“She scouted the neighborhood for a long time,” I said. “She and Hoodie. Her intention right from the beginning was to be actively involved, not just a financier. Backer and Fredd were expendable the moment they signed on.”

“Yeah, she’s a sweetheart. I’ll be in that alley at seven, right now I’m headed over to Ricki Flatt’s motel because she’s finished all the paperwork on Desi’s body and I’m driving her to the airport.”

“Beyond the call,” I said. “Meanwhile, you probe for what she hasn’t told you.”

“You,” he said, “are immovably skeptical, that’s why we’re pals. Want to come? It could conceivably get psychological.”

Ricki Flatt was waiting outside her room, jacket zipped, luggage on the ground.

Milo jumped out, beat her to the rear car door.

“You really didn’t need to do this, Lieutenant.”

“We’ll take streets, freeway’s a bad idea at this hour.”

Moments later: “How’d it go with the coroner, Ricki?”

“It took a while, but we’re finally settled. I’ll be able to ship… to have Desi sent back in two days, spoke to the cemetery in Seattle, where my parents are buried and they’ve got a plot available. They referred me to a mortician here who’s handling the logistics as well as the cosmetics. He said there wouldn’t be that much to do, Desi still looked handsome. Any progress, Lieutenant?”

“We’re chipping away, Ricki. Oh, by the way, those suitcases are out of your storage bin.”

“Great,” she said. “I spoke to Scott this morning and he didn’t mention anything, so we’re fine.”

“Yes, you are, Ricki.” A beat. “Unfortunately, we’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“ Port Angeles police didn’t remove the suitcases. This guy beat them to it.”

Hooking his arm, he dangled the copy of the surveillance photo sent by Chris Kammen. As Kammen had predicted, too blurry to be useful.

“Who is this?”

“We were hoping you might know.”

“Me? Why would I?”

“Could be someone local.”

“Well I don’t know,” she said. “I have absolutely no idea.” Squinting. “He took everything?”

“Sure did.”

“How’d he get in?”

“With a key,” said Milo. “Who besides you and Desi had one?”

“No one-does Scott know about this?”

“No reason for him to know. How about Scott? Does he have a key?”

“No, we rented it to store my parents’ stuff, Scott was always bothering me to get rid of everything. Someone stole all that money? The same person who murdered Desi?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Ricki Flatt returned the photo. “That’s why you offered to drive me. You think I’ve held back on you and want to ask more questions.”

“I’m just informing you of the situation as it stands, Ricki. Only you and Desi had keys and the guy in the photo obtained one. Do you happen to have yours right now?”

“I’m a-of course I do.” Opening her purse, she fumbled, produced a ring, shuffled. “This one. This is mine. Meaning that person used Desi’s. Meaning he did murder Desi. For the money, it’s always about the damn money!”

Burying her face in her hands, she rocked.

Milo drove another half a mile. “Ricki, what did Desi tell you about his boss, Helga Gemein?”

“Her? This is related to Desi’s job?”

“At this point it’s all questions, not answers, Ricki. Did Desi talk about Helga? About work, in general?”

“He liked the job, said it was fun, kind of easy. Said he met her at a convention and she offered him a job.”

“What kind of convention?”

“He didn’t say. Why? Was she involved-oh my God. The time Desi brought the money, he was traveling with a woman. I didn’t tell you because it slipped my mind-it’s not like he brought her with him, what happened was after Desi and I took the suitcases to storage, I asked him to stay for dinner. He said he’d love to but he needed to get back to his hotel, someone was waiting. The obvious assumption was a woman because with Desi there was always a woman. I made a crack, you’re in town for a day, already have a hot date? Normally, he’d give that cute smile of his. This time, he frowned, said, ‘A hot date would be the ideal, but don’t lay odds on it.’ Which was unusual for Desi, he was always so upbeat.”

She choked back tears. “I remember I actually kind of gloated to myself. Finally, Don Juan has failed. How petty of me, all those stupid childhood feelings.”

I said, “What else did he say about this woman?”

“The only other thing was that the car he was driving was hers, he needed to get it back to her. Almost as if he was… intimidated by her.”

“The way you would be by a boss.”

“That’s what made me think of it right now. Why else would Desi be intimidated by anyone, let alone a woman, unless she had some kind of power over him?”

That hadn’t stopped him from propping Marjorie Holman up against a sheet of plywood.

Milo said, “What kind of car was it?”

“American, dark, I don’t remember. I really wasn’t paying attention.”

Milo nudged the file over to me. I thumbed through, found the Internet photos he’d printed of 2002 Buick LeSabres.

Ricki Flatt said, “Cars aren’t my thing, but sure, that could be it. This is Helga’s car?”

Milo said, “It’s similar to hers-hey, look at this, free sailing, it’s good we avoided the freeway.”

Moments after he’d carried her bag into the terminal, he was back on the phone with Chris Kammen.

“I can narrow the time frame for Backer’s trip, friend. All I need is verification that either Backer or Helga Gemein registered at one of your hotels.”

Kammen said, “Friend, huh? Every time I talk to you, my life gets complicated.”

“Thanks, Chris, I appreciate it.”

Kammen laughed. “Like I said before, we ain’t Gotham but we also ain’t Mayberry, it’ll take a while. Who’s this Helga?” Milo filled him in.

Kammen said, “International terrorism. Now I can brag to my kids about something. Not that it’s going to help with teenagers.”

His return call came in before we’d returned to the station. Bass tones vibrated with triumph.

“I used logic, figured people from L.A. might want some creature comforts, but since they were involved in something illegal they might want to stay off the main drag. We’ve got a place that fits the bill, twenty miles out, set on the water, real woodsy, they got a spa, honeymoon couples like it. The Myrtlewood Inn, I’m fixing to take my wife there for our anniversary if she behaves herself. Anyway, sure enough, Ms. Helga Gemein used her platinum Amex during that exact time. One-night stay. Or stand, depending on your perspective.”

“Excellent,” said Milo. “Give me the card number.”

Kammen read it off. “If your boy Backer was there with her, it was a stay, not a stand, ’cause she rented two rooms. Paid for both, there’s no record of who stayed in the other. But whoever it was racked up hours of rent-a-porn. Unlike Ms. Helga, who didn’t watch a second of pay-per-view, probably drank tap water because there were no room service charges, not even peanuts from the mini-bar.”

“Living like a nun,” said Milo.

Kammen said, “Your boy Backer, though, he watched four dirty movies, ordered steak and shrimp cocktail, and raided the bar for all kinds of goodies. Not exactly two peas in a pod.”

“They had enough rapport to do bad stuff, Chris.”

“Sounds like your typical marriage.”

I said, “How many rental car companies do you have in Port Angeles?”

“All the majors and a couple of minors. Why?”

“Be good to know if either Backer or Helga used a hired vehicle.”

“The sister said Backer was driving her car.”

“She wasn’t with him when he gave his sister the suitcases. They could’ve gone their separate ways.”

“Ah,” said Kammen. “Okay, I’ll check that out-stay on the line, maybe I can do it fast.”

Four minutes later: “Call me Speedy Gonzales, Myrtlewood Inn’s got Avis on the premises. Ms. Helga rented a Chevy Cobalt during her one-day stay. It’s going to take a while to find out how much mileage she put on but I can do it, if you want.”