My man Lawrence says a pay phone in Camarillo

Jacalyn Vasquez, minus three kids and makeup and jewelry, looked even youngerthan when I’d seen her on Sunday. Streaked hair was tied back in a somberponytail. She wore a loose white blouse, blue jeans, and sneakers. Florid acneplayed havoc with her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes had regressed into sootysockets.
A tall honey-haired woman in her twenties held Vasquez’s arm. The blonde’slocks were long and silky. She wore a tight black suit that showcased a bikinifigure. A ruby stud in her left nostril fought the suit’s conservative cut. Thepretty hair and tight body sparred with a monkeyish face the camera wouldsavage.
She surveyed the tiny space and frowned. “How’re we all going to fit inhere?”
Milo smiled. “And you are?”
“Brittany Chamfer, Public Defender’s Office.”
“I thought Mr. Vasquez’s attorney was Kevin Shuldiner.”
“I’m a third-year law student,” said Brittany Chamfer. “Working with theExoneration Project.” She amplified her frown. “This is like a closet.”
“Well,” said Milo, “one less body shouldhelp. Enjoy the fresh air, Ms. Chamfer. Come on in, Ms. Vasquez.”
“My instruction was to stay with Jackie.”
“My instruction is that you enjoy the fresh air.” He stood and the chairsqueaked. Silencing it with one hand, he offered the seat to Jacalyn Vasquez.“Right here, ma’am.”
Brittany Chamfer said, “I’m supposed to stay.”
“You’re not an attorney and Ms. Vasquez hasn’t been charged with anything.”
“Still.”
Milo took one big step that brought him tothe doorway. Brittany Chamfer had to step back to avoid collision, and the armshe’d used to support Jacalyn Vasquez pulled free.
Vasquez looked past me. The office could’ve been miles of glacier.
Brittany Chamfer said, “I’ll have to call the office.”
Milo ushered Vasquez in, closed the door.
By the time she sat down, Jacalyn Vasquez was crying.

“What?”
“Meserve thinks he’s an actor,” I said. “Actors do voice-overs.”
“The Infernal Whisperer? I can’t get distracted by that kind of crap, Alex.Still have to check out all those buildings Peaty cleaned, stuff could behidden anywhere. Can’t ignore Billy either, because he hung with Peaty and Iwas masochistic enough to find out.”
He passed the receiver from hand to hand. “What I’d love to do is get toBilly in his apartment, away from Brad, and gauge his reaction to Peaty’sdeath.” He huffed. “Let’s take care of this whispering bullshit.”
He called the phone company, talked to someone named Larry. “What I need isfor you to tell me it’s crap so I can avoid the whole subpoena thing. Thanks,yeah…you, too. I’ll hold.”
Moments later, his faced flushed and he was scribbling furiously in his pad.“Okay, Lorenzo, thanko mucho…no, I mean it…we’ll forget this conversation tookplace and I’ll get you the damned paper a-sap.”
The receiver slammed down.
He ripped a page out of the pad and shoved it at me.
The first evening call to the Vasquez apartment had come in at fivefifty-two p.m. and lasted thirty-two minutes. The caller’s mid-city number wasregistered to Guadalupe Maldonado. The call from Jackie Vasquez’s mom at “likesix.”
Milo closed his eyes and pretended to dozeas I read on.
Five more calls between seven and ten p.m., all from a 310 area code that Milo had notated as” stolen cell.” The first lasted eightseconds, the second, four. Then a trio of two-second entries that had to behang-ups.
Armando Vasquez losing patience and slamming down the phone.
I said, “Stolen from who?”
“Don’t know yet, but it happened the same day the call came in. Keep going.”
Under the five calls was the doodle of an amoebic blob filled with crosses.Then something Milo had underlined so hardhe’d torn paper.
Final call. 10:23 p.m. Forty-two seconds long.
Despite Vasquez’s anger, something had managed to hold his interest.
Different caller, 805 area code.
Milo reached over and took the page,shredded it meticulously, and dropped it in his trash basket. “You have neverseen that. You will see it once the goddamn subpoena that is now goddamnnecessary produces legit evidence.”
“Ventura County,” I said. “Maybe Camarillo?”
“Not maybe, for sure. My man Lawrence says a pay phone in Camarillo.”
“Near the outlets?”
“He wasn’t able to be that precise, but we’ll find out. Now I’ve got apossible link to the Gaidelases. Which should make you happy. All along, younever saw Peaty for them. So what’re we talking about, an 805-based killer whoprowls the coast and I’ve gotta start from scratch?”
“Only if the Gaidelases are victims,” I said.
“As opposed to?”
“The sheriffs thought the facts pointed to a willful disappearance and maybethey were right. Armando told his wife the whispering made it impossible toidentify the sex of the caller. If it’s amateur theater we’re talking about,Cathy Gaidelas could be a candidate.”
His jaws bunched. He scooted forward on his chair, inches from my face. Ithanked God we were friends.
“All of a sudden the Gaidelases have gone from victims to psychomurderers ?”
“It solves several problems,” I said. “No bodies recovered and the rentalcar was left in Camarillobecause the Gaidelases ditched it, just as the company assumed. Who better tocancel credit cards than the legitimate owners? And to know which utilities tocall back in Ohio?”
“Nice couple hiding out in Ventura County and venturing into L.A. to commit nasty? For starts, why wouldthey home-base out there?”
“Proximity to the ocean and you don’t have to be a millionaire. There arestill places in Oxnardwith low-rent housing.”
He yanked his forelock up and stretched his brow tight. “Where the hell didall this come from, Alex?”
“My twisted mind,” I said. “But think about it: The only reason we’veconsidered the Gaidelases a nice couple is because Cathy’s sister describedthem that way. But Susan Palmer also talked about an antisocial side—drug use,years of mooching off the family. Cathy married a man people suspect is gay.There’s some complexity there.”