Obsession (39 page)

“With stuff Blaise brought him.”

“I guess.”

“Then what?”

“Blaise laughs, that crazy bird laugh he does, gives Lester’s cheek a little slap, Lester doesn’t wake up. Blaise slaps him harder, laughs again, says, ‘I fixed him a nuclear-hit, he’s so gone, I could do anything.’”

“Anything,” said Petra.

“I didn’t figure he meant
that
,” said Fisk.

“What did you think he meant?”

Fisk’s eyes drifted left again. “Actually, that’s not exactly what he said.”

Petra waited.

Fisk said, “It’s kind of gross.”

“I can handle it, Robert. What did Blaise say?”

“‘I could put my dick in his mouth, he wouldn’t know.’”

“Talking about his father like that?”

“I told you it’s gross. They’re not like father and son. More like…Blaise sells him dope, hates him. Blaise hates everyone. He’s insane.”

“That comment,” said Raul. “Is he gay?”

“Dunno.”

“You’ve been hanging with the guy for months.”

“I never saw him with a man,” said Fisk. “Or a woman. Mostly, he likes to look and…I don’t want to talk disgusting in front of you, Detective Connor.”

“Appreciate that, Robert, but anything you can tell us would help.”

“What he likes is to look at stuff and touch himself. Like the only person that turns him on is himself. He did it that night.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Yes,” said Fisk. “Laughing about Lester being out of it, he starts touching himself.”

“Lester’s still alive at this point.”

“But out of it.”

“Blaise is getting a charge out of masturbating in front of his father.”

“Insane,” said Fisk.

“Then what happened?”

“Then Blaise says go into the kitchen and get me a Coke. I got a can and came back. By that time, Blaise put a rope around Lester’s neck and strangled him.”

“How long were you gone?”

“Long enough.”

“Could you be a bit more specific, Robert?”

“Hmm,” said Fisk. “Maybe a few minutes.”

“You come back and Lester’s dead.”

“Yup.”

“You check if he was dead?”

“He looked dead.”

“You didn’t try to revive him.”

“Blaise said he was dead, he looked dead, I didn’t want to touch him. Blaise laughed about it, we went out through the back window.”

“How’d you feel, walking into that, Robert?”

“Bad,” said Fisk without inflection. “Surprised, I guess.” Rapid eye drift. “Blaise never told me he was going to do that.”

“Why did Blaise murder Lester Jordan?”

“Because he hated him,” said Fisk. “Blaise hates
everyone
.”

“What did you do with the soda can?”

“Gave it to Blaise.”

“What did he do with it?”

“Drank it.”

“Then what?”

“Pardon?” said Fisk.

“Did he take the Coke with him?”

“I…no, I don’t think so.”

“We didn’t find any Coke in the apartment,” said Petra, lying smoothly. Jordan’s kitchen had been a jumble of take-out boxes, bottles, and cans.

“Then maybe he took it, I don’t remember,” said Fisk.

Petra wrote in her pad. “You go with Blaise for moral support because he’s worried about some kind of trouble with Lester. Blaise waits until Lester shoots up, nods off, tells you to get him a drink, and by the time you get back, Lester’s dead.”

“Yes.”

Petra looked at Raul. He shrugged. Fisk said, “That’s what happened.”

Petra said, “The problem is, Robert, we’re talking multiple homicides and you’re the guy who left prints at the scene of one of them.”

“Multiple?”

“Moses Grant.”

Fisk’s jaws knotted. “That was…not me.” He slumped, straightened.

“Why did Moses die, Robert?”

“Oh, man,” said Fisk. “Can I please have some juice? Apple’s best, but I’ll take orange if you’ve got it, pulp’s okay.”

“What we’ve got in the machines here is soda and Snapple, Robert.”

“Forget it, then.”

“Robert,” said Petra, “you want kickapoo-coconut-pago-pago juice, we can probably score it. But if you want to nourish your soul, you need to be totally honest.”

Fisk considered that for a while. “I never killed anyone. Please write down that I’m being fully cooperative.”

Talking softly as his wrists rotated and his fingers clawed the tabletop.

“You’re talking, Robert, but I’m not sure you’re
communicating
.” To Raul: “What do you think, Detective Biro?”

“I think he tells a good story.”

“Make a nice movie,” said Petra.

“With an all-star cast,” said Raul.

Robert Fisk said, “I’m telling the truth.”

No argument or assent from the detectives.

“Okay,” said Fisk, flashing sharp teeth. “Get me apple-guava juice and I’ll tell you
everything
. A PowerBar, too.”

Leaving suspects alone sometimes gives up the best information. People who forget they’re being taped, or are too stupid to know it in the first place, talk to themselves, display anxiety they were able to mask during the interrogation. Sometimes detectives leave suspects’ cell phones in the room and monitor calls. The Motorola paid for by Mary Whitbread sat on the table.

During the half hour Robert Fisk was alone, he never touched it. Closed his eyes five minutes in, and went to sleep.

Raul Biro returned from the all-night market, glanced through the glass, and said, “Zen felon.”

Petra said, “You need a conscience for insomnia.”

She and Milo and I had been reviewing Fisk’s story. Unanimous conclusion: His strength and assaultive nature said he’d strangled Lester Jordan at Blaise De Paine’s behest, probably Moses Grant, as well. All the rest was the typical criminal dance-away.

Clumsy dance; he’d given away enough to be vulnerable on a dozen felony charges.

When Petra and Raul reentered the room, Fisk sat up, took the juice and the granola bar. Thanking both detectives by name and title, he drank, munched, folded the wrapper into a neat little square.

“That do the trick, Robert?” said Petra.

“Yes, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Robert. So why’d you strangle Lester Jordan?”

“I didn’t,
he
did.”

“Peterson Whitbread.”

“To me he was always Blaise.”

“What does his mother call him?”

Fisk smiled. “Mostly, ‘the little shit.’”

Raul Biro said, “Papa beats him and Mama doesn’t care.”

“He’s been giving her stress since day one,” said Fisk. “That’s how I met him, she wanted me to babysit him.”

Petra said, “Mary paid you to watch over Blaise?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Hundred here, hundred there.”

“Cash?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you and Mary meet?”

Fisk rolled his shoulders. “I was working out five times a week at The Steel Mill, Santa Monica and La Cienega. Guys there were always talking about how much money they were making doing adult-genre films. Directors like guys with cut bodies.”

Stroking his own forearm.

“Adult genre,” said Petra.

Fisk nodded. “I was between teaching jobs, some guy at the gym says they’re auditioning out in the Valley, I figured why not? Mary was there.”

“Mary was auditioning also?”

“No, running the audition. With some other guys.”

Petra checked her notes. “Was the company Righteous and Raw Productions?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of teaching jobs were you in between?”

“Yoga, aerobics, tae kwon do, kendo, Javanese spear, judo, you name it. My ultimate goal is to be a fight coordinator.”

Milo said, “Idiot’s still talking in the present tense.”

Petra said, “A fight coordinator like for the movies?”

“Fights don’t just happen,” said Fisk. “You’ve got to set them up.”

“Choreography.”

“Kind of.”

“So,” said Petra, “you auditioned for Mary. Get the job?”

Color seeped up Fisk’s neck, made its way to flat, static cheeks. “I changed my mind.”

“Adult genre wasn’t for you.”

“Not really.”

Petra said, “But you hooked up with Mary.”

Fisk said, “It started off as a training thing. I got her into advanced stretching, light weights, balance and posture. Cardio she already did on her treadmill. She’s in great shape for forty-seven.”

Mary Whitbread’s stats put her at fifty-three.

Petra said, “She is a very attractive woman, Robert. So the two of you developed a sexual relationship.”

“Not really,” said Fisk.

“Robert, we found you guys in bed.”

“There was sex but it wasn’t
primarily
sexual.”

“What was it?”

“Intimacy. Being friendly.”

“But that did include a sexual relationship.”

“Depends on what you mean by relationship.”

Milo muttered, “This guy should run for president.”

Raul Biro said, “We’re defining it as you fucked her.”

Long pause. “That happened. Occasionally.”

Biro leaned in. “Is there some reason you’re ashamed of that, dude?”

“No, she’s…no, I’m okay with it.”

“What?” pressed Biro.

Fisk didn’t answer.

“Something go wrong in that department?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Fisk. “She’s older, that’s all.”

“Hey,” said Petra, “age is arbitrary.”

“That’s what she said.”

“You and Mary became intimate and you came to see her tonight.”

“We didn’t see each other in a while, she said she was making a vegan dinner, tempeh and tofu. I got her into vegan, sometimes we went to Real Food Daily.”

Milo said, “Ah, the pitfalls of tragic love.”

Petra said, “Mary had you hang with Blaise so…”

“He wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“It wasn’t dope Mary was worried about, was it, Robert? She was concerned about some really bad stuff. She knew about other crimes Blaise had committed.”

Silence.

“Robert, we got you the juice and the PowerBar and we even bought some extra bottles, which are right outside if you get thirsty again. But you’ve got to hold up your end. Let’s not forget: Those were your prints on Lester Jordan’s windowsill. If Blaise tells another story, that makes it your word against his and we’ve got to follow the evidence. But if we knew Blaise had a history of violence, that would change things.”

“Let me ask you,” said Fisk. “Again, theoretically.”

“Sure.”

“Knowing about something isn’t a crime, right?”

“Not if you had nothing to do with the crime.”

“That fingerprint, Detective Connor, it could happen any kind of way. Maybe I walked by there another time and touched it. Maybe Blaise got one of my prints and stuck it there. Or someone made a mistake, that happens, right?”

Petra smiled. “Anything’s possible, Robert. But even flawed evidence is better than none.”

Fisk said, “I can tell you more important stuff than what happened to Lester. But all I
know
is what Blaise said. I was never there.”

“What kind of important stuff?”

“Mary knew, too. You’re right, that’s why she hired me.”

Milo said, “Intimacy goes the way of all bullshit.”

Petra said, “Anything you can say to help us—and yourself—would be appreciated, Robert.”

Fisk sucked in his breath. Stared at the empty wax cup he’d drained five times. “I’m thirsty again.”

Petra sat back, crossed her legs.

“Detective Connor, all I know is what Mary told me. She said Blaise killed some guys over dope, they tried to cheat him because he was young, fifteen, sixteen. They figured he’d be too scared to fight back, so he shot them.”

“Names?”

“She said one was Lester’s friend and Lester didn’t like that, woulda slapped Blaise around but he got scared Blaise would shoot him, too.”

“Bunch of anonymous dope guys,” said Raul.

“Don’t know any names. She said he also killed some
girls
,” said Fisk. “Two girls, used to live on top of them. Mary knew Blaise did it, probably with some guy he used to run with, but she couldn’t prove it.”

“Yet another anonymous guy,” said Petra.

“Some tweaker,” said Fisk. “Sold smack for Blaise and Blaise gave him speed.”

“Why’d Mary figure the two of them were involved?”

“The guy showed up in a van one night, late, packed stuff with Blaise.”

“Stuff,” said Petra.

“Garbage bags. Mary thought maybe bodies, she was scared,” said Fisk.

“But she never told anyone except you.”

“Scared,” Fisk repeated.

“Where’s this pal of Blaise’s?”

“Dead, O.D.’d. Right on their street, Mary figured he came by to score from Blaise, shot up and dropped.”

Raul said, “Another anonymous addict bites the dust.”

Fisk squirmed in his chair. “Don’t you want to hear about those
girls
?”

Petra said, “Sure, why not.”

“Actresses,” said Fisk. “Adult genre.”

“Why did Blaise kill them?”

“Because he’s insane.”

Petra scrawled in her pad. “No-name dope guys, no-name porn actresses, no-name tweaker. Quite a list.” She looked up. “Anything else?”

“That’s all I know—heard about.”

“How many years ago did these girls supposedly get killed?”

“Way before I met Mary. Ten, fifteen years, I don’t know.”

“Mary never told anyone.”

“She’s scared of him,” said Fisk. “He used to look at those girls and yank himself. She caught him, out in the garage. Instead of apologizing, he tells her she doesn’t stop bugging his privacy, he’ll hurt her.”

“He threatens his mommy—your intimate friend,” said Petra. “You hang with him anyway?”

“With me, he’s respectful.”

Milo said, “This guy’s
brain
-dead.”

Petra said, “Must’ve been fun hanging with someone like that.”

“No, ma’am, it wasn’t.”

“Blaise ever talk to you directly about any of these alleged murders?”

“Never,” said Fisk, too quickly. “He bragged about other stuff. Being a big-time music producer.”

Petra said, “Mary knew he’d murdered two girls a long time ago, waits years later to hire you to watch over him? Why would she do that unless she knew about other murders he’d done in the interim?”