Death Before Facebook (Skip Langdon #4) (Skip Langdon Mystery) (The Skip Langdon Series)

by Julie Smith

  She’d walked down her share of mean streets, but not nearly so often as she walked and talked and sat in mean rooms. She saw them every day, in every case, and usually they looked and felt like any other rooms. She was quite sure those on the mean streets came out of them.

  Kit said, “I’m not as much in love with the TOWN as all these folks.”

  “Oh, Kit, you spend two hours a day on it.”

  “Two hours a week’s more like it. And that’s just because I don’t have time to have real relationships. That’s what I think’s wrong with it. It’s a pacifier. You think you’re in a relationship, but you’re not.”

  Neetsie rolled her eyes. “Can we ever forget the cybercad?”

  Skip was interested. “Cybercad?”

  “Well, you know how people have romances online? I mean they start E-mailing people and then one thing and another?”

  “I told her all about it.” Pearce was trying to sound bored, but Skip sensed he was slightly uncomfortable.

  “But not about the cybercad.”

  “What happened was, someone in the women’s conference was crying publicly about her lost love. She mentioned a few sweet nothings he’d whispered before he disappeared and someone else said, ‘Hold it. This has a familiar ring.’ So they compared notes and what do you know, they’d been through the same thing with the same guy.

  “It seems he had a little system—he’d flatter and carry on, and tell a few of his deepest secrets just to let them know how intimate it all was, and encourage them to tell secrets. They would and then he’d know all their vulnerable spots. Funny thing—when it was all over, it turned out there were six of them and every single one of them overweight. A lot of it was specific flattery about their particular body types. Who knows? Maybe he just liked big women, but they didn’t think so. They thought he’d sought them out because of their lack of self- esteem.

  “Anyway, he’d call them first thing in the morning (which he could do because they lived all over the country), and have phone sex with them.”

  “Phone sex?”

  “Uh-huh. They said it was some of the best they ever had, meaning, I guess, that he wasn’t the first guy they’d done it with. Then he’d say he’d love to see them F2F, but he just couldn’t afford a plane ticket and would they help him out? By this time, they’d be deeply obsessive, and they’d split the cost of the plane ticket. Then he’d come and treat them to great sex—they all agreed about this part, though certain other women later said he was lousy—then dump them. And along the way he’d declare his love and insist on exclusivity. But all the while he’d have a bunch of them on the string.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Lenore, “he swore them all to secrecy too.”

  “What a creep.”

  Layne nodded. “So we had an old-fashioned village stoning.”

  By now they were all eating some fries they’d ordered to amuse themselves till dinner arrived. Pearce picked one up and waved it like a wand. “Some people called it a lynch mob.”

  Kit said, “Bullshit!”

  “Of course none of them were women.”

  “But how did it work?” asked Skip.

  “They started a topic about it in the women’s conference and we decided it warranted a public warning. So we issued it. And all hell broke loose.” Kit rolled her eyes.

  Pearce nodded. “I can’t think why I forgot to tell you about it. A true exercise in virtual community. Okay, here’s how it went: A public warning is issued. Then TOWNspeople come to the women’s aid, to give support and say what heroes they are for coming forth; next thing you know someone says, ‘Wait a minute, we’ve only heard one side of the story.’

  “But the perp’s away for the weekend, so his side doesn’t get heard for a while. Meanwhile, he gets called names. ‘Perp’ for one. And ‘sociopath’ was bandied around quite a bit. About now, people are starting to pat themselves on the back. They’re saying things like ‘We’re important pioneers out here in cyberspace and the fabric of our virtual community was nearly rent. However, we handled it! And a good thing, because things like this are a threat to trailblazers and virtual towns the world over.’

  “Meanwhile another faction is saying, ‘Hold it! This is a virtual lynch mob and I want no part of it.’ ”

  “While participating loudly and acrimoniously,” said Neetsie.

  “The funny thing was,” Pearce continued, “it ended up being just like life. People who’d had their own problems on the TOWN and didn’t like the fallout took the guy’s side, most women took the women’s side, and so did most of the hard-core VC types.”

  “What’s VC?”

  “’Virtual community.’ See, this isn’t just a way of wasting time, it’s a whole philosophy. A lot of people are really large on the concept as some kind of futurist ideal.”

  Kit said, “Excuse me while I barf.”

  “Could you do that later?” said Layne. The food was arriving.

  “Look, the TOWN has done a lot of good things for me. When I first went on it I had a medical problem I needed help with—I’m a nurse and couldn’t get it from my own community; strangers helped me. And since then I’ve met some great people—right, guys?”

  The three women glowed at her, but Pearce seemed to be trying to force a smile. Only Layne, if Skip read him right, was indifferent.

  “And I enjoy it. It’s like playing solitaire and eating bon-bons—you know you could be improving your mind, but screwing around’s more fun. But look—” She threw both hands out in front of her, a lot of energy behind the gesture. “Geoff’s dead because of it. Okay?”

  “Kit, I really don’t think the TOWN killed him.” Pearce’s voice was cold and dry.

  And condescending, Skip thought.

  “Well, somebody on the TOWN did. And it could be argued that in a way the system did. He thought he was among friends, he posted things he shouldn’t have made public, and somebody he couldn’t see was out there.”

  “How exactly is that the fault of the system?”

  “I don’t mean the TOWN, or even the idea of bulletin boards. If people want other people to know something, let them post it. What I mean is the whole virtual community idea—the idea that this thing is any different from what you’d get if you wrote a letter. Do you really think Geoff would have written letters to ten thousand strangers about his father being killed? Nobody would. They’d have better sense. When they really thought about it, they’d realize it was nobody’s business, and had no real point anyway. I mean, think about it—think about ninety percent of the stuff on the TOWN. Why does anyone need to know? What do I care what someone in Idaho thought of a movie, for instance?”

  Layne cleared his throat. “Well, I think the TOWN does a service—”

  “Service! A lot of services. But I’m just not sure this promiscuous posting of opinions is one of them. And frankly, CompuServe and America Online probably offer a lot more in terms of things you can really learn or access.”

  She sat back in her chair, apparently a bit flustered about becoming so heated.

  Suby grinned. “Good use of ‘promiscuous.’ ”

  Layne looked thoughtful. “In a way, you have a point. Kit, I mean, not Suby. In fact, Suby’s point made me think of mine—which is that you don’t see all that many carefully composed epistles on the TOWN, not all that many good uses of words.”

  Pearce snorted. “That’s because nobody under thirty knows any.”

  Whereupon Neetsie, seated next to him, slugged him, not altogether playfully, and Suby threw a hunk of bread at him.

  There was quiet for a moment and Neetsie said, “I wanted to thank everyone for coming to the service.”

  “I’m so sorry about your brother,” said Skip.

  “Thank you,” said Neetsie, and her eyes filled. “I just wanted to say that.”

  “Sorry about my dad,” said Suby, and looked down, red spots popping out on her cheeks.

  I shouldn’t have come, Skip thought. I forgot there�
�d be relatives here.

  “You know, I think I really should go,” she said.

  Neetsie stopped her. “No, stay. Pearce would have uninvited you if we hadn’t wanted you.”

  I should have known. He E-mailed them right after I left.

  That meant even Kit had agreed; and Lenore, though she’d pretended not to know Skip was invited.

  “Okay, I give up. Why did you want me to come?” she asked.

  “We thought the more stuff you knew about the TOWN, the better your chances.” Her eyes got wet again. “Do you know what it means to lose a brother?”

  In my case, it might be a pleasure.

  Sensitivity prevented her from speaking aloud. Instead, she said, “Can you talk about him?”

  Neetsie nodded.

  “Are you sure? This might be hard.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What did you really love about him?” Skip asked the question not to torture his sister, but once again seeking the man behind the nerd.

  The girl’s face turned into a sunflower. “When I was seven years old, he woke me up in the middle of the night to watch Toots have her puppies. I didn’t even know she was pregnant—I never even heard the word or anything. Can you imagine what that was like when you’re seven, watching little bitty dogs come out of a big one? ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ he said. ‘You could do that someday, but I can’t.’ Then he said, ‘It’s life. That’s really life,’ and he just kept staring at her, birthin’ those babies, and finally, when it was all over, he said, ‘Go back to bed before Mom catches us. I told her I wouldn’t wake you up.’

  “But he did, anyway. He really wanted me to see that.”

  “That’s beautiful, Neetsie. And, honestly, it helps. It gives me a better picture of Geoff than anything anyone else has said.”

  To herself she thought: The murderer knew about that side if him. That’s how he knew Geoff would try to rescue the cat.

  Pearce looked slightly annoyed, probably thinking she’d failed to appreciate his speech at the church.

  “Neetsie and Kit, mind if I ask you something? Does Cole know you’re friends? I’m just curious.”

  “Well, I guess he’s catching on,” Kit said. “He said something about it in church today.”

  “You two don’t get along, I gather.”

  “Oh, no, we just don’t interact—on the TOWN, I mean, and other than that, we’ve barely seen each other in nearly thirty years—until today, that is. A lot of people don’t even know we used to be married.”

  Neetsie laughed. “Yeah, imagine my surprise. We got to be friends before I knew. Dad always referred to his ex-wife as Kathryne with an ‘e’ on the end, and this was Kit, not that, and Brazil, not Terry.”

  Skip turned to Kit. “What about Geoff? You were friends with him as well?”

  “I didn’t know him nearly as well as Neetsie,” she said, and she looked at her plate, unwilling to meet Skip’s eyes. Skip was pretty sure what that meant: She was hiding something.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “LANGDON.”

  It was the 911 operator. “I’ve got a call about a burglary. I’ve got a car on the way, but the lady wants to talk to you.”

  Before Skip could answer, she switched the call.

  “Oh, God! I was afraid you wouldn’t be there.” It was a female voice, close to hysterical.

  “Who is this?”

  “Lenore Marquer.”

  “Are you all right? What’s going on?”

  “They hit my house.”

  “What?”

  “I’m so worried. I’m so afraid for my little girl.”

  “Lenore, what’s happened?”

  “Somebody ransacked my house; while I was at the grocery store.” Skip looked at her watch: Eleven-ten.

  “Okay, try to be calm just a few minutes more. Could the burglar still be there?”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Could he?”

  She started to cry. “I don’t know.”

  “Take your little girl and go outside, far from the house—go across the street or down to the comer, and wait for me.”

  Lenore lived Uptown near the river, in the quiet, old-fashioned area near Audubon Park. It was a funny old neighborhood, run-down in one part of a block, spiffy in another. Some of the streets didn’t have sidewalks.

  Lenore’s house was one of the beat-up ones, a shotgun covered with asbestos shingles, the tiny yard overgrown with weeds and planted only with a huge palm.

  Mother and child were across the street, as ordered, both crying, both looking in need of a mom. The marked car pulled up at the same time Skip did.

  She and the other officer entered the house, guns drawn, threw open the closets, went through the whole place quickly. It was empty.

  And one of the most prodigious messes Skip had ever seen.

  When she came back out, Lenore practically hung on her skirts. “I’m so glad I got you. Jesus, I’m scared. Caitlin, this is Officer Langdon. Say hello to Officer Langdon.”

  The little girl hid her face.

  “She’s tired. I don’t know if I can face this. Do you need to look at anything?”

  “The other officer does. And then you do. To see if anything’s missing.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “You have to do it sometime. It’s probably better while I’m here.”

  “You’ll wait?”

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you anyway.”

  “We could go around back. Would that be okay?”

  “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

  The district officer was a young woman, barely in her twenties. She was average height and slight, but otherwise reminded Skip of herself a couple of years ago—not long ago at all. She was very new and very eager.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Susie Rountree.”

  “Skip Langdon, Homicide. Listen, I’m going to need a very thorough investigation here, and I’ll need prints. Call the crime lab and get them out here.” Seeing Rountree’s puzzled expression, she said, “This could be just a burglary—or it could be related to a homicide.”

  Rountree perked up.

  “Do as thorough a report as you can, okay?”

  Rountree looked as if she’d died and gone to heaven.

  It was all Skip could do not to wince. Was she ever that green?

  Rejoining Lenore, Skip was surprised to find her seated near a small oval swimming pool.

  Skip said, “I didn’t expect that.”

  “It was the original reason I rented the house—otherwise it’s pretty run-down. But then Caitlin came along and it got to be a big safety hazard. Now I have to keep it filled up even in the winter—” It did have water in it, and lots of grunge. “I mean, if she falls in water, at least she’s got a chance, right? She’s already had swimming lessons, and in the summer we do have fun.” Her eyes moved to the little girl and she slipped into baby talk. “Isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Petunia?” She picked the baby up. “Caitlin’s really tired. I’ll hold her and maybe she’ll go to sleep.”

  There were a few plastic chairs on an old patio near the pool, some nice palm trees, and a banana or two. Someone had once cared about the yard.

  “Good thing there’s sun today.” Lenore pulled Caitlin onto her lap, and Skip noticed for the first time that it was a very lovely day indeed. A day that might have been manufactured in September and saved for a couple of months, till it had reached full golden mellowness.

  She sat in one of the chairs. “Tell me about you and Geoff. How did you meet?’

  “Oh, we’ve known each other forever—since we were kids. But we met again on the TOWN. It’s wild—just about everybody who’s on it here got on it through somebody else—I mean they all knew each other and that’s how they got on. But I started taking computer classes at UNO and got interested that way. When I saw Geoff was on it, I started flirting with him.”

  “You started it?’

  “Well, I don’t r
eally remember, but anyway—”

  “What?”

  “I’d almost forgotten it started that way. I think people thought I was his girlfriend—his family and everything.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Not really. I was kind of lonely at first, so—well, maybe a little then. But neither of us was really interested. What we wanted was a best friend.”

  “I thought Layne was Geoff’s best friend.”

  “Is that what he says?”

  “It’s not true?’

  She looked vaguely around the garden. “I don’t know. I guess they were kind of close.”

  While her eyes wandered and her baby cuddled, Skip hit her with the thing she really wanted to know. “How’d you get Geoff’s autopsy report?”

  If she’d expected a big reaction, she had to be satisfied with a shrug. “I know someone in the coroner’s office.”

  “Who?”

  “Tom Renault.”

  “And how do you know him?”

  “Through a group I belong to.”

  “A group.” Skip let it sit there. Skulls, black hoods, coroner’s deputies—did these things go together?

  “Parents Without Partners,” said Lenore.

  “Come on, Lenore. Tom Renault’s gay.”

  “Well, he hasn’t always been. His ex-wife’s a hopeless alcoholic; and his lover died, poor man.” Skip didn’t ask for details. She could check it easily enough.

  “Tell me something else—did Geoff tell you any secrets?”

  “What kind of secrets?”

  “Anything to do with what he remembered. Anything at all you think might be important.”

  Lenore shut her eyes, thinking. But she came back shaking her head. “I can’t remember anything.” Her eyes wandered again and when they returned to Skip, they were watery. “When we were kids, we just played together—it wasn’t a big deal. But his grandmother was my music teacher. I only took from her a year, but I’ll never forget it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she was just about the only adult who ever was nice to me. It was so awful to see her yesterday. She’s lost it, did you see?”