Gun Games

by Faye Kellerman

  Yasmine complied, the circle wobbly because her hands were shaking so forcefully. Marge brought out the second set. “What about this group of girls? Does anyone look familiar?”

  Yasmine gasped and pointed to Cameron Cole. “This one! She was horrible!”

  “I’m so sorry, honey. Can you circle your choice for me again?”

  Her voice rose in pitch. “She kept saying I was going to . . . to die.”

  Marge placed the pen in her hand, and the girl managed another circle around Cameron Cole’s face. At that moment, Decker and Sohala Nourmand came through the door. Instantly Yasmine leaped into her mother’s waiting arms, clutching her with such force that her hands turned red. Her sobs were deep and frightening. Sohala started crying as well. She said, “You are okay?”

  Yasmine nodded, her face buried in her mother’s bosom. “Mommy, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Marge said to Decker, “Positive ID for both. I’ll get Lee to pull warrants for the home and school. Right now, I’m off to the hospital. Do me a favor and let Oliver know what’s going on.”

  “You bet. Remember to tell the surgeon to save the bullet for forensics.” Decker looked at Wanda. “Do you need anything?”

  “Do you want me to conduct the interview here?”

  “Everything else is occupied.”

  “There’s no video camera.”

  Decker said, “I’ll get you a tape recorder.” He hurried out of the room.

  Yasmine sobbed. “I wanna go home!”

  Wanda said, “Sweetheart, we have to ask you some questions—”

  “Please, Mommy! I don’t want to talk anymore.” She was wailing. “I’m soooo sorry. I just wanna go home.”

  To Wanda’s surprise, Sohala broke off the hug. “Yasmine, you have to tell the police what happened.”

  “It was horrible—”

  “So tell them.”

  Decker returned with the tape recorder. He was glad to leave the hysteria to Wanda, who busied herself in setting up the equipment. Sohala tried to soothe the panicked teen. She took her daughter by the shoulders. “Yasmine, the boy got shot—”

  “Oh God!” she cried out. “My poor Gabriel got hurt, and it’s all my fault!”

  “Yasmine, I worry about you. Detective Decker thinks you are in danger.”

  Yasmine looked at her with wide, wet eyes.

  Sohala said, “I am going to send you to live with Auntie Sofi. You finish school at YULA.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Detective Decker thinks you are in danger. Don’t you hear me?”

  “But what . . . about Gabe?” Yasmine’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “That is not my business or your business, Yasmine. But . . . I will tell you anyway because I have a soft heart. Detective Decker sends him to his father in Nevada.”

  Wanda watched the teen’s face crumple. It was absolutely pathetic.

  Sohala wagged a finger in front of her daughter’s eyes. “You stop crying now and tell police what happened! Afterward, we talk . . . a lot!”

  The hot anger in her mother’s voice brought Yasmine back to reality. She dried her tears on her shirtsleeve. She said, “What do you want to know?”

  Sohala said, “I want to know everything!”

  Yasmine’s voice was tiny. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  Sohala’s burning fury melted into pity. “You okay?”

  The girl nodded.

  “No one touch you?”

  “No. I’m okay.”

  “That’s all that matter. Talk to the policewoman. Then we think together about what lies to tell your father so he won’t die.”

  “You’re going to tell Daddy?”

  “I have to tell him something. Why else would you live with Aunt Sofi? But not right away. You want him to have heart attack?”

  Her voice was high and thin. “No.” She looked down. “Thank you, Mommy.”

  “I do it for Daddy, I don’t do it for you!” A pause. “Well, maybe a little for you.” Sohala’s eyes went wet. “Talk to the lady now.”

  When Yasmine nodded, Wanda turned on the tape recorder.

  Watching Oliver chat with Kyle Kerkin over the video monitor, Decker saw that the teen was on the thin side with a developed chest and wiry arms. He had a big nose, thin lips, acne, and a face framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Decker didn’t see any defiance in his demeanor. His posture was upright, his hands folded on the table. His voice was on the soft side and nasal. He wore a plaid shirt jacket, currently draped over a chair, with a black T-shirt, Levis, and sneakers. He looked up when Decker came into the interview room. He crossed his arms over his chest and slouched in the chair, his right leg bouncing up and down.

  Decker sat next to the teen and introduced himself.

  “You’re Chris’s foster father, right?”

  Decker was confused. “Chris?”

  “Yeah . . . right. The guy today. He said his name was Chris. Then he said it was something else. I don’t remember what it was.”

  Decker didn’t clarify anything. “I understand you’d like to talk to me.” The kid’s leg continued up and down, up and down. “Detective Oliver will talk to you. I’m just here to listen.”

  “I’m not an idiot, you know,” Kyle said. “I know I’m taking a big risk here. I haven’t called my parents yet, although they’ll know pretty soon. And I know it’s stupid to talk to you without a lawyer. The thing is, I’m putting myself on the line. I need this one shot to make this go away.”

  No one spoke.

  Kyle said, “I mean, I know it’s not going to go away unless you make it go away.”

  Still no comment.

  His eyes on Decker. “Look, sir, I will do anything you want. I’ll answer any questions you want. I will tell you everything, and I mean everything, as long as you keep me out of this. I mean, I know I might have to be a witness or something because I was there. But I swear to God, I didn’t do anything. I mean, yes, I borrowed the gun from my father and gave it to Dylan, but I had nothing to do with this morning. Nothing whatsoever. When I showed up, it was already a fait accompli.”

  When the kid stopped talking, Decker turned to Oliver. “Have you read Mr. Kerkin his rights?”

  Oliver said, “I did. I have the signature card.”

  Decker said, “We’re open to hear anything you want to tell us.”

  “Like I told you, Kyle,” Oliver said, “this is your one chance to give us your side of the story.”

  “Look.” Kyle moved forward. “I watch The First 48. I know the drill. You want a confession. I’m not here to make a confession. I didn’t do anything. But, yes, I was there. That much I’ll say because there’s no sense denying the obvious. I know I’m in deep shit. What I’m telling you is I’ll do anything you want. I’ll say anything you want. I just want out.”

  Oliver said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning. What happened this morning?”

  “I gotta get some kind of guarantee first. I got into Wharton.” His eyes watered up. “I’m not going to let some fucking asshole ruin my life.”

  Too little, too late. Decker said, “Who’s the fucking asshole?”

  Kyle was gnashing his teeth, his jaw working overtime. “Dylan Lashay. He’s a real psychopath, and I don’t use the term lightly.” A pause. “I guess you’re wondering why I hang with him.”

  “I’m a little curious,” Oliver said.

  Kyle made a swipe at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “What a fucking mess! I was hoping it wouldn’t come out until I was out of the house.” His eyes wavered between Decker and Oliver. He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m gay.”

  Decker nodded. “Your parents don’t know.”

  “No, they do not know. My older sister died ten years ago in a car crash. I’m an only child.” He looked up at the ceiling. “It’s like all their hopes and dreams . . . have been put on my shoulders. It’s bad enough they won’t get anything like kids outta me. If I go to jail, my mother’
s going to commit suicide. She’s not a stable woman.”

  “You still haven’t answered why you hang with Dylan,” Oliver said.

  Kyle looked down. “We had a thing going for a while in eleventh grade. He filmed it. We both thought it was funny, you know.” He hit his head. “God, I was an idiot!”

  More silence. Kyle continued to gnash his teeth. Decker could hear the enamel against enamel—like fingers on a chalkboard.

  The teen said, “When he threatened to expose me, I asked him what he wanted. He said guns.” He looked up. “My father’s a huge weapons collector. I gave him a gun—a single gun. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t want to be outted.”

  Oliver nodded. “Obviously Dylan wasn’t afraid of being exposed.”

  “I dunno,” Kyle said. “I never called his bluff. We both fuck girls, so . . . I dunno if he likes girls or if he swings both ways or if he just uses his cock as a weapon. Frankly, I wasn’t looking to analyze him. I was trying to protect myself. So I capitulated with the one gun and told him if he got greedy that I could make him just as miserable as he could make me.”

  “How’s that?” Oliver asked.

  “I’ve been part of the Maf— . . . his gang for a while. I know things.” Decker nodded encouragement. “So we had this . . . tacit understanding.” Furtive eyes. “Everyone just assumed we were close buds and that was okay. Dylan’s a BMOC. At B and W, he was a good person to be associated with.” Pleading eyes. “Are you going to help me?”

  Oliver said, “So just like that, you and Dylan broke it off?”

  Kyle whispered. “To the world, we kinda had a bromance thing going on, but it wasn’t sexual anymore.” An evasive glance. “After I gave him the gun, it was over.”

  Decker’s brain suddenly started sparking. “Nah, I don’t believe you.”

  Kyle became defensive. “I swear it’s true.”

  Decker said, “When you and Dylan had your affair, he turned over a rock, Kyle. Once a guy is sexually active, it’s impossible to go back.”

  “You’re wrong,” Kyle said. “It was over.”

  “Over between Dylan and you, but not over with the sex. You found someone to take Dylan’s place.”

  Kyle turned away and didn’t answer, the leg bouncing up and down. Decker mouthed Gregory Hesse to Oliver when the boy wasn’t looking.

  Scott raised an eyebrow, regarding the Loo with admiration. He kept his voice even. “You know we’re pulling search warrants, Kyle. How long do you think it will take before we find Gregory Hesse’s stolen computer or his missing camcorder?”

  The teen turned ashen. He threw back his head and moaned. “It was an accident.”

  Oliver put his hand on Kyle’s knee. “Accidents happen. Tell us about it.”

  “I don’t know, man.” Kyle had tears in his eyes. “We were like . . . stoned.”

  “Tell us what you remember. We’re here to listen, not to judge.”

  “He told us the gun was empty,” Kyle pleaded. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Yeah, that’s a raw deal when accidents happen, man. We all know that.” Oliver leaned in closer. “Who told you the gun was empty?”

  “Dylan!” The boy shouted out. “He was filming it on Greg’s camcorder.” Water poured from his eyes. “We were just fooling around. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I believe you, man,” Oliver said. “I totally believe you.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen. When the gun went off, I was shocked . . . I was . . . petrified. It was horrible!”

  “I’m sure it was,” Oliver said.

  Kyle’s wet eyes went from Oliver to Decker. “Do you know what Dylan did when it happened?”

  “What did he do?” Decker said.

  “He laughed!” Kyle shook his head. “Brains and shit . . . all over the fucking place and Dylan . . . just . . . fucking . . . laughed!”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  When Marge walked into the hospital room, Gabe was asleep, a book lying on his lap, spine down and opened. Rina was reading in the chair next to his bed. She gave Marge a small wave. “He’s knocked out.”

  “Sedated?”

  “No, just sleeping from pure exhaustion.”

  “I hate to do this to him.” Marge held up two photo arrays. “You know how it is. Time matters.”

  Rina nodded and gently shook his shoulder. Gabe stirred, inhaled, and then winced.

  “I’m up, I’m up.” He opened his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, sweetheart.” Rina gave Marge her chair. “This is Sergeant Dunn.”

  “Hi.” He sat up, then grimaced. “I think we’ve met.”

  “Probably at Sammy’s wedding.”

  “Yeah, I was there . . . me and five hundred others.”

  “We invited everyone to my son’s wedding,” Rina said. “It doesn’t pay to make enemies.”

  “If you ever need enemies, I could loan you a few.” Gabe turned to Marge. “What’s up?”

  “I’d like to show you a couple of photo arrays.” She handed him the first one with Dylan Lashay. “See if anyone looks famili—”

  “This one.” Pointing to number four. “This is Dylan.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The dude shot me. Couldn’t be more positive.”

  “Can you circle your choice and sign your name?”

  “I can do that.” When he was done, he gave her back the sheet of paper. “Next?” When Marge handed him the girls, Gabe said, “This is Cameron.” He took the pen, circled her picture, and signed it. “What else?”

  All business. “If you’re up to talking about it, I’d like to hear what happened.”

  “Can I call Yasmine again?” Gabe said out of nowhere.

  “She’s talking to detectives, Gabe.”

  “Is her mom with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she hate me . . . her mother?”

  Rina said, “Of course she doesn’t hate you. You saved her daughter’s life.”

  Marge said, “Actually, she expressed concern for your welfare.”

  “So maybe on balance, it’s good I got shot. I got the pity factor working for me.”

  Rina said, “You don’t need the pity factor to be appreciated. I think Sergeant Dunn needs to ask you some questions.”

  “Are you up to talking about it?” Marge asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Something to distract my mind before I go under the knife. Or the laser.” He looked at Rina. “Did they find the surgeon yet?”

  “They did. He’s coming in . . .” She looked at her watch. “In forty minutes.” She stood up. “I’m going to catch a breath of fresh air. Do you need anything?”

  “I can’t friggin’ eat until I go into surgery, so I guess the answer is no.” His face became angry. “I hurt and I’m starving. This sucks.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “You know, Rina, do you have enough time to get me my glasses? My eyes are killing me.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Thanks.” A pause. “And you’re going to be here when the surgeon comes in?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks for staying with me. I mean, I’m not really your responsibility.”

  “Gabriel, you most certainly are my responsibility.” She kissed his greasy hair. “And I love having you as my responsibility. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Can you adopt me?” Gabe said.

  “I would be happy to adopt you, but your parents wouldn’t approve.”

  “I don’t see either of them here to object.”

  “Your father will be here soon.”

  “Yeah, when he gets a moment,” Gabe said. “But hey, I’m not bitter.”

  Rina kissed his head again. “I’ll get you your glasses.”

  “Thanks. And my acne medication?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you call Nick?”

  “Yes, I called Nick. He wanted to come down right awa
y, but I told him to hold off until after the surgery.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “That he was horrified.”

  “How about Jeff Robinson?”

  “I didn’t speak to him. I’m sure he’s horrified as well.” Rina gave a wave at the door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  Gabe turned to Marge. “What do you want to know?”

  Marge took out her notepad. “I wonder if I can set up a tape recorder inside a hospital . . . whether it’ll interfere with anything.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Yeah, I suppose if someone has a cow, I can always turn it off.” She set up the machine on a tray next to the bed. “So why don’t you start from the beginning.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Good. Be as detailed as you can.”

  Gabe wiped his hands on his hospital gown. “Like how far back should I take it? Like when I first met Dylan?”

  “Yes, that’s good,” Marge said. “Tell me about the first time you met Dylan.”

  “I only met him one other time until today. I was in Starbucks, minding my own business . . . I think I was reading. This posse of kids comes through the door and I kinda see them out of the corner of my eye.”

  “When was this?”

  “About four to five months ago.”

  “Okay. Morning or afternoon or evening?”

  “Like four in the afternoon.” Gabe bit his bottom lip. “I knew right away that they were messed up. They just had that look, like they were spoiling for something. Anyway, they come up to me and I know I’m about to be crowded. You know what crowding is?”

  “Kind of.”

  “It’s when a group just totally surrounds you . . . they don’t hurt you usually, but its purpose is to show you who’s in control.”

  “Menacing,” Marge said.

  “Exactly. So they surround me and then Dylan comes up to me and tells me that I’m sitting in his chair . . . like it’s his makom hakavua or something.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know . . . like his designated seat.” Gabe looked at her. “That’s what Rina calls Peter’s Barcalounger.”

  “I don’t speak Hebrew.”

  “Neither do I, but I’ve picked up a few things. Anyway, the guy wants my seat.”