it’s great, Milo. Rewards for initiative and achievement, lots of freedom, the only bosses are the people who write the checks and they’re entitled to make demands.”
“Nice,” said Milo. “Long as you produce.”
“So far, so good,” said Fox.
Moe Reed returned. Edged his chair away from Fox’s and sat down.
Milo said, “Why’m I thinking you’re not here by accident, Aaron? Or for the food?”
“Definitely not the food,” said Fox. “Had a late breakfast. Hotel Bel-Air with a prospective client.”
“Apricot crêpes, that sauce they have?”
“Nice, but too messy for a first date, Milo. Just eggs — shirred with chives.”
Reed muttered, “Call the Food Network.”
Fox said, “You’re right, bro, no more small talk. Nothing small about my intentions, I’m here about Selena Bass.”
“What about her?” said Milo.
“Got a suspect for you and asking nothing in return.”
Reed snorted.
Milo said, “Who?”
“Guy named Travis Huck.”
Reed said, “We’ve already run him through, no history.”
Fox grinned. “No history under
that
name.”
“He’s got an alias?” said Milo.
“Been known to happen,” said Fox. “Aka Edward Travis Huckstadter.” Taking his time spelling the last name. “No one’s going to write that down?”
“What’s he running from, Aaron?”
“What else? His past.”
CHAPTER 11
Aaron Fox put down his tea and reached into an inner suit pocket. A wad of newspaper clippings dropped on the table in front of Milo. Great tailoring had hidden the bulge.
Milo said, “Why don’t you summarize for us civil servants?”
“Pleasure. Edward Travis Huckstadter grew up in Ferris Ravine, one of those scrubby ranch towns inland from San Diego. Daddy, unknown, Mommy, a crazy drunk. When young Eddie was fourteen he got into a shoving match with a classmate and the other kid died. Eddie got convicted of murder, spent some time in juvey lockup, then got shunted around the foster care system. That’s some
psych
ological history, Doc.”
“Fourteen,” said Moe Reed. “He’s thirty-seven. We’re talking clean record for twenty-three years—”
“No arrests doesn’t mean no bad behavior, Moses. The relevant point is he killed one human being and now he’s associated with a homicide victim. On top of that, his whereabouts since he turned eighteen are a big blank. No Social Security card or tax returns until three years ago when he started working for a megabucks fellow named Simon Vander under the alias. Obviously, he lied to get the gig because I don’t see Megabucks hiring some mope with a felony record. You guys met him. You’re telling me he didn’t set off any alarm bells?”
Milo said, “How do you know we met him?”
“I pick up things.”
“You meet Huck yourself, Aaron?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure yet, but I’ve been watching him for the last twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“After your case hit the news, someone hired me to do so.”
“Selena hasn’t been in the news.”
“Not on TV,” said Fox. “Or the
Times.
But the
Evening Outlook
ran a paragraph. Want me to get you a copy?”
“No, thanks. You pick up anything watching him?”
“So far all he’s done is shop for groceries, but he’s got a mopey walk and a weird crooked smile.”
Reed said, “You don’t like his looks. There’s evidence for you.” Huck had been his choice for Prime Suspect but something else was at work here.
Fox patted the newspaper clippings. “He killed someone at a tender age.”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
“You have anyone better?”
Reed didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought. I’m serving up a serious lead. What you do with it is your own business.”
Milo said, “Juvey records are sealed. How’d you find all this out?”
Fox smiled.
Reed said, “That’s
real
helpful.”
Fox’s gold-brown eyes flashed. Shooting a cuff, he glanced at a blue-faced Patek Philippe.
Milo said, “Sounds like you’re
“Nice,” said Milo. “Long as you produce.”
“So far, so good,” said Fox.
Moe Reed returned. Edged his chair away from Fox’s and sat down.
Milo said, “Why’m I thinking you’re not here by accident, Aaron? Or for the food?”
“Definitely not the food,” said Fox. “Had a late breakfast. Hotel Bel-Air with a prospective client.”
“Apricot crêpes, that sauce they have?”
“Nice, but too messy for a first date, Milo. Just eggs — shirred with chives.”
Reed muttered, “Call the Food Network.”
Fox said, “You’re right, bro, no more small talk. Nothing small about my intentions, I’m here about Selena Bass.”
“What about her?” said Milo.
“Got a suspect for you and asking nothing in return.”
Reed snorted.
Milo said, “Who?”
“Guy named Travis Huck.”
Reed said, “We’ve already run him through, no history.”
Fox grinned. “No history under
that
name.”
“He’s got an alias?” said Milo.
“Been known to happen,” said Fox. “Aka Edward Travis Huckstadter.” Taking his time spelling the last name. “No one’s going to write that down?”
“What’s he running from, Aaron?”
“What else? His past.”
CHAPTER 11
Aaron Fox put down his tea and reached into an inner suit pocket. A wad of newspaper clippings dropped on the table in front of Milo. Great tailoring had hidden the bulge.
Milo said, “Why don’t you summarize for us civil servants?”
“Pleasure. Edward Travis Huckstadter grew up in Ferris Ravine, one of those scrubby ranch towns inland from San Diego. Daddy, unknown, Mommy, a crazy drunk. When young Eddie was fourteen he got into a shoving match with a classmate and the other kid died. Eddie got convicted of murder, spent some time in juvey lockup, then got shunted around the foster care system. That’s some
psych
ological history, Doc.”
“Fourteen,” said Moe Reed. “He’s thirty-seven. We’re talking clean record for twenty-three years—”
“No arrests doesn’t mean no bad behavior, Moses. The relevant point is he killed one human being and now he’s associated with a homicide victim. On top of that, his whereabouts since he turned eighteen are a big blank. No Social Security card or tax returns until three years ago when he started working for a megabucks fellow named Simon Vander under the alias. Obviously, he lied to get the gig because I don’t see Megabucks hiring some mope with a felony record. You guys met him. You’re telling me he didn’t set off any alarm bells?”
Milo said, “How do you know we met him?”
“I pick up things.”
“You meet Huck yourself, Aaron?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure yet, but I’ve been watching him for the last twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“After your case hit the news, someone hired me to do so.”
“Selena hasn’t been in the news.”
“Not on TV,” said Fox. “Or the
Times.
But the
Evening Outlook
ran a paragraph. Want me to get you a copy?”
“No, thanks. You pick up anything watching him?”
“So far all he’s done is shop for groceries, but he’s got a mopey walk and a weird crooked smile.”
Reed said, “You don’t like his looks. There’s evidence for you.” Huck had been his choice for Prime Suspect but something else was at work here.
Fox patted the newspaper clippings. “He killed someone at a tender age.”
“Twenty-three years ago.”
“You have anyone better?”
Reed didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought. I’m serving up a serious lead. What you do with it is your own business.”
Milo said, “Juvey records are sealed. How’d you find all this out?”
Fox smiled.
Reed said, “That’s
real
helpful.”
Fox’s gold-brown eyes flashed. Shooting a cuff, he glanced at a blue-faced Patek Philippe.
Milo said, “Sounds like you’re
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