Brearely: “We didn’t think much about it. Then you guys came to see us at our apartment and you mentioned the Polish thing and I said, ‘Isn’t that weird, honey? Same as that guy your crazy bitch sister hassled us about.’?”
She squeezed her husband’s hand. “Then I saw your face. You got it right away, like you always do with that big brain of yours. You looked so freaked out, I had to give you my best shiatsu back rub.”
Batting her lashes. Garrett blushed around his stubble.
Milo said, “Did Amanda give you any other details?”
Garrett said, “No, just what I told you.”
I said, “An academic.”
“She didn’t use that word, I guess I assumed it because she met him at the U. and if he’d done endowed research I figured he had to be someone relatively accomplished. My sense is she was a little awed, which is why she tried to arrange it in the first place.”
I said, “How’d she react to his turning her down?”
Garrett said, “She didn’t react at all. But that’s Amanda. Her…she’s different.”
“I’ll say,” said Brearely. “We’re going nuts on the tables and she doesn’t get it. Unbelievable. That girl is all about herself.”
Garrett winced.
I said, “The Polish thing. Do your parents know?”
Brearely said, “They know because I told them. Her. Sandy. So she’d know what her daughter was putting me through. She wasn’t very helpful.”
Garrett said, “You know weddings, guys.”
I said, “Supposed to be the happiest time, but.”
Brearely said, “But some people act like butts, so it’s anything but happy.”
Garrett said, “What led you to the Poland thing?”
Milo said, “Can’t get into it. So you talked to your parents about it.”
“I called my mom right before we left for Italy. I figured they should know, in case Amanda was involved in something over her head. I’m more concerned about that now because since the wedding she’s totally cut herself off from all of us. Not responding to my or my parents’ texts or calls. My mom called the apartment where she lives and the manager says she’s there, he sees her coming and going on her bike.”
Something Bob Pena had chosen to withhold. Cherry tomatoes rolled along Milo’s jawline. I began working my phone.
He said, “So that’s a big change for Amanda?”
“Not really,” said Brearely. “She’s never even close to friendly.”
Garrett said, “But normally, she would answer my parents. And me. Probably.” Sigh. “She’s a lot younger. Marilee and I were closer in age, we did things together. Amanda probably felt left out.”
Brearely said, “It’s not like you didn’t try. She was always in her little cocoon.”
No argument. Garrett looked ready to cry. “I’m just worried about her. That’s why I wanted to come in and tell you everything. The Polish thing. I’m hoping it’s nothing. I don’t even know what it means to you.”
Milo stood. “Thanks for coming in, you did exactly the right thing.”
Brearely Burdette beamed. “Told you they’d appreciate it, doll.”
Garrett Burdette rocked back and forth. “Great.” Sagging with each movement like an inflatable sock-me doll wounded by a pinhole leak.
Milo said, “Anything else?”
Synchronized head shakes. When they rose, her arm looped around his waist and his rested atop her shoulders.
Milo held the door open and they exited, walking in step.
For all their differences and the horror that had marked the onset of their life together, they’d achieved the kind of mutual ease you see in long-term couples.
Out in the hallway, Garrett stopped and bit his lip. “I really am worried about Amanda. The way she’s cutting herself off. And if this Polish guy is…”
Milo said, “Is what?”
“A bad influence. Trying to dominate her. I mean that could get bad. Right? Could you talk to her?”
Milo said, “We’ll find her and have a chat.”
“Thanks so much, sir. Thanks a million.”
“Thanks even a google,” said Brearely. “That’s like a gazillion. I thought it was just a search engine.” Nudging her new husband. “He taught me that.”
CHAPTER
41
Back in Milo’s office, he said, “Who’d you call in there?”
“I texted Maxine. No answer, yet.”
“About what?”
“Amanda met The Brain at the U. Maybe so did Cassy Booker. The mentors of the DIY program weren’t regular faculty. That could fit if we’re talking about a psychopath.”
“Why?”
“They’re pretentious.”
“He’s claiming to be a prof but isn’t?”
“Unlikely, that would be too easy to disprove. I’m thinking he’s an also-ran who took a temp job and puffed up his credentials with impressionable students, maybe snowed them with verbiage—the world of ideas et cetera.”
“Amanda and Cassy and Susie.”
“She’d be especially vulnerable.”
“But maybe not a total fake-out?” he said. “The endowed fellowship in Poland.”
“Maybe it happened or maybe he was just a tourist in Warsaw who happened to come across Skiwski.”
“Total bullshit artist.”
“I’m not saying high-level psychopaths can’t rise to the top. Look at politics. But this guy aims lower, picking off easy prey. Susie’s learning problems made her feel stupid for most of her life. She found common ground with Peter Kramer and probably others like him. Then along comes The Brain. Maybe he watched her on stage and decided to snag her. However it happened, he made her feel bright and soon it’s bye-bye Peter and she’s bringing textbooks to clubs. In Amanda’s case, the vulnerability came from being socially awkward and confronted with a new environment. Don’t know enough about Cassy but that newspaper photo made her look timid and unsure.”
“So not a professor,” he said. “But if you call him one, he neither confirms nor denies.”
“I could be wrong and he went all the way and got his Ph.D. More likely, if he began graduate studies, he didn’t finish. He lacks the grit and thinks he knows everything anyway. Most important, if he lives in that tower, he’s got money and can play armchair intellectual.”
“Living on the Corridor,” he said. “Psychopaths can also go far in business.”
“That they can,” I said. “But if he has time to take a gig at the U., he’s not working full-time.”
“Trust-fund baby.”
“Some sort of passive wealth.”
My phone pinged.
Maxine texting back: In San Francisco for a conference. Believe it or not, that may work to your benefit.
I typed: Now I’m intrigued. A hint?
The beauty of serendipity—oops—have to give a boring speech. Get back to you asap.
I showed Milo the texts.
He said, “Serendipity. Something came up by accident?” His fingers drummed his desktop. “Okay, now that we know Amanda’s involved, I’m going looking for her. Starting with my own vulnerable prey. Pena, he’s a total beta, right?”
* * *
—
We drove to Strathmore, parked near the cemetery, hurried to the complex. Milo stormed up to Building B, kept his finger on the bell.
A male voice said, “Stop pranking or I’ll call the cops.”
“This is the cops. It’s Lieutenant Sturgis, Bob. Open up.”
“Bob?”
Now it was obvious: deeper voice.
Milo said, “Open the door now. Please.”
“This isn’t a prank?”
“Come out and see for yourself.”
Moments later a tall, athletically built black man wearing a brown polo shirt and khakis strode across the lobby. Younger than Pena—thirty-five or so.
Peering at Milo’s badge through the glass, he opened the door.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was told to expect pranks.”
“By who?” said Milo.
“The management company.”
“Academo.”
“That’s the owner. Management’s through a subsidiary, High-Level Incorporated.” A hand shot out. “Darius Cutter. How can I help you?”
“You’re the new manager?”
“Since yesterday,” said Cutter. “Still getting oriented.”
“What happened to Bob Pena?”
“If he’s the guy before me, what I was told was he quit. Today’s my first full shift, haven’t gone through any paperwork.”
I said, “Mr. Pena made a sudden decision.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Darius Cutter. “Three days ago I was working at the facility in Sacramento. Human resources emails me to call, they incentivize me to come down here A-sap. So here I am.”