AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If I could get them.” He frowned. Had wanted more from me. As I was thinking of something to say, his desk phone jangled. No music abuse coming through the department’s wires; small blessings.
He picked up, listened, grabbed a pen. “Okay, go.” Scrawling rapidly, he hung up and shot a fist in the air.
But despite the gesture, no glee on his face, just an odd distracted look.
“That was Moses, he got Charlie Bankster’s address, turns out to be close to here.”
He stood and tossed the unlit cigar with its splintered tip.
The lack of cheer puzzled me. I said, “Sounds like good news.”
“If the roomie’s there and has something substantial to say. If not, it’s another dead end plus a goddamn notification.”
CHAPTER
23
Two names on the mailbox: Kramm/Delage.
One of sixty or so boxes in the unlocked, whey-colored lobby of an eighties-built nine-story building on Barrington Avenue three blocks south of Wilshire.
That decade was renowned for the abandonment of architectural style in favor of cramming as many renters as possible into sad, jerry-built warrens. Zoning laws have since been passed but they still vanish when you know who to phone at City Hall.
A few years ago, a sex trafficking gang had operated out of a tower just like this one. Women from Eastern Europe lured to sunny L.A. by a group of former Lebanese army officers with promises of modeling gigs, only to be stripped of their passports, confined, and rented out by the hour.
A woman had died. Someone had talked. Headline arrest, everyone deported. No one with a working brain believed it had made a difference.
I thought about that as Milo pushed the Kramm/Delage button.
A female voice said, “Yes?”
“Ms. Kramm?”
“Yes?”
“This is Lieutenant Sturgis of LAPD. Could we please come up and talk to you about Caspian Delage?”
“Caspian? Something happened to him?”
“Could we come up to discuss it, ma’am?”
“Um,” she said. “That doesn’t sound good…let me come down to the lobby, make sure you are who you say you are.”
Milo said, “Great, thanks.”
To me: “Smart move, if I was a scammer I’d probably split.”
Six minutes later, the elevator door slid open and a red-haired woman wearing a pink silk kimono patterned with white peonies over black leotards and red ballet slippers walked toward us.
Mid-thirties, pretty in an elfin way. Keeping her distance as she assessed us.
Milo flashed the badge. “Ms. Kramm?”
“Mona…I guess that looks pretty official.”
He smiled and stayed put. “Couldn’t be more official.”
Mona Kramm held back for several seconds. Then, like a wary animal tempted by food, she stepped forward tentatively. When she was close enough, she read the badge. “Pretty fancy. Okay, let’s go up.”
