Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Shy smile. One part of her brain still gloried in the flattery. "We're like no way. They're like we'll buy you dresses and shoes, four bottles of champagne next time, Leandro'll be chill."

  "Was he?"

  "Nope, he was pissed."

  "So you didn't go to work. Then what?"

  "Selma was already at my house 'cause my dad was gone, Tris and Q picked us up in a car, not the Jag, not the Hummer."

  "What kind of car?"

  "GMC Yukon."

  "Color?"

  "Black. They're like the Hummer's broken, this is a loaner. Except I saw an Avis label on the bumper."

  Milo eyed the one-way glass. "Black Yukon from Avis, sharp eye, Bri. So where'd you guys go?"

  "A hotel. They had it set up."

  "Set up for..."

  "Partying. Grey Goose, ice bucket, grapefruit juice, orange juice, pomegranate juice--oh, yeah, cookies and cakes... chips and guac, too."

  "Which hotel?"

  "Next to Universal Studios."

  "The Sheraton?"

  "That's it."

  "Meth?"

  "Mostly weed." Her eyes darted upward. "Yeah, some of that, too."

  Milo said, "What else?"

  "Oh, yeah, pills."

  "What kind of pills?"

  "Vitamin R, Trank."

  "Ritalin and some sort of downer," he said. "Doing the old roller coaster, huh?"

  "Head-surfing," she said. "It's like exercise, aerobics, you know?"

  "R and Trank--aren't you leaving something out, Bri?"

  Whispered answer, too soft to hear.

  "What's that, Bri?"

  "Ox."

  "There you go," said Milo. "Who liked to party with Ox?"

  "No one, they never had it before."

  "But Tris and Q brought it that day."

  "For later," she said. "For... when it's time to do the bitch."

  "They didn't use a name, Bri, because you knew who they meant."

  "No," she said. "They didn't use a name 'cause we didn't know a name. It was always 'the bitch.'"

  "But you knew who they were talking about."

  "The teacher," she said. "They talked about her all the time, we thought they were screwing around."

  "About..."

  "You know."

  "I need to hear it from you."

  "Doing her," she said.

  "Killing her."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Why'd they want to kill her?"

  "They were... they don't get mad, they're always laughing. More like... I dunno, like it was something they had to do."

  "Why'd they have to kill the teacher, Bri?"

  "She wanted to do them. Not the same do, do them like get it on."

  "The teacher wanted to have sex with Tris and Q."

  "She was always showing herself."

  "How?"

  "Wearing no bra when they came over for lessons. Bending over, you know?"

  "Tris and Q decided they had to kill Elise because she flirted with them?"

  "They're like she's always horny, it's gross."

  Milo sat back, stretched. Yawned theatrically. "'Scuse me--by the way, Selma told us the real reason Tris and Q wanted to murder Elise. That's her name, by the way. Elise Freeman."

  "What'd Selma say?"

  "Guess."

  "Um, Tris and Q were like we already paid her, now she wants more, the bitch."

  "Keep going, Bri."

  "They're like we paid her for taking a test--the SAT, that college one, so they could go to Stamford like everyone in their family. She did it for Tris's brother and Q's sister and other people, never bugged them but now she wants more, says she knows all the secrets. That pissed them off. It wasn't fair."

  "I can see their point."

  "Yeah. You pay, you play, except now she wants more, going to Tris and Q, not the parents like before, she's like you got your own money, take it outta your own money. They're like that's for partying. They're like she thinks we're vul-rable, we'll show her who's fuckin' vul-rable."

  "How much extra was she asking?"

  "They didn't say."

  "How much did they pay her in the first place?"

  "They didn't say that, either."

  "So they killed her."

  "It was also her being horny," she said. "Thinking she was hot when she was not. They said maybe we can do her if we close our eyes. Tie her up, DP her."

  "That sounds kinda angry, Bri."

  "No," she said. "They were laughing."

  Milo rubbed an eye. "So they decided it was time to kill her."

  "Uh-huh."

  "How'd you feel about that?"

  "I didn't know her."

  "Okay... so now it's time to buy ice. Why?"

  "To keep her cold," said Brianna Blevins, as if explaining to an idiot.

  "Why'd they want to keep her cold?"

  "They didn't want her to smell. Like if they had to take her somewhere. Then they said we'll do her here and use it anyway 'cause she thinks she's hot, now she's gonna get real cold. Then they laughed some more."

  "How'd it go down?"

  "They followed me back to my house and Selma and me got into Selma's car. They followed me and Selma to Fashion Square and bought us dresses and shoes and some jewelry from one of those carts. Then we went to Pizza Hut and ate. Then when it was starting to get dark, they followed us to Van Nuys and we cruised around and looked for a Mexican who needed money. We found a guy, he brought the ice to Selma's car."

  "Then what?"

  "That's it."

  "Bri, if that was it, Elise Freeman would still be alive."

  "Oh, that," she said. "They drove to her house."

  "You did, too."

  "We had the ice in Selma's car, they took it out with these gloves they had."

  "Rubber gloves?"

  "They said it was from the science class at school."

  "Smart boys," said Milo.

  "Not so smart they could take their own SAT."

  "Good point, Bri."

  "They do it at school, also," she said. "Cheat off smart kids, get the A's. Tris says it's preparing him for what he wants to do."

  "Which is what?"

  "Be president."

  "Ah."

  "He could do it, sir. He's hot, knows how to make good speeches."

  "What about Q?"

  "Q just wants to make money. He's gonna find some way to run like a charity so he looks like he likes poor people. Then he's gonna take the money."

  "Okay... so now you're all at Elise's house--what time is it?"

  "Dark," she said. "Tris calls her on the phone, he's like we're bringing all the money, also some Grey Goose--they took the Grey Goose from the hotel--we'll celebrate you getting the money and us going to Stamford."

  "What'd Elise say?"

  "Tris is like she's totally into it. He's like her voice is all drunk, already."

  "Then what?"

  "Then they go inside her house for... a long time."

  "How long?"

  "A long time, I dunno. Selma and me are getting bored. Then they come out laughing, say the bitch is definitely gonna be chill."

  "How'd they actually kill her?"

  She licked her lips. "Selma already told you."

  "You need to tell me, Bri. For your sake."

  "Okay... so here's what I'm gonna say: They're like we put Ox in the Grey Goose bottle, she got totally blasted, fell asleep, then they're like we put a towel over her nose and her mouth and she stopped breathing, she didn't even move, it was like going to sleep. Then they put ice in the bathtub, put her in it."

  "So the ice was kind of a joke," said Milo. "For laughs."

  "They're always laughing. Q called it a science project, said when he was little they did tricks in school with dry ice."

  "Where were you and Selma when they were inside the house?"

  "In Selma's car," she said. "We never went in, just like Selma told you."

  "What were you doing in Selma's
car?"

  "Waiting. Getting bored. Okay, we smoked up a little. We were bored."

  "Did it bother you?"

  "What?"

  "What Tris and Q were doing inside the house?"

  "They told us later."

  "You knew they were gonna kill her, Bri."

  "Maybe they were kidding."

  Milo smiled.

  "Like I said, sir, I didn't know her."

  Selma Arredondo sat with her arms folded across her flat chest. Exceptionally pretty girl even in station light, but hard-eyed and tight-mouthed and hostile. The sinew and bone and sharp angles of a carnivore that needs to consume its weight daily.

  She said, "I'm not saying anything."

  "Suit yourself, Selma." He headed for the door. "By the way, I've got a message from Bri: 'Homegirl, you're on your own.'"

  Stab of fear. She covered with a smirk. "That's not Bri."

  "How's this for a reality check, Selma: Tris and Q took you and Bri to Fashion Square before they killed Elise, bought you dresses, shoes, and jewelry. Then you got pizza at Pizza Hut, then you looked for a Mexican to buy ice. You knew what the ice was for and while it was happening, you and Bri smoke up in your--"

  "Wait!" Black eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say?"

  "The truth."

  "Like what part of it?"

  "All of it."

  She stared. Smiled girlishly and tossed her hair. "Sure, why not?"

  Milo said, "Let's talk about hats."

  "Don't wear 'em."

  "A baseball hat, Selma."

  "Oh, that," she said. "That was Bri's idea. She said if it got left in the car, they could blame everything on the annoying kid."

  "Because he was annoying."

  "Yeah."

  "You and Bri never met him."

  "Nope."

  "What did Tris and Q find so annoying about him?"

  "Better than them at baseball."

  "Both of them."

  "Yup. It pissed them off."

  "So why not frame him for a couple of murders."

  "It sounded," she said, "like a real good idea."

  CHAPTER

  35

  Deputy D.A. John Nguyen left the observation room smiling. "Why can't you do this all the time?"

  "Do what?"

  "Make my life easy. Okay, Xerox the murder book for me and I'll have phone subpoenas on everyone activated within two hours, same for broad-based warrants for both families' houses in Bel Air as well the little monsters' desks and lockers at Prep. I'll also suggest to the Feds that Wydette Senior's plane was used to transport dope across state borders to Arizona, they can smooth it with the Aspen police for search of the mountain home. Anything else on your wish list?"

  "Sounds good, John." Milo phoned Moe Reed and told him to copy the file.

  Nguyen said, "You should be able to execute those warrants by tomorrow a.m."

  "There may be a time lag between authorization and execution."

  "What? This from Mr. I-Want-It-Yesterday."

  "It's complicated, John."

  "Seemed to me those bimbos just made it simple."

  "On the contrary, John."

  Milo carried the taped confessions back to his office. Moe Reed was just leaving with the murder book. His free hand waved a message slip.

  "I was just going to look for you, Loo. This came in while I was copying."

  Milo scanned the note. "You took this personally?"

  "Came in on your cell, Loo. I copied pretty much verbatim."

  Reed's meticulous cursive read: I gave you SAT dates why didn't you do anything? Go after Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover, everyone already knows.

  Reed said, "Young male. I tried to keep him on the line but he cut the connection."

  "'Everyone already knows.'"

  "I took that to mean at the school, Loo. It's like those school shootings, right, Doc? Kids brag."

  I nodded.

  Milo said, "Nothing like being outside the goddamn loop. Okay, get the copy to John, you might still be able to catch him in the lot. Then stay on call."

  Reed rotated his neck. "It's happening."

  "Something is, Moses."

  CHAPTER

  36

  The chief listened.

  Milo finished.

  The chief said nothing.

  "Sir?"

  "Do you feel physically confident, Sturgis? You're not exactly a gym rat."

  "Confident of--"

  "Your ability to kick two young bucks' asses if necessary?"

  "Depends on--"

  "What I'm getting at, Sturgis, is do you feel secure enough to go in there without a fucking army? I'd like to avoid some three-penny SWAT opera."

  "If the school cooperates and doesn't alert them I think I can handle that."

  "The school won't alert anyone because the school won't know."

  "You want me to go in cold."

  "Interesting choice of words."

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "This has been a tough one, Sturgis. Lingered in all our minds."

  "It has, sir."

  "Fuck it," said the chief. "Just do what you need to do, but if there's a way to minimize disruption, that would be preferable."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Just get it over with."

  We sped past the allee of Chinese elms. Herb Walkowicz was out of his booth before we rolled to a stop.

  He tipped his hat. "Now what, guys?"

  Milo showed him the warrants.

  "Whoa, and here I was gonna give you the song and dance about calling Rollins before I can unlock the gates."

  Laughing, he fetched his key from the booth.

  The first of Windsor Prep's sixteen acres was an immaculate concrete-and-brick lot stack-parked with gleaming vehicles. Milo and I searched for Tristram Wydette's Jaguar and Quinn Glover's Hummer, found neither.

  "Means nothing," he said. "Kids like that can have access to all kinds of wheels." But he called Reed and Binchy, anyway, to make sure they stayed close to the Wydette estate on Bellagio Drive and the even larger Glover spread, a few blocks away on Nimes Road.

  Reed said, "There's a guardhouse in front. First I thought it was a dummy inside, guy was so still. Then he moved his head. Once in ninety minutes. Talk about a fascinating job."

  "I don't like surveillance, either, Moses."

  "Pardon--no, I don't mind it."

  "Then keep enjoying."

  Beyond the parking area, a cluster of dun-colored, red-roofed Monterey Colonial buildings stood like chess pieces on a board of precision-mowed bluegrass. Monumental, perfectly positioned pines, floss trees, liquidambars, and redwoods were sculpted to symmetry. An adult female passed from one building to another. Then a male teacher in a tweed coat and khakis. A scatter of students studied on the lawn. No sound beyond breeze kissing leaves.

  Off to the left, flags stood in barbered turf ringed by low white fencing. The nine-hole golf course.

  "Poor darlings," said Milo. "They go to college, it's a step down."

  All the buildings bore brass plaques. The largest was fronted by a cool, dim loggia and merited a double-wide slab: Administration.

  Dr. Mary Jane Rollins's office was the prize beyond a hushed, green-carpeted, oak-paneled reception room overseen by a black woman in a red silk dress. Sheila McBough was stamped on her personal chunk of brass. The foundry loved this place.

  Milo's card didn't impress her. "You don't have an appointment."

  He said, "We have something better," and held out the warrant.

  Before she finished scanning, he continued past her desk.

  "You can't do that."

  "That, madam, is an obvious misstatement."

  Mary Jane Rollins's personal space was her secretary's office on steroids. The same honey-colored oak, green carpeting, enough carving and moldings to spell out Authority.

  She was on the phone, said, "I'll have to call you back," and slammed down the receiver. "Now what?"

&n
bsp; Milo told her.

  Her initial reaction was the expected panic. Then she smirked. "Well, unfortunately for you, they're not here."

  "Doctor--"

  "It's a senior cut-day, Lieutenant. We have several, throughout the semester, prefer to bleed off tension on a regular basis rather than--"

  "Where are their lockers, Doctor?"

  "In the locker area."

  "Show me. And bring your master key."

  "What makes you think I have one?"

  "You don't?"

  "Your warrant says I need to answer personal questions?"

  He showed her his badge. "This says if you don't cooperate, I'll cuff you and haul your educated but morally unschooled derriere off to jail."

  She blanched. "I never--"

  "Neither have I. Show me their lockers. Now."

  "This will not go unreported."

  "Mercy me, pass the defibrillator."

  As we left, Rollins told McBough, "Sheila, phone Dr. Helfgott immediately. There's a situation."

  Milo said, "Sheila, don't phone anyone. There's a situation."

  The lockers lined two walls of a cavernous building labeled Repository. Oak, brass-fitted.

  Milo said, "Open Wydette's and Glover's."

  Rollins sniffed as she checked a list. "Calling me morally unschooled was unnecessary."

  "I'm looking for two vicious murderers and all you care about is semantics."

  "Not semantics," said Rollins. "I'm a good person. One day you may find yourself in special circumstances and react in a way that surprises you."

  "Gee," he said. "That could never happen to me."

  Both lockers were empty.

  Rollins said, "So much for your evidence."

  "Do you have any idea where I can find Tristram Wydette and Quinn Glover?"

  Silence.

  "Doctor, if you know where they are and you withhold that information, you'll go to jail on obstruction charges right now."

  "I may go, but I won't stay long."

  "Trust me, Dr. Rollins, you won't enjoy a single minute behind bars."

  Her lips pursed.

  Milo said, "A job's that important?"

  "It's not a job, it's a calling."

  "So was the Nazi SS."

  "That is outrageous--oh, all right, seeing as cut-day leads into the weekend, they're where you'd expect them to be: embarking on a family holiday."

  Her voice rose as the Briticism rolled off her tongue. Creepy ebullience.

  "Both families?"