Page 108 of Nightshade

“Okay, I’ll be back,” he said.

He released her and headed to the door.

37

THE ADDRESS ONDaniel Easterbrook’s driver’s license corresponded to a mansion on Orange Grove Boulevard. The gated driveway had a call box on a metal arm that brought it within easy reach of the window of the Bronco. Stilwell pushed the button twice before getting a response.

“Yes?”

It was a woman’s voice.

“L.A. County Sheriff’s Department, ma’am,” Stilwell said. “I need to speak to Daniel Easterbrook.”

“He no longer lives here,” the woman said.

Her tone indicated that she was tired of delivering the same message over and over.

“Can you tell me when he moved?” Stilwell asked.

“A month ago,” she said.

He paused.

“Is this Mrs. Easterbrook?” he asked.

“It is,” she said. “What’s this about?”

“Can you tell me where he’s living now, ma’am? I need to speak to him tonight, if possible.”

“Is something wrong?”

A tone of concern cracked through the previously hard and clipped voice.

“No, ma’am,” Stilwell said. “I just need to talk to him.”

There was no response. He pushed the talk button again.

“Mrs. Easterbrook?” he prompted.

“I’m looking it up,” she said. “I don’t have it memorized.”

Stilwell waited until she recited an address on Oxley in South Pasadena. He thanked her, backed the Bronco away from the gate, and headed south.

The new address belonged to a much smaller house that was not guarded by a gate and had the distinct look of a rental. No ornamental landscaping, no furniture on the porch. Stilwell parked on the street out front. There were lights on inside and this time he was able to approach the door and knock. A man in his late forties with a chiseled jaw and a full head of expensively cut brown hair opened the door. He was in workout clothes, with sweat stains under the arms of a gray T-shirt that saidLAKERSacross the chest in faded purple.

Stilwell was holding his badge up.

“Sheriff’s department,” he said. “Daniel Easterbrook?”

“Yes,” the man said. “My wife told me you were coming. This is about Leigh, isn’t it?”

There was a look of distress in his eyes. Hearing Leigh-Anne Moss referred to as just Leigh momentarily gave Stilwell pause.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Leigh-Anne Moss. I need to ask you some questions. Can I come in?”

“She’s the one they found in the harbor, isn’t she?” Easterbrook asked.

“I think it would be better if we talked inside.”

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