The Brazilian rosewood door of Erica Weiss’s law firm should’ve been usedfor guitar backs. Twenty-six partners were listed in efficient pewter. Weiss’swas near the top.
She kept me waiting for twenty minutes but came out to greet me personally.Late thirties, silver-haired, blue-eyed, statuesque in charcoal Armani andcoral jewelry.
“Sorry for the delay, Doctor. I was willing to come to you.”
“No problem.”
“Coffee?”
“Black would be fine.”
“Cookies? One of our paras whipped up some chocolate chips this morning.Cliff’s a great baker.”
“No, thanks.”
“Coming up with black coffee.” She crossed a field of soft, navy carpet toan entry square of hardwood. Her exit was a castanet solo of stiletto heels.
Her lair was a bright, cool, corner space on the eighth floor of a high-riseon Wilshire, just east of Rossmore in Hancock Park.Gray felt walls, Macassar ebony deco revival furniture, chrome and blackleather chair that matched the finish of her computer monitor. Stanford law degreetucked in a corner where it was sure to be noticed.
A coffin-shaped rosewood conference table had been set up with four blackclub chairs on wheels. I took the head seat. Maybe it was meant for EricaWeiss; she could always tell me that.
An eastern wall of glass showcased a view of Koreatown and the distant glossof downtown. To the west, out of sight, was Nora Dowd’s house on McCadden.
Weiss returned with a blue mug bearing the law firm’s name and logo in goldleaf. The icon was a helmet over a wreath filled with Latin script. Somethingto do with honor and loyalty. The coffee was strong and bitter.
She looked at the head chair for a second, settled to my right with nocomment. A Filipina carrying a court-reporter’s stenotype machine entered,followed by a young spike-haired man in a loose-fitting green suit who Weissintroduced as Cliff. “He’ll be witnessing your oath. Ready, Doctor?”
“Sure.”
She put on reading glasses and read a file while I sipped coffee. Then offcame the specs, her face got tight, and the blue in her eyes turned to steel.
“First of all,” she said and the change in her voice made me put my cupdown. She concentrated on the top of my head, as if something odd had sproutedthere. Pointing a finger, she turned” Doctor” into something unsavory.
For the next half hour, I fielded questions, all delivered in a stridentrhythm dripping with insinuation. Scores of questions, many taking PatrickHauser’s point of view. No letup; Erica Weiss seemed to be able to speakwithout breathing.
Just as suddenly, she said, “Finished.” Big smile. “Sorry if I was a littlecurt, Doctor, but I consider depositions rehearsals and I like my witnessesprepared for court.”
“You think it’ll come to that?”
“I’d bet against it, but I don’t bet anymore.” She peeled back a cuff andstudied a sapphire-ringed Lady Rolex. “In either event, you’ll be ready. Now,if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment.”
 
--- oOo ---
 
Ten-minute ride to McCadden Place.
Still no Range Rover but the driveway wasn’t empty.
A yacht-sized, baby-blue ’59 Cadillac convertible hogged the space. Gleamingwire wheels, white top folded down, tailfins that should’ve been registered aslethal weapons. Old black-and-yellow plates bore a classic car designation.
Brad and Billy Dowd stood next to the car, their backs to me. Brad wore alight brown linen suit and gestured with his right hand. His left arm rested onBilly’s shoulder. Billy wore the same blue shirt and baggy Dockers. Half a footshorter than his brother. But for his gray hair, the two of them could’vepassed for father and son.
Dad talking, son listening.
The sound of my engine cutting made Brad look over his shoulder. A secondlater, Billy aped him.
By the time I got out, both brothers were facing me. The polo shirt underBrad’s jacket was aquamarine pique. On his feet were perforated,peanut-butter-colored Italian sandals. Cloudy day but he’d dressed for abeachside power lunch. His white hair was ragged and he looked tense. Billy’sface was blank. A grease stain rorschached the front of his pants.
He greeted me first. “Hi, Detective.”
“How’s it going, Billy?”
“Bad. Nora’s nowhere and we’re scared.”
Brad said, “More worried than scared, Bill.”
“You said—”
“Remember the brochures, Bill? What did I tell you?”
“Be positive,” said Billy.
“Exactly.”
I said, “Brochures?”
Billy pointed at the house. “Brad went in there again.”
Brad said, “First time was superficial. This time I opened some drawers,found travel brochures in my sister’s nightstand. Nothing seems out of placeexcept maybe some extra space in her clothes closet.”
“Packed to go,” I said.
“I hope that’s it.”
“What kind of brochures?” I said.
“Places in Latin America. Want to seethem?”
“Please.”
He jogged to the Caddy and brought back a stack of glossies.
Pelican’s Pouch, Southwater Caye, Belize; Turneffe Island, Belize; Posada LaMandragora, Buzios, Brazil; Hotel Monasterio, Cusco, Peru; Tapir Lodge,Ecuador.
“Looks like vacation plans,” I said.
“Still, you’d think she’d tell us,” said Brad. “I was going to call you tosee if you found any flights she took.”
Nora’s passport hadn’t been used.
I said, “Nothing so far but still checking. Does Nora ever fly privately?”
“No. Why?”
“Covering all bases.”
“We’ve talked about doing that,” said Brad. “Mostly, I’ve talked about it.Being so close to Santa Monica Airport, you see thosebeauties take off and it looks real inviting.”
Same thing Milo had said. For the Dowds itcould be more than fantasy.
I said, “What did Nora think?”
“She was ready to do a time share. But once I found out the cost, I saidforget it. The cool thing would be owning my own plane but that was never anoption.”
“How come?”
“We’re not close to that financial league, Detective.”
“Did Nora agree with that assessment?”
Brad smiled. “Nora isn’t much for budgeting. Would she charter something onher own? I suppose it’s possible. But she’d have to get the money from me.”
“She doesn’t have her own funds?”
“She has a checking account for day to day, but for serious money she comesto me. It works out better for all of us.”
Billy’s eyes rose to the sky. “I never get to go anywhere.”
“Come on, Bill,” said Brad. “We flew to San Francisco.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It was two years ago.”
“That’s a long time.” Billy’s eyes got dreamy. One hand dropped toward hiscrotch. Brad cleared his throat and Billy jammed the hand in his pocket.
I turned back to Brad. “It’s not in character for Nora to take off withouttelling you?”
“Nora does her own thing on a limited level, but she’s never traveled forany length of time without letting me know.”
“Those trips to Paris.”
“Exactly.” Brad glanced at the brochures. “I was going to contact thoseresorts, but if you want to do it, you can keep the information.”
“Will do.”
He rubbed the corner of one eye. “Maybe Nora will waltz in tomorrow with a—Iwas going to say with a terrific tan, but Nora doesn’t like the sun.”
I waved the brochures. “These are all sunny spots.”
Brad glanced at Billy. Billy’s eyes were still aimed at the sky. “I’m surethere’s a logical explanation, Detective. Just wish I…anyway, thanks forstopping by. If you learn anything, please let me know.”
“There’s something you should know,” I said. “Reynold Peaty was murderedlast night.”
Brad gasped. “What! That’s crazy!”
Billy froze. Stayed that way but his eyes locked into mine. Nothing absentabout his gaze now.
Brad said, “Billy?”
Bill continued to stare at me. Pointed a finger. “You just said somethingterrible.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Reyn got murdered?” Billy’s hands balled. “Noway !”
Brad touched his arm but Billy shook him off and ran to the center of Nora’slawn, where he began punching his thighs.
Brad hurried over, talked in his brother’s ear. Billy shook his headviolently and walked several feet away. Brad followed, talking nonstop. Billystepped away again. Brad persisted through a series of Billy’s head shakes andgrimaces. Finally, Billy allowed himself to be ushered back. Flared nostrilsdoubled the width of his pug nose. Thick white spittle flecked his lips.
“Who killed Reyn?” he demanded.
“A neighbor,” I said. “They had an argument and—”
“A neighbor?” said Brad. “One of our tenants ?Who? ”
“A man named Armando Vasquez.”
“Thatone. Shit, right from the get-go I had a bad feeling about him, but hisapplication was in order and nowadays you can’t turn down a tenant based onintuition.” He tugged at a lapel. “Jesus. What happened ?”
“What worried you about Vasquez?”
“He seemed like…you know, the cholo thing.”
“Wher............