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“I’ll be taking a history and you can offer any additional information you think will help me.”
“Help you decide if I get to spend significant time with Philomena.”
“Let’s discuss everything when you get here, Professor.”
“No phone chat? Got it, sure, no problem. I am ready, more than willing, and so far, able. When?”
“I’ve got ten o’clock slots tomorrow or the day after.”
“Let’s do the day after.”
Flexible schedule, able and ready.
Not so much, willing?
CHAPTER
28
Just after eleven the following morning, Milo called from his office landline, sounding light and energetic.
Revived. A man who’d just slurped from the fountain of youth.
I said, “Good news?”
“Sean finally got Hoffgarden’s phone carrier to give up his call history for a month and it just might amount to something. Also, Basia put a rush on Hoffgarden’s prelim. Markings from what look like rope bindings and a big bruise on his back like someone pinned him down with a knee. No evidence of hog-tying but she can’t be sure. Two 9mm slugs entered Hoffgarden’s skull from the back and lodged in the roof of his mouth. The angle of bullet tracks suggest he was kneeling, so the killer wouldn’t have to be tall.”
“Lying prone but brought to his knees,” I said. “Classic execution.”
“Guy gets it, alone in the dark,” he said. “He had his issues, but still.”
“What was time of death?”
“Basia’s best guess is fifty to sixty hours before the body was discovered, probably closer to fifty. That fits perfectly with the action on thephone stopping fifty-two hours prior. And not much action, at that. Zero the entire day until nine forty-two p.m. when Hoffgarden calls a number and talks for around a minute. Then two more calls to the same phone—ten oh three and ten twenty-eight, number’s registered to a female in Venice. The techs are tracing towers as we speak, shouldn’t be hard to confirm where Hoffgarden was. We find the damn Mini Cooper and it gives up something, this probably won’t go the whodunit route. The car being missing so long makes me wonder if it was an auto theft gone bad.”
I said, “Hoffgarden phoned a female but didn’t receive a call-back. Maybe he was angling for a date. Was the phone used postmortem?”
“Nope,” he said, “and to me that nudges a plain old street robbery a few rungs lower. Most muggers are low-impulse-stupid, right? First thing they do is rack up calls before tossing. The same goes for leaving Hoffgarden’s credit and debit cards in the wallet but taking the cash and picking up the shells. A car specialist on the other hand might concentrate on the wheels and the cash.”
“Or we’ve got someone overly clever.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone doing an amateur staging. No need for the shooter to be tall but he’d still need to be powerful and large to subdue Hoffgarden, tie him up, and get him up those hills. Who’s the female?”
“Twenty-eight-year-old white female named Lisette Montag. It’s possible she has nothing to do with it and someone used her phone—stolen, lost, lent. But if she does end up being a dirty-bird, no reason she couldn’t have enlisted muscle.”
“Any criminal record?”
“No. Her place in Venice is maybe twenty minutes from Hoffgarden’s, so yeah, he coulda been trying for a booty-grab. Obviously, I need to talk to her.”
Lisette Montaghad triggered a trace of recollection. Nothing I couldput a fix on but I brought up my online case notes and quickly got the answer.
I said, “Montag could be Hoffgarden’s love interest, past or present. But she’s also someone who lived in Palm Springs the same time as Hoffgarden and Slope.”
“How’d you findthatout?”
“I bookmarked theDesert Sunarticle on Slope’s death. She’s one of the people quoted about what a great guy he was. Here’s the exact quote: ‘The attorney’s hairdresser Lisette Montag described Slope as nice, reliable, and super-generous. The two of them were scheduled to have dinner.’ ”
