly with the back of his shoe. "Let's talk theoretically, okay? If Shawna did have an older boyfriend, any idea who he coulda been?"

"How would I know?"

"I just thought, the two of you living together, being close—"

"We lived together, but we weren't close. Anyway, it was only for a couple of months."

"So you guys weren't real friends?" I said.

"We got along but we were different. For one, I was older. A screw-up landed me in a room with a freshman."

"Different worlds."

"Exactly," said Mindy, relieved at being understood.

"Different how?" asked Milo, smiling.

"I'm social," she said. "I like people, always had lots of friends. Shawna was more of a loner."

"Interesting trait for a beauty queen."

"Oh, that—well, that was back in Santo Leon."

"Didn't count?"

"No, no, I'm not putting it down—it's just I gathered that back home Shawna was pretty important, but up here she was just another freshman. I went to Uni, had tons of friends here from high school, she didn't. I tried to— She didn't make too many of her own friends. I mean she probably would've—it was only the beginning of the quarter."

"Not too social?" I said.

"Not too."

"So back in Santo Leon she'd been a big fish in a small pond, but in L.A. she had trouble distinguishing herself."

"Yes—I mean she was beautiful. But kind of... country. Unsophisticated. Also, her basic personality was—I don't want to say stuck up, more like private. She did like to keep to herself. Like when Steve would come over, Shawna would ignore him or leave— She said she wanted to give us space. But..."

"You thought maybe she was being a bit antisocial," I said.

"To be honest? Kind of. That's why I didn't pay much attention that night when she left for the library. She was gone a lot."

"A lot?"

"Yes."

"Nights?"

"Nights and days. I really didn't see her much."

"Did she spend nights away from the dorm?"

"No," she said. "She always was there in the morning. That's why when I woke up and she wasn't, I thought it was weird. But still . . ."

"Still what?" said Milo.

"I didn't freak or anything. You know—this was college. We were supposed to be grown-ups."

Milo twirled his own pen. Blue plastic Bic. "So there was no boyfriend you know of."

"Right."

"And this other note I've got—about maybe it being an older man. Did Shawna ever say anything about liking older men?"

Mindy's back was flat against the wall. Another upward glance. Both of her hands clenched the pen.

"Ms. Jacobus-Grieg?"

"Is this—is all this going to be publicized?"

"That's not our priority."

"'Cause it was really no big deal. And Agnes . . ."

"What was no big deal?"

Mindy shook her head. "I told a reporter—some pest from the Cub— and he told the police about a conversation Shawna and I had."

"A conversation about what?"

"Guys—what girls talk about all the time. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. And that pest shouldn've repeated it."

"Repeated what, Mindy?"

Mindy rubbed one sandal against the other. "I wouldn't want to ruin Shawna's reputation."

"Ruin it in what way?"

"Raising rumors—because what's the point, a year later? Why should her mom read it and get upset?"

Milo moved closer to her, placed his weight on one foot, looking very tired. "What hurts Mrs. Yeager the most is not knowing what happened to Shawna. That's the ultimate hell for a parent, so anything you can do to clear it up would be a good deed."

Mindy bit back tears. "I know, I know, but I'm sure it's nothing—"

"Indulge us. Unless it leads to a solution, we'll keep it close to the vest."

The flush had overtaken Mindy's face. Coppery glow beneath the tan, but nothing healthy about it.

"It was really just a single conversation," she said, swiping at her eyes again. "Maybe three weeks into the semester. Steve had a friend who thought Shawna looked hot, and he asked if Shawna wanted to be fixed up. Shawna said no, she had too much studying, but then she went out— and not to the library, this was a Friday morning and she said something had come up suddenly, she had to leave early for the weekend. Something back home in Santo Leon. But the thing is, she was all dressed up and made up—nothing like what you'd expect just to take the bus home. So I asked her who the guy was, said she wasn't wasting stockings and all that lip gloss on some campus loser. And she gave me this—I can only call it an off look, know what I mean? Real serious—almost angry. But not angry—upset."