The Hell You Say (18 page)
Dead silence.
Finally Guy said briefly, “Well, she’s an excellent student. I imagine she doesn’t cut class regardless of how little sleep she gets.”
“The fast track for success.”
“I appreciate that you prefer to believe that my classes are full of psychopaths and devil worshippers.”
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How had we got off onto this? How many times had I heard Jake state that it was crucial an investigator kept his own feelings and beliefs to himself when dealing with potential witnesses? Knowing this, I still said, “I think the subject matter may attract certain people for the wrong reasons.”
“I see,” he said dryly. “Knowledge should be reserved for the chosen few?”
“I didn’t say that, but you can’t be unaware that on occasion this stuff has influenced more than a few unbalanced kids.”
“Here’s the part where you bring up Joseph Fiorella and his mates.” Guy sounded bored.
“Why, were you their teacher?” I shot back.
Fourteen-year-old Joseph Fiorella and two of his friends had murdered -- and then had sex with -- a fifteen-year-old girl with whom Fiorella was obsessed. They had claimed they were inspired by the heavy metal band Slayer and that they had to make a virgin sacrifice to Satan in order to get their own band on the road to success.
After an affronted pause, Guy said in more normal tones, “As you’re no doubt aware, in the Fiorella case the blame is being placed on the band and their nihilistic message. Which is not to say that in other circumstances an instructor or a local church mightn’t as easily be made the scapegoat by a grieving family.”
“Look, for obvious reasons I don’t want to see the First Amendment undermined. This is a different issue.”
“Is it? Well, it should be no surprise to hear that the cops agree with you. I’ve had a couple of interviews with that son of a bitch who was investigating Zellig’s death --”
“His murder,” I interrupted.
“What?”
“Tony Zellig was murdered. He didn’t just die in a car accident or from natural causes.
Someone butchered him and buried him in a park.”
“Yes, someone that the cops believe I inspired and possibly influenced, whether deliberately or not.”
And the Zellig kid’s fate had been the same as Karen Holtzer’s -- and who knew how many others. But I didn’t say that. I felt my popularity index dropping fast as it was. Oddly enough, I regretted that.
“But regardless of what you or the police or the school administration think,” Guy continued in that chilly voice, “I believe that the examination of the occult is valuable for many reasons, including the fact that it encourages kids to challenge their dearly held knee-jerk assumptions about the world they live in. Knowledge is power.”
“Yeah, but does everyone need to know how to build an atom bomb?”
“Perhaps if everyone knew how, no one would make them any longer.”
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“Or maybe we’d blow ourselves into oblivion.” This was stupid. I was arguing with Guy the way you argue with potential -- scratch that. I reminded myself that I was not trying to get to know Guy; he was a source of information. He was a lead. It did not matter what he thought or I thought. I said, trying to mollify, “It’s not that I disagree with you, I just think there’s a certain responsibility that goes with sharing this information.”
“I agree -- which is why I’m taking you to see Oliver.” He added curtly, “I hope I don’t regret it.”
I hoped not too. I was very much afraid that Guy had at least one friend who did not deal well with betrayal -- whether real or imagined.
* * * * *
While Bob did not exactly look rested, he looked like he had paused long enough to bathe and ingest something solid. He was dressed, and other than a nervous tic beneath one eye, seemed pretty normal.
“How about a drink?” he suggested as I sat in the chair I’d occupied the last time.
“Not for me, thanks. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on tonight.”
“Right, me too.” He gave me an uncertain smile. “I have to apologize for Wednesday. I realize I said a lot of crazy things. I’m not used to drinking like that. It was the stress.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“When I remember what I said…” He laughed, a ghostly echo of a funhouse laugh. “It’s embarrassing.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Like you said, you were stressed about Gabe.”
“Yes,” he said eagerly. “I’m sure I alarmed you, too, with my…my wilder accusations, which is why I wanted you to know that it’s okay. Everything is okay. Gabe is fine.”
“He is?”
He nodded, smiling, the tic beneath his eye beating away. “I got a postcard from him this morning.”
“You’re kidding.”
Maybe that wasn’t the right response. His smile slipped. “No. Here, I’ll show you.” He rose, went to the desk and picked up a postcard, which he handed me.
I opened my mouth to mention the possibility of fingerprints, but it seemed pointless now. I took the postcard gingerly and studied it. Malibu Beach at sunset, sure enough. I glanced at the back. The postmark was Malibu, dated yesterday. I considered the The Hell You Say
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handwriting. I’d seen enough of Gabe Savant’s writing the night of the signing to recognize what superficially looked like his bold, erratic hand.
Sorry, Bobby. I need some me time. You’ll see me when you see me. G.
“Is this his handwriting?” I asked Bob.
“Of course!” There it was again, that high-pitched, slightly unsteady laugh. “Of course, it’s his. This is exactly like Gabe.” He got up, as though he couldn’t handle sitting still one minute longer and slopped himself a drink from the bottle on the table.
“Are you okay?”
He swung on me, nearly spilling his drink. “Of course, I’m okay! Everything is fine now. I wanted you to know so that you wouldn’t keep” -- he swallowed -- “worrying. I mean, it’s awkward, of course, to cancel the book tour now. But there was only the Pacific Northwest left anyway. I mean, they’ll get over it. The main thing is that Gabe is A-okay.”
“That’s great news,” I agreed courteously. “So you don’t actually know where he’s staying?”
“I don’t need to know.” He tossed his drink back. “So, I want to thank you for all your help.”
“I didn’t actually do anything.”
“Well, for your concern, then.” His smile was plastered back in place -- plastered being the key word.
“Will you be leaving soon?” I inquired.
“Leaving?”
“You don’t live here, do you? You’re not local?”
“I -- no, I live in New York. And yes, I will be leaving. Shortly. I have to wrap up a few loose ends, then I’ll be flying home. This weekend, in fact.”
I rose, offered a hand. “Good luck, Bob. I’m glad it all worked out.”
He stared at me, his expression calculating. “Thank you. And you’ll…”
He didn’t finish the thought. I said curiously, “I’ll…what?”
He shook his head, said brightly, “Take care of yourself!”
“I’ll do that,” I said.
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If Gabriel Savant was sitting on a beach in Malibu sipping mai tais and enjoying some me time, I was an NHL first-round draft pick. I wasn’t sure why Bob Friedlander felt like he had to convince me his meal ticket was safe and sound, but I wasn’t buying the postcards from the edge act.
What I didn’t understand was why Bob pretended to.
I was still turning this over in my mind when I stopped at Vons on the way home to pick up a few essentials, including a couple of steaks on the off-chance that Jake might drop by one evening. The tabloid headlines at the checkout counter reflected the public’s perennial fascination with space alien babies, miracle pets, and celebrity indiscretions. By next week, Angus and Wanda would be hitting the stands.
Unless Savant’s body had turned up by then.
If he wasn’t dead, I didn’t get Bob’s distress. Unless Savant was being held for ransom.
I’d seen enough crime films to know that kidnappers always wanted their targets to hide what was going on from the police, but I wasn’t the police. I wasn’t involved at all. Okay, maybe I’d shown a little curiosity, but it’s not like I was investing any time or effort in Bob’s problem. I had enough problems of my own.
Bob was still scared, I thought, going into the dry cleaner’s, but there had been another emotion in play that afternoon. What was it? Suspicion? Yeah, maybe. I tried to remember my first impression of Friedlander the night of the signing. Quiet and mild-mannered. But what else? I thought back. Friedlander had struck me as smart, aware, and apologetic. Clearly he was under no illusions where Savant was concerned. He was used to cleaning up Savant’s messes, used to apologizing for him. Maybe tired of it?
I picked up my dry cleaning and headed for the local carwash, running this over in my mind.
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He was frightened, he was wary, and he was…guilty?
* * * * *
“They said they needed to talk to you,” Velvet said defensively, in answer to my surprise. “Can I go?”
“Yeah, you can go,” I said, and go she did, banging out through the back.
The foremost guy, a tanned fifty-something with a gray buzz cut and a Batman tie, introduced himself as Luke Best, one of the legal investigators working for Angus’s defense team.
I set the grocery bags on the wooden counter. We shook hands. My mind was going a million miles a minute, but I tried not to let any of my alarm show on my face.
I didn’t catch his partner’s name, but he was a bit younger, lankier, with a superb haircut and no superhero fixation.
“We want to verify some facts about Angus’s employment,” Best said with a smile I didn’t trust. “This is a nice place you have here.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What did you want to ask?”
“Are we keeping you from putting your groceries away?”
“They’ll keep.” The personal items Jake left lying around wouldn’t fill a shoebox. But I didn’t want to take a chance. I didn’t want these two upstairs.
Best and his partner exchanged glances. Then Best proceeded to ask the basics: how long had Angus worked for me, how much did I pay him, what kind of employee was he, did we socialize, blah, blah, blah.
I was starting to relax when he said, still friendly and easy, “Angus says you paid him quite a bit of money to disappear.”
I blinked. “You can spin that a couple of ways,” I said. “The truth is, he was scared, and I thought it would be better for him to get away for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t afford to go on his own, so I gave him the money.”
“This is when the whole Devil-worship issue arose?”
“Angus had been getting threatening phone calls for a week or so. He’d mentioned having problems with former friends. He didn’t go into a lot of details, and I admit I didn’t pay close attention. I didn’t take it seriously at first, but he got more and more…rattled.”
Either Best had already heard this, or he wasn’t interested in back story. “A ‘Christmas bonus,’ you told him, although you had never given him a Christmas bonus before.”
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“He didn’t work for me last Christmas.”
“You never gave him any kind of bonus.”
I didn’t bother to answer that.
“Eight hundred dollars is a nice chunk of change. You’re that successful?”
I wasn’t unsuccessful, but I ordinarily wouldn’t have doled out that kind of cash. Not that I was the cheapskate Jake had on occasion suggested, but I didn’t throw money around.
I’d never given Angus any kind of raise after I’d made him a permanent employee, so I’d figured it evened out. He couldn’t have gone far on two hundred bucks, and I had wanted him out from underfoot. I had blithely thought I would drop a word in the right ear, and the whole mess would blow over. Well, I’d been wrong -- not for the first time.
How did I explain all that to Joe Friday?
He didn’t wait for me to explain, apparently believing he had scored with his last question.
“How well do you know the detective who discovered the body?”
“Jake Riordan,” his partner put in suddenly.
I thought, here it comes. Meanwhile, the entire damn neighborhood knows we’re sleeping together. I said noncommittally, “I know him.”
“You’re friends, right?”
“We’re friends,” I said.
“Good friends? You’re gay, right?”
I said steadily, “Jake disapproves of my lifestyle. But we’re friendly.”
Best gave a kind of chuckle. “In fact, you see each other a couple of times a week. You vacationed together last spring in the High Sierras, right?”
I felt the pulse beating hard in my throat and hoped it wasn’t visible. I had it on authority that when I got nervous, it showed. That’s the downside of being a normally honest person.
“Not exactly. I ran into trouble up there. Jake helped me out. I’m not following what this has to do with Angus.”
“Well, you never know what’s going to prove useful,” Best informed me, reminding me of what Gabe Savant had said shortly before he disappeared on his “stress break.” “Sometimes the least likely lead turns out to be the key to the entire case.”
“What made you call Riordan?” Vidal Sassoon chimed in. “Gordon asked you to pick up his mail, didn’t he?”
“Jake wanted --”
“Jake?” repeated Best.
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I slapped my forehead. “Damn, you caught me!” I gave him a disgusted look. “Didn’t I already confess to being friends?” It wasn’t a great idea to get shirty with these two, but I was starting to lose my temper despite my good intentions.