“She didn’t like too many people. She was critical. Most artists are.”
“If you feel up to it, it would be helpful to hear about Myra from you.”
The grieving mother sighed. “I appreciate your interest in my daughter, but can I ask you why it’s a police matter? It’s Gregory Hesse, right?”
Marge said, “Yes, it’s true that we want to make sure that there’s no overlooked connection between the two of them. Is this something you thought of, Mrs. Gelb? That the two incidents might be related?”
“Call me Udonis. And it crossed my mind. It crossed Wendy Hesse’s mind, too. She called me up. We spoke for about an hour. Mostly, we commiserated about belonging to the club that nobody wants to belong to.”
Her eyes blurred, and it took her a minute to find her voice again.
“As far as we could figure out, the kids didn’t know each other. Besides, Myra, God bless her soul, was having depression problems for some time.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I was stunned it happened, but upon reflection, I should have been more aware. Once they’ve tried it, I don’t think you’re ever quite safe.”
“There have been other attempts?” Marge asked the question even though she knew the answer from Eric.
“Yes. About three years ago, she took pills. I put her into therapy and I thought we were long past that.” Her eyes were brimming over with water. “I should have been more aware.”
Oliver said, “Did she seem particularly depressed before this happened.”
“Not more depressed, not less depressed. Just Myra—quiet, studious, thoughtful.”
“She cartooned for the paper.” Oliver checked his notes. “The B and W Tattler. Do you know if she was writing for the paper as well?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Myra is a good writer.”
“Did she ever take any journalism classes?” Marge asked her.
“She took one in the ninth grade. That’s when she began to cartoon. She liked the teacher, Mr. Hinton.”
“Gregory Hesse also liked Mr. Hinton,” Marge mentioned.
Udonis said, “They wouldn’t have taken the class together. She was a year older. Did Gregory work on the paper?”
“I don’t know exactly how active he was, but he did write at least one article.”
Udonis sipped coffee and made a face. “This is terrible! I can’t believe I served you this swill.” Angrily, she took the cups away and marched off to the kitchen. She came back a moment later. “Do you think this has something to do with the school paper?”
“We don’t know,” Oliver said.
Marge said, “Gregory’s friends told us that he was working on something. Unfortunately, we don’t know what it was. Wendy Hesse thought his laptop could give us some clues, but that was stolen last Sunday night.”
“Stolen?”
“Somebody broke into the apartment and took it,” Marge said.
“It was the only thing the thief took,” Oliver said.
“Which is why we thought about Myra’s laptop,” Marge answered. “You don’t know where it is, right?”
Udonis nodded.
“When we were in the room, we noticed Myra’s phone and her iPod. Do you know if those items are still in her room?”
“They’re not,” Udonis said. “They’re in the kitchen drawer. Eric put them away for safekeeping.”
“Eric is very wise,” Marge said.
“That is true.” Wordlessly, Udonis got up and retrieved the items, giving them to Marge. “If these will help you, take them. But please give them back.”
“Thank you.” Marge slipped them inside a paper bag located in her oversized purse. “Do I have your permission to go through your daughter’s calls and texts?”
“Yes. You think that the theft of Gregory Hesse’s laptop is related to my daughter’s missing laptop, don’t you?”
“We don’t know,” Marge said. “The phone might help.”
“Udonis, do you have any idea how Myra got hold of a stolen gun?”
“No, Sergeant, I don’t know.” The woman sighed. “Knowing how Myra was, we’d never keep a gun in the house. Where would she get any kind of a gun—stolen or not?”
“Does the name Dylan Lashay sound familiar?” Oliver asked.
“No . . .” She shook her head. “Who is he?”
“What about Jarrod Lovelace, Stance O’Brien, Kyle Kerkin, JJ Little, or Nate Asaroff?”
“I don’t recognize any of those names. Who are these people?”
“Some kids at B and W,” Oliver said.
Marge quickly changed the subject before she asked too many questions about the B and W Mafia. She said, “We’ll ask around. Maybe someone in Narcotics has a lead. Guns usually go hand in hand with drugs.”
Oliver stood. “We’d like to take a look at her room now, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind.” The woman got up. “I’m going to put on a fresh pot of coffee for myself. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I think we’re okay for now.” Oliver put his hand on her shoulder. “But if you don’t mind, after we’re done, I’ll take a cup.”
Udonis nodded. She started to tear up and then abruptly let go with a gut-wrenching cry. She grabbed Oliver’s hand and held it, squeezing it until the tips of the detective’s fingers were bright red. Her lifeline to sanity—if such a word even existed for her anymore.
Chapter Twenty-three
Myra’s mobile phone routinely held the most fifty recent calls—received, dialed, and missed. It also had saved forty texts. For the most part, the texts and calls could be assigned to six people: Udonis Gelb, Eric Gelb, Heddy Kramer, Ramona Stephen, Debra Locks, and Madison Blakely. All those people were in her contact list. There were six numbers that Marge had to dial to find out the source: two were from the prerecorded service Movie Phone, two were connected to Saul Hinton’s voice mail, one was Macy’s Department Store, and the last unknown number had been disconnected. That call had been placed well over two months ago.
The texts were more interesting because Marge could read them and they provided a good timeline of Myra’s last couple of days. One specifically of interest was from Heddy Kramer, dated two days before Myra put a gun to her head.
u need 2 b more discreet, people r talking.
Myra had also texted Saul Hinton to tell him that her cartoons were ready for the latest monthly edition of the B and W Tattler: that was four days before the incident. The rest of the texts dealt with Myra and her friends talking about school, about tests, about coffee dates, about stuff that seemed like kid talk.
Marge picked up the phone. Her first call was to Udonis Gelb. She answered on the third ring. “Hi, Udonis, it’s Sergeant Marge Dunn.”
“Hello, Sergeant. What’s going on?”
“I’m looking over Myra’s calls. I was wondering if you could help me out on a number. It’s currently disconnected but maybe you would recognize it.” She read off the digits.
Udonis said, “I don’t know the number.”
“It’s okay. I can find it out. Also, do you know Myra’s code to get into her voice mail?”
“Last four digits of my cell phone number.”
Marge thought she misheard. “Her cell phone number?”
“No, my cell number.” Udonis gave her the digits.
“Thank you,” Marge answered. “Do you mind if I listen to her voice mail?”
“Fine with me.”
“Thank you very much. I’ll let you know if I do find something. You take care of yourself.” After Udonis Gelb disconnected the line, Marge looked up Wendy Hesse’s mobile in her little black book. The call went directly to voice mail. “Hi, Wendy. Sergeant Marge Dunn here. I was wondering what Gregory’s cell-phone number was. If you could call me back, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.”
Then she called Myra Gelb’s voice mail and entered the code. With pencil poised to paper, she waited. Instead, she heard the same formal lady say: you have no new messages and no saved messages.
For further options press 1.
Marge hung up, placed the phone on her desk, and folded her arms across her chest.
How likely would it be that a sixteen-year-old girl with tons of texts had no voice messages in her mailbox . . . not even one saved message?
Had Myra erased her messages as her final act of checking out or had someone else erased them for her? And how likely would it be that someone would crack the code of her mother’s digits—unless she gave them the number under duress.
u need 2 b more discreet, people r talking.
Duress was always a frightening possibility.
The girl’s hair preceded her. Long thick locks of red waves fell past Heddy Kramer’s shoulders and back, swallowing up her tiny frame like a matador’s cape. She had small features, brown eyes, and a pointy chin. Her mother, Georgette, was a little taller and had short red hair. Marge met them in the lobby and settled them in one of the interview rooms. She poured them each a glass of water. “I can get you coffee or a soda if you prefer.”
“Water’s fine.” Heddy’s voice tinkled.
“I would love a cup of coffee,” Georgette said.
“Then I’ll be right back.” Marge left and signaled to Oliver. “They’re in room 3. The mother wants a cup of coffee. Can I get you one, Scotty?”
“Did I tell you I loved you this morning?”
“Are you coming in with me?”
“I’m jammed. Deck wants to be there. Knock on his door. You can fill me in later.”
A minute later, Decker and Marge returned with the coffees. Marge said, “This is Mrs. Kramer—”
“Georgette,” the mother said.
“This is Georgette and her daughter, Heddy,” Marge said. “Lieutenant Decker specifically asked to sit in. Thanks so much for making the time to come down.”
Decker sat down. “This has to be a difficult time for you, Heddy.” The girl’s eyes watered. “You were good friends with Myra?”
“Yes.”
Georgette added, “They’ve known each other since fourth grade.”
“Mom, I can answer for myself,” Heddy said.
“I’m just saying . . .” Georgette said back and decided to sip her coffee.
“Since fourth grade is a long time.” Decker pulled out his notepad. “I understand that Myra was suffering from depression.”
Heddy nodded. “Especially since her dad died. She was real close to her dad.”
“That was about three years ago?”
“About.”
Marge said, “I’ve heard that you’re the editor of the paper.”
“Junior editor. You have to be a senior to be editor in chief.”
“She’s already been offered that position for next year,” Georgette said.
“Mo . . . om.”
Decker smiled to himself, how kids managed to make Mom or Dad into a two-syllable word. “I think the point Sergeant Dunn was making is that you’re pretty involved with the school paper.”
Heddy nodded. “Since I was a freshman. I took journalism in ninth grade and was hooked. The teacher, Mr. Hinton, made the class exciting. He liked my writing. He encouraged me to try out for the paper.”
“He’s the adviser?”
Heddy nodded. “But he really has a soft touch when it comes to editing. Which is exactly what we need—help, but not someone who’s, like, bossy.”
“Who got Myra involved in the paper?” Marge asked.
“That would be me,” Heddy boasted. “She was a terrific cartoonist. Ever since I’ve known her she’s drawn, like, funny caricatures of teachers and everyone.” The girl’s smile was sad. “Her cartoons could really make you laugh.”
Marge said, “We noticed on Myra’s phone that she had Mr. Hinton’s cell-phone number. She called him, texted him as well.”
Heddy said, “I have his cell number, too. That’s not weird or anything.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that it was,” Marge said. “Her texts were about her cartoons. All I meant to say is that he seems like an accessible guy.”
“Oh, he is. He’s just terrific. Mr. Hinton has been voted Bell and Wakefield’s best teacher for like five years in a row.”
“We’ve been looking through some of Myra’s things, specifically her artwork. She did do a lot of caricatures.”
“It’s what she liked to do.”
Marge said, “She could be biting.”
“Myra could be funny sarcastic. It’s what I loved about her.” The eyes got wet again. “She had a great sense of humor and didn’t pull punches.”
Decker said, “How did the recipients of her humor feel about it? Specifically the drawings of some of her classmates sitting on the toilet.”
Heddy sighed and shook her head. “She only showed those cartoons to the people close to her.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I miss her so much.”
Georgette was misty eyed as well. “It was a terrible shock and a terrible loss.”
Decker said, “Did she seem unusually upset before it happened?”
Heddy’s eyes teared. “She seemed . . . maybe a little down after Gregory Hesse committed suicide. You know about that, right?”
“Of course.”
She averted her eyes from Decker’s face for just a millisecond. “I hope she didn’t get any weird ideas from him. She told me she could understand being that depressed.” She bit her lip. “I asked her over and over and over . . . was she okay. She kept saying she was . . . brushing it off.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I should have pushed harder.”
“We’ve been through this before.” Georgette’s eyes were moist. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself—”
“Of course I blame myself!” Heddy was sobbing now.
Marge put her arm around the girl. “There is no way you could have prevented this.”
“That’s not true!” she cried out. “I should have told her mother.”
Georgette said, “You told Mr. Hinton. It was up to him.”
“You told Mr. Hinton that Myra was depressed?” Marge said.
She nodded. “I should have told her mother. She had a right to know!”
Decker said, “Heddy, your mother is right. You brought it to the attention of a responsible adult.”
“It didn’t help!” She dried her tears.
“Sometimes nothing helps, honey, and that’s the sad truth.” But Marge’s mind was awhirl. Why hadn’t Hinton mentioned anything when she and Oliver had talked to him? Did he drop the ball somewhere and was feeling guilty? Could that have explained his hostility toward the police? “Could I ask you a few more questions?”
“Of course! Anything.”
“I was going through Myra’s voice mail. She didn’t have any messages—either pending or saved—before she died.”
“That’s weird. I called her, like, a few hours before and left a message.”
“And she never called back?”
“No.” Then Heddy asked, “What does that mean?”
“Maybe she erased all her messages before she died,” Decker said. “Or someone erased all her messages.”
“Like tampered with her phone?”
“I don’t know,” Marge said. “We just found it odd because her texts were not erased. You sent her a text saying she needed to be more careful—that people were starting to talk. What was that all about?”
“Be careful about what?” Georgette asked.
“It’s nothing, Mom.”
“Can you tell us about it?” Decker asked.
Heddy again averted her eyes. “Like I said, Myra could be sarcastic.”
Decker said, “She sure didn’t appear to like Dylan Lashay.”
Heddy said, “Why do you say . . . oh, the picture of him on the toilet. No, she didn’t like Dylan, which is okay because Dylan likes Dylan enough for the whole world.”
“You don’t like him, either?”
“He’s okay.” Heddy licked her lips. “It’s not like you think. Myra had a mad crush on him for years.
She and about a billion other girls. It was unrequited of course.”
“Dylan’s a popular guy?”
“BMOC. He treated her just terrible. He can be very cruel.”
“How?” Decker asked.
“He started calling her ‘heifer.’ And would moo whenever she walked by. Then all his friends started doing it. I yelled at him about it.”
“What’d he do?”
“He called me names.”
“Like?”
Heddy looked at her mom. Georgette said, “I wasn’t born yesterday, Heddy. Tell the lieutenant.”
“Okay, Mom. You asked for it. He called me a bitch and the c-word and told me the only thing I was good for was giving a beejay standing up.”
Georgette gasped. “Oh my God! How disgusting!”
“Then I told him he’s outta luck ’cause I didn’t liked gherkins.”
“Heddy!”
“It was nothing, Mom. The point is he laid off Myra for a while.” A pause. “She must have finally gotten angry at him. She started drawing those pictures and showing them around. That’s when I told her to be careful. That she was gonna get herself in trouble. Dylan’s not only popular with the kids, but adults like him, too. He can be very charming, and he’s real smart. But below the surface, he’s really creepy.”
“Like how?” Decker asked.
“Put it this way. I wouldn’t want to be in a room alone with him.”
“Got it.” After Marge thought a moment, she said, “Is it possible that Myra got so angry with Dylan that she gave up on him and got interested in someone else?”
Heddy shook her head. “If she found someone else, she woulda told me. We were BFFs. We shared everything.”
Marge said, “What if she found someone that she thought you wouldn’t approve of. Maybe someone younger than her. Lots of girls might be embarrassed about that.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Then Heddy made a face. “You’re thinking Gregory Hesse?”
“Did she even know Gregory Hesse?” Decker asked.
Heddy thought a long time. “We have once-a-week after-school meetings for the paper. Gregory was there a couple of times. So was Myra. But they didn’t talk to each other or anything. At least, I don’t think they did.”
Gun Games Page 19