by Don Passman
I turned to see a tall blond woman bouncing into the room, swinging a plastic bag. Wow. She must be almost six feet tall. The woman was wearing a sleeveless lime green dress, and she was so thin that I could see her shoulder bones pushing against the skin. In contrast, her breasts were quite uplifting. Perhaps a little help from the Tit Fairy?
She looked me up and down, as if I were a statue she was thinking of buying. “And you are.…”
“Harvey Kendall. I work with Hannah.”
Hannah said, “Harvey, meet my sister, Susan.” Hannah’s tone suggested that I wasn’t going to enjoy the experience.
I looked at the blonde. This is Hannah’s sister? She doesn’t even look like a fourth cousin. How’d the dumpy Mrs. Fisher produce a six-foot anorexic?
I said, “Nice to meet you, Susan.”
Susan gave me a polite nod, then walked away like she’d decided I was damaged goods. She went to her father’s bedside, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. Susan opened the plastic bag she was carrying and took out a handful of magazines. “Daddy, I got you the latest copy of Cigar Aficionado. Also a People, a USA Today, and an Enquirer.”
Bruce grinned. “Excellent. Some trashy reading.” He took the magazines and patted her hand.
Hannah’s shoulders slumped.
Susan sat on the bed and began massaging Bruce’s feet through the covers. Hannah’s gaze burned into her sister.
Hannah said, “Dad, you want to hear about the search and seizure?”
Susan leaned into the massage. Bruce said, “Let’s talk about it later.” He lolled his head back, closed his eyes, and mmm’d.
Hannah turned and walked out. Did Susan’s smile just broaden?
I spun around and hurried after Hannah.
She was already down the steps, on her way to the door. I hustled to catch up. She ran outside. I hurried after.
Hannah was unlocking her car when I finally caught up. Slightly out of breath, I said, “Are you okay?”
She flung the car door open, hard enough to make it bounce back. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Hannah stared at me, blinking rapidly, like she was debating whether to open the floodgates. Then she looked away.
I said, “What’s up with the scrawny blonde?”
She chuckled, looked back at me, and shook her head. “Do you always say whatever floats through your brain?”
“Pretty much. Your sister’s a kiss-ass, and your father laps it up like kitty milk. Bet he always has.”
Hannah gave a pained laugh. She leaned against her car and let out a breath.
From the yard next door, I heard the whine of a lawn mower. The air suddenly smelled of cut grass.
Hannah said, “In high school, if I came home with four A’s and a B-plus, my father would say, ‘What happened with the B-plus?’”
I stuck my hands in my back pockets. “If I’d gotten a single A, my mother would’ve taken an ad in the L.A. Times.”
She looked past me at her father’s house. “My sister never got above a C, but that was okay, because he said she had ‘other strengths.’ That was his code for ‘She’s thin and popular.’”
“Hannah…”
“My father went to every football game when Susan was cheerleading. He even rearranged business trips so he could watch her prance around in her short skirt.”
Having met the current Mrs. Fisher, I figured he was probably more interested in the other cheerleaders.
I said, “He’s got to be proud of you. Harvard Law? How many people do that?”
“He did. And he was on the Law Review. I didn’t make that.”
The lawn mower next door whined in a lower key as it chugged away. I said, “I’m sure he loves you. Maybe he’s one of those guys who has a hard time showing it.”
Hannah grabbed me in a hug. I was so surprised that it took me a moment to put my arms around her. I felt her body shudder against mine. I held her. The sound of the lawn mower next door whined closer. I looked over and saw the brown-uniformed gardener give me a thumbs-up.
Hannah let go and stepped back, looking down at the street. She sniffled. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
She started to get into her car.
I said, “You okay to drive?”
“I’ll see you at the office.”
She closed the door.
* * *
I got to the office before Hannah, unlocked the door, and went inside.
Where is she? Should I have followed her? She didn’t look like she should be driving.…
A few minutes later, Hannah walked in, looking past me.
I said, “Feeling better?”
She stiffened. “I’m fine. Sorry I melted down back there.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you let it out.”
She dipped her shoulder out of my grip. “Harvey, we need to keep our relationship professional.” She sat at her desk, picked up the phone, and started to dial.
Oh …
“Of course.”
For the moment anyway.
I cleared my throat. “So. Speaking as a professional. How does my case look?”
Hannah stopped dialing, still holding the phone. “Well … you know it’s got some problems.”
I blinked rapidly.
“Do you think I’m going to.…”
She said, “Let’s see how the DNA comparisons come back. Then we can discuss it.”
“How long will it take to get the lab results?”
“A few more days. Maybe a week.”
I nodded. “We’ll beat this, right?”
Hannah hung up the phone and looked at me. “You know that nobody can give you that kind of assurance.”
“But you think we will, right?”
“I certainly hope so. I’ll do my best.” She bit her lower lip.
I started pacing. “What can I do? I feel useless just sitting around.”
“Nothing at the moment.”
“Hannah, I’m getting the distinct feeling that there’s a python tightening around my chest. Did you know that pythons don’t crush their prey? They just tighten up on the chest every time their victim exhales, so the person can’t take another breath, and then he suffocates.”
“That’s pleasant. Harvey, I wish there was some magic answer—no pun intended—but sometimes there’s nothing you can do but wait.” She picked up the phone and dialed.
I said, “I’d like to take off a few hours tomorrow.”
She looked at me. “To do what?”
“Not sure you want to hear about this one, either.”
She hung up the phone. “I want to hear about everything.”
“Okay.” I raised my eyebrows, as if asking, Are you sure? She kept staring at me.
I said, “I want to talk to Sherry Allen’s father.”
Hannah threw back her head in an “Are you nuts?” gesture. “What? Walk right up, tell him you’re a suspect, then ask if he’d share some intimate facts about his daughter?”
“Maybe I won’t mention the suspect part.”
She rolled her eyes. “Great idea. It’ll make you look very credible when he testifies how you tricked him while he was mourning the death of his child.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll work on the technique. Can I have a couple of hours off?”
“No.” Hannah blew out a sigh. “But you can come along while I interview her father if you promise to shut up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
After work, as I drove to the Magic Castle, I started to call Carly on my cell phone. It’d be rude not to call her. I don’t want her to think my nonperformance was her fault. I really would like to see her again. Maybe without the grass.
Will she hang up on me?
I dialed her number. Voice mail. I hung up without leaving a message.
That was dumb. She’ll see my number on her Missed Calls list.
Maybe she saw my number and that’s why she didn’t ans
wer.
I really should call back and leave a message. Should I say something clever?
Like what?
“I’m really UP for seeing you again?” Dumb.
“I’m so sorry about Saturday night.” Wimpy.
“Would you mind getting your tubes tied before our next date?”
Better stick to plain vanilla. I dialed her number again. While her recorded voice told me to leave a number, I cleared my throat. After the beep, I said, “Hi, Carly. It’s Harvey. I’d really love to see you again. Give me a call. Or I’ll call back.”
How dumb did that sound?
* * *
I sat at the Magic Castle bar with my pal David, the investment banker, and said, “I took your advice and called Hannah Fisher.”
“How is she?”
“Thin.”
He looked at me. “Fat Hannah? No shit.”
I explained how I was working in her office to pay my legal bills.
David said, “I thought indentured servitude was illegal.” He took a swallow of whiskey. “How’s your case going?”
“You haven’t heard from the cops, have you?”
“Nope.”
I leaned in toward him, then glanced around to see if anyone was listening. He leaned in closer.
I spoke just above a whisper. “David, you ever have any problems, like … performing?”
His wispy mustache thinned as he smiled. “I assume you don’t mean performing magic?”
“The other kind of magic.”
He nodded. “It’s happened once or twice.”
I moved nearer to him. “What did you do?”
He looked around, then whispered, “First, you slap your dong against the bedpost three times. Then—”
“C’mon. I’m serious.”
He straightened up, dug a chunk of ice out of his glass with his fingers, and threw it in his mouth. David crunched on the ice and leaned in toward me. “I just slowed things down. Took it easy so there wasn’t any pressure. That worked really well.”
I nodded.
Ever do it with a right-to-lifer?
* * *
Next morning, when I walked into Hannah’s office, I saw Sergeant Morton sitting in her guest chair. I stopped in the door. Oh shit. Am I getting arrested? My chest thumped. Should I turn and run?
Hannah said, “Sergeant Morton was just telling me about the father of Sherry’s son.”
Morton stood and looked at me. “Since you were nice enough to have her boyfriend call, I thought I’d give you a little something.” His tone didn’t sound like the gift was coming from his heart.
I kept my eyes on Morton as I took a few steps into the office.
He said, “Abner Raymond. That’s the father of her kid. Former heroin addict turned rehab counselor. He managed to sleep with every vulnerable girl that he helped get sober. Guess he switched addictions from junk to sex.”
Hannah said, “Is that how he met Sherry?”
Morton sat down. “Nope. She was clean. At least as far as we know. Abner stuck around until she was about six months pregnant, then disappeared. Probably thought she was too fat.”
I saw Hannah wince.
Morton said, “According to the neighbors, they yelled at each other a lot. We didn’t get any abuse calls.”
Hannah said, “A lot of battered women don’t contact the authorities.”
Morton looked annoyed that she was schooling him in something so obvious. He said, “At any rate, we’re trying to run him down. Oh. We checked out the boyfriend Kevin’s alibi. Three people saw him working the night Sherry was killed.” Morton stood. “I’ll take that thumb drive, please.”
She told him about the thumb drive? I took a half step back.
Hannah opened her desk drawer and handed it over. Morton held up the device, squinted at it, then pulled out a plastic Baggie and dropped it in. I watched the Baggie disappear into his pocket.
Morton gave me a little grin as he walked past. “See you later, Mr. Kendall.”
As soon as the door closed, I said, “Did you hear that ‘See you later’? He was threatening me.”
“Don’t be so jumpy. His coming by was a good thing.”
“Well, it scared the shit out of me. Why didn’t you warn me?”
She started typing on her computer. “He just showed up. Cops do that. Sort of like cats.”
I started pacing. “What did you mean, it’s a ‘good thing’?”
Hannah didn’t look up from her typing. “It gave us a chance to cooperate by giving him the thumb drive. The more cooperative we are, the less guilty you look.”
“Why’d you tell him about the thumb drive?”
She punched a few keys with her index finger. “He wanted to know how we found Kevin.”
Still pacing, I said, “What if we need that info again?”
Hannah looked up at me. “You don’t think I made a copy of the data?”
I stopped pacing and put up my hands in surrender. “You’re the boss. When do we see Sherry’s father?”
She stood and picked up her purse. “Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As we drove toward Sherry Allen’s father’s house in Panorama City, I said, “You think Sherry’s father could be the one who walked in and said ‘Slut’ while she was in bed with Kevin?”
Hannah glanced over at me. “Possibly. But the Slut Man ran out. If it was her father, wouldn’t he have had it out, right there?”
We turned onto Van Nuys Boulevard. I said, “Maybe he’s smarter than that. Maybe dad sulked off and worked himself into a rage. Then he came back the next day, argued, and killed her.”
“She was lying nude, spread-eagle, with someone’s semen in her. How does dad fit in that scenario?”
“Maybe it was Kevin’s semen.”
“He said they didn’t get that far.”
“Maybe he’s not telling the truth. So say it was Kevin’s semen—”
“Which happens to match your DNA?”
“—which the cops screwed up in testing the DNA. She kicks Kevin out. Dad comes back and strangles her.”
“Well, if that’s true, this won’t be a very friendly visit with dad.”
We turned onto Wyandotte and found Roy Allen’s house a few blocks up. The one-story tract home had a gray composition roof, black bars over the windows, and a green garden hose snaking across the front yard. Inside the open garage door was a red Corvette with its hood up and a thick black pad on the fender.
As we walked toward Allen’s house, my cell phone rang. Hannah glared at me. I took it out of my pocket and saw the name Carly. She called back! Am I forgiven? Or is she going to tell me to never call her again?
This isn’t exactly the best time for a tête-à-tête.
I put the phone in my pants pocket. I could feel the rings vibrate against my leg until it died.
Walking up Allen’s driveway, I heard the clank of metal in the garage. Next to the car was a red metal tool chest on wheels, with several drawers half-open. A hand reached around the hood, grabbed a wrench from one of the drawers, then disappeared. We stopped in front of the garage and waited for the man to notice us.
More clanking.
Hannah said, “Mr. Allen?”
A head popped up and looked around. Allen’s face was deeply lined, like someone who’d spent a lot of time in the sun. His straight gray hair hung across his eyes, dripping sweat. Allen squinted at us, raised his forearm and used it to wipe his brow, then came toward us. He had almost as many tattoos as Kevin. A dagger, an eagle, the name Jenny.
Allen came closer toward us, carrying the wrench in his hand. “Can I help you?” His voice had a Southern twang.
Hannah said, “I’m Hannah Fisher, a private investigator working on your daughter’s case. This is Harvey Kendall.”
Allen looked at Hannah, then at me. He squinted, studying my face. “Ain’t we met?”
I said, “No, sir.” I felt Hannah looking at me.
He wa
gged the wrench at me. “I know I seen you before.”
I shook my head. “We’ve never met.”
His eyes went hard. “Hang on. The cops showed me some pictures. You was one of ’em.”
Hannah spoke evenly. “That’s right, Mr. Allen. Harvey is a suspect in this case. He’s innocent.”
Allen backed up, holding up his palms toward us, like he was trying to keep us away. “I ain’t supposed to talk to you. Not without the po-lice.”
“It’s perfectly fine to talk to us. You can call Sergeant Morton, if you like.”
He kept backing away. “I got nothin’ to say I ain’t already said.”
Hannah stepped toward him. “We all want the same thing. Which is to find your daughter’s killer.”
Allen’s lower lip trembled. He closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, he said, “I cain’t talk about it no more. Up ’til yesterday, I ain’t hardly been outta the house.” He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, blinked rapidly.
Hannah said, “We understand.”
He pointed the wrench at her. “Don’t you try mollycoddlin’ me like that. You ain’t—”
I stepped forward. “Mr. Allen.”
Hannah shot me a look.
I said, “I lost my father. I know it’s nothing like losing a child, but I couldn’t get out of bed for three days. I couldn’t leave my house for two weeks. My mother took it even worse. I swear to you, I never knew your daughter.”
He tightened his grip on the wrench. “Why’d the cops have your picture?”
“Like she said, I’m a suspect. Would I come here and face you if I was her killer?”
Allen blinked at me. He looked at Hannah. Looked back at me.
Hannah said, “Can we please just chat for a few minutes?”
He shook his head. “I done told the cops everythin’ I know.”
Hannah said, “The cops have dozens of homicide cases. I only have one.”
He pointed the wrench at her. “You ain’t interested in findin’ her killer.” He threw his head my way. “You’re just interested in gettin’ this guy off.”
Hannah spoke soothingly. “You’re right. My primary job is to get him off. Still, I might find her killer in the process.”
He lowered his hand, dangling the wrench at his side. “Well, leastways you’re honest.” Allen slumped his shoulders, looked at the ground. “Truth is, I ain’t seen Sherry much over the past year. I was in Seattle when she was kilt. I don’t know nothin’ that can help y’all.”