Night Moves

by Jonathan Kellerman

  She charged to her feet, stomped to the entry hall, raised a fist. “I am so, so angry. It never stops.”

  Milo said, “What doesn’t?”

  The fist waved. “Crap doesn’t. The endless flood of crap and…and…and…issues. Now I have to go tell my children something that’s going to screw them up forever. How are they ever going to have faith in the future?”

  She covered her face with both hands, fought tears and lost.

  I guided her back to the living room. Her body stiffened when I touched her elbow but she returned with me and sat in the same place.

  I fetched tissues from the powder room. She dabbed her eyes dry, sat with her hands in her lap, a chastened child.

  Milo said, “Ma’am.”

  Felice Corvin said, “I apologize, Dr. Delaware. I’m not one of those people—afraid of therapists. I believe in therapy, used to be a teacher, wanted so many kids to get help who never did. Then I had my own and—I’m sorry. I’ve been rude to you, Dr. Delaware, and I want to explain.”

  “Not neces—”

  “It is necessary! I need you to understand! It was nothing personal, I’m sure you’re a good psychologist. But a bunch of your colleagues did nothing for my daughter and some of them made her feel much worse. So I lost faith…I’m sorry. For being so angry and for being such a pain in the butt and now it’s really hit the fan and what the hell am I going to do?”

  More tears, followed by a lopsided smile. “During challenging times one needs especially to be gracious. My mother always said that. Her mother, too. I told them I agreed. I do.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’ve obviously failed that challenge miserably.”

  Milo said, “It’s a terrible thing to go through. Again, we’re so sorry.”

  “I believe you, Lieutenant. I really do.”

  “There are questions we need to ask about Chet.”

  “Chet,” said Felice Corvin. “Who knows anything about Chet?” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll miss him.”

  * * *

  —

  Milo managed to get the basics in. Could she think of any possible link between her husband and Hal Braun?

  Not to my knowledge.

  Did Chet have any business dealings in Ventura, Oxnard, or Santa Barbara?

  I know nothing about his business.

  Had he been involved in exceptionally bitter business conflicts—denied claims that led to personal attacks?

  I have no idea.

  I believed her and from the looks of it, Milo did, as well.

  Separate lives.

  What he didn’t bring up were Chelsea’s night moves, the possibility of contact with Trevor Bitt.

  We’d discussed broaching the topic, agreed it was a bad idea, no sense overwhelming the widow and alienating her completely.

  We got up to leave.

  Felice stood, too, reaching out and grazing my fingertips. She moaned, “Oh, Dr. Delaware, I’m…could you tell my children?”

  Brett and Chelsea came down the stairs led by their mother.

  She said, “Sit, guys,” in a voice working far too hard to be calm. Surprisingly, neither young Corvin seemed to be alarmed by that.

  Chelsea plopped down and stared into space.

  Brett scratched behind his ear and mumbled, “Whu?”

  Felice said, “Tuck in your shirt in front, Bretty, it’s half in, half out.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your shirt, honey. Tuck it in.”

  Baffled, the boy complied.

  “Thank you, sweetie. Okay. Here we go.” Sick smile. “Okay…okay, there’s something you need to hear and Dr. Delaware, you remember Dr. Delaware, he’s going to tell it to you.”

  Brett’s mouth gaped as he squinted at me. Chelsea didn’t react.

  I edged my chair close enough to look at both of them simultaneously. Brett’s eyes bounced. Chelsea’s were still but unfocused. “I’m sorry to be giving you really bad news. Your father passed away last night.”

  Brett’s lips stretched, taking an eerie emotional journey from grin to something toothily grotesque and feral.

  “What?” he shouted.

  I said, “I’m sorry, Brett. Your dad—”

  He shoved his fist toward me. “Fuckin’ bullshit!”

  “I wish it was, Brett.”

  “Fuckin’ bullshit! Fuckin’ fuckin’ bullshit!”

  Chelsea said, “It’s not.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  She looked at me. “You said it. So it’s true.”

  Not a trace of emotion on her pale, soft face.

  Her brother lunged at her. I got between them.

  “You cunt fuckin’ bullshit!” The boy let out a wordless roar. His body vibrated. Tears shot from his eyes; projectile grief. Stumbling out of the living room, he vaulted up the stairs, punching the banister, swearing, screaming.

  Felice said, “My poor baby,” and went after him.

  Chelsea said, “Crybaby.”

  * * *

  —

  A couple of minutes later, Felice returned alone, trembling. “He needs some private time.” To me: “That’s okay, right?”

  I said, “Of course.”

  During her mother’s absence, Chelsea hadn’t uttered a word, her only response a head shake when I asked her if she had any questions.

  Felice said, “You okay, hon?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s a terrible thing, Cheltz.”

  The girl shrugged.

  Din from above. Something colliding with plaster, over and over. The ceiling thrummed.

  Felice said, “He’s throwing his basketball. Normally, I wouldn’t allow it.” Her mouth twisted.

  Milo said, “This isn’t a normal situation.”

  Felice turned to Chelsea. “Honey, if you have any questions for these gentlemen, now’s the time to ask.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “I have a question, Mom. For you.”

  “Of course, darling. What?”

  “Am I still going to school today?”

  Felice’s head retracted. “No, Cheltz—why don’t you go upstairs, too. But please, do not go into Brett’s room, okay?”

  “No way,” said the girl. “It smells.”

  When she was gone, Felice said, “This is unreal.”

  Milo said, “Is there anything you can tell us that might help us figure it out?”

  “I wish there was, Lieutenant. At least one thing I don’t have to worry about is money. Chet had an excellent income, I’ll grant him that. But the truth is, I brought most of the funds into the marriage.”

  She looked away. “My parents were professors but they invested extremely well and I’m an only child. So in case you feel like looking for life insurance policies, we don’t have any. At least I never took any out on Chet. What he chose to do, who knows? I’m sure you noticed he did his own thing. A lot of men would kill—” Sick smile. “What I’m getting at is I have nothing to hide, anything you want in terms of paperwork is yours.”

  “Appreciate it, ma’am. We could use access to Chet’s phone accounts and his credit cards, right now.”

  “Give me some time to get you the details—say by later today?”

  “That would be great. Thanks for the cooperation.”

  “Why wouldn’t I cooperate? I want you to find whoever did it. Chet and I had our differences but no one deserves…” She threw up her hands, letting one settle along the side of her face. “A motel. He’d hate ending up like that, with Chet it was five-star this, five-star that, getting upgraded to a suite. I grew up with a trust fund but couldn’t care less.”

  She exhaled. “Who to call…Chet’s parents are gone but he does have a brother in New Jersey. Harrison. He’s an optometrist. They’re not close but Harrison needs to know…I’m sure I’ll think of other…issues.”

  * * *

  —

  She walked us to the door. Milo stepped outside but I said, “A minute, Lieute
nant?” and remained in the entry with Felice.

  He looked at me, said, “Sure,” and kept going.

  Felice Corvin said, “What is it, Doctor?”

  “If at any point, you feel that I can help, please call.”

  “If I feel that I will, thank you, that’s kind,” she said. “Right now, I don’t feel much of anything—kind of fuzzy in the head—like I’m in some sort of felt straitjacket—is that normal?”

  “It is.”

  I turned to leave. She clawed my sleeve. “Dr. Delaware, what if I don’t end up feeling anything? Does that make me horrible—or abnormal? Will it get in the way of helping my kids?”

  I said, “No to all of that.”

  She stared at me.

  I said, “Really. Just take it at your own pace.”

  “It’s nice of you to say that, but I wonder. Maybe I won’t feel. I sure don’t now. Maybe that does say something about me.”

  “Felice, to feel loss there has to be something to miss.”

  She flinched. “Ouch. It’s been that obvious, huh? Yes, of course it has, I haven’t exactly been subtle about our relationship. That’s the way I was brought up, say what’s on your mind. Some people find me abrasive. I sometimes try to soft-pedal but you are what you are. And with Chet, all these years…”

  Her hand tightened on my arm. “The crazy thing is, Doctor, I really loved him. In the beginning. It wasn’t just some half-baked thing, there was passion. At that point in my life, I thought he was perfect. Exactly what I needed.”

  “A take-charge guy.”

  “Take-charge, self-confident, boisterous, sense of humor. All the things I wasn’t, back then. He could talk to anyone about anything at any time. I thought that was amazing. It let me relax and sit back if I didn’t feel like talking. I grew up listening to my parents and their professor friends, every topic picked over until the life had been squeezed out of it. Chet was different, he painted with a broad brush. He thought my parents and their friends were pretentious eggheads and told me so. At the beginning, I liked that. How he took charge of me in every way.”

  Spots of color lit up her cheeks.

  “What I didn’t realize was that he wouldn’t wear well. It didn’t take long.”

  “But you stayed together.”

  She smiled. “I could say it was for the sake of the kids. And that’s partly true. But mostly you get to a point and it’s inertia, why bother? I’m not a people person, Doctor. I find dealing with people exhausting, they weary me when they get too emotional. So after so many years together, I just didn’t see the point of upsetting the apple cart.”

  She looked down, let go of my sleeve. “Oh, I’ve wrinkled your jacket, sorry.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure it’ll recover.”

  She smoothed down the fabric, anyway. “My little speech must’ve sounded pathetic.”

  “No—”

  “Whatever, Doctor. Thanks for your offer, hopefully I won’t need to take you up on it. And I do want Lieutenant Sturgis to catch whoever murdered my husband. I’m going to think of him that way. My husband. I’m going to think about him like he was in the beginning. Maybe I’ll feel.”

  True to her word, just after two p.m., Felice phoned Milo’s office and left the details of Chet’s cellphone and his credit card accounts. I was there and he put her on speaker.

  “Thanks, Ms. Corvin.”

  “Whatever helps, Lieutenant.”

  “How’re the kids?”

  “Brett’s taking it really hard. I haven’t seen him cry since he was in diapers—he and Chet had this macho thing going. He stopped but now he wants to be by himself and I respect that. I did manage to get some food in him. I’m telling myself it’s probably a healthy reaction. Getting in touch with his feelings—we’ll work it out. Hope the information will be useful.”

  “Me, too, ma’am. How’s Chelsea?”

  “Chelsea’s being Chelsea. The sad truth is, she and Chet were never close. Not that he—he was fine with her, he accepted her. She actually seems okay. At least as far as I can tell, she’s okay, thanks for asking.”

  Milo clicked off. “Checked with Petra before we set out. Nothing from the canvass, Chet doesn’t seem to have bought the wine near the motel. Raul did find an image of a Range Rover heading east on Franklin a few minutes before Chet checked into the Sahara. No view of the tags, too dark to see who was inside, it tells us what we already know but no harm having a time line. In terms of the woman with him, still nothing.”

  He looked at the credit info Felice had provided. “Already have one of these cards, Amex Platinum issued by Connecticut Surety for the business expenses of their West Coast regional manager. Got it from his secretary. She was appropriately shocked by the news, had no idea who the boss partied with or if he had a special place he bought wine. What else…no luck with GPS on the Rover. It’s equipped with a system but it’s non-operative. Corrosion, our car guys say it happens.”

  I said, “A guy who travels all the time with no electronic guide because he failed to fix it. Maybe he sticks to the familiar. Like a woman he saw regularly whose address he didn’t want on record.”

  “Good point. Okay, let’s learn more about our new victim.”

  He phoned in subpoena requests, got eventual cooperation from the credit companies, resistance from the phone provider demanding a written application on “proprietary” forms supplied by its own legal department.

  A patient tone of voice as he kept requesting supervisors didn’t help, nor did enough pleases and thank-yous to appease the Sycophant Gods. No hint he’d been giving the one-finger salute throughout most of the conversation.

  He hung up, said, “Bastards. If Nguyen can’t facilitate, I’ll go over in person and fill out their damn forms. Enough info on Chet, something’s gotta break—hey, aren’t you proud of me? Still believing in happy endings?”

  I said, “That’s just realism.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your solve rate. A whole lot more success than failure.”

  He put his hands over his ears. “Positive thinking? Irish heresy!”

  Worming up from his desk chair, he put on his jacket, knotted his tie. “Time for nutrition, let’s go dig poday-does out of the cold, hard sod.”

  “No corned beef sandwich?”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Triple decker, extra mayo, three greasy sides, and a nice frosty lager? You’re right, much better: something to feel seriously guilty about.”

  Bert’s Deli, a few blocks from the station, was the obvious destination. Aromas streaming from a new Italian place thirty feet closer snagged him first.

  The interior was hard black leather and perforated metal. Milo ordered without looking at the menu. The waiter said, “Sure, Lieutenant Sturgis. You, sir?”

  When he left, I said, “You two play boccie together?”

  “Better game,” he said. “I tip big, he pays his rent.”

  * * *

  —

  Mushroom and sausage pizza, salad, baked ziti, iced tea, all for two. When I’m with him, I usually don’t eat much. This time I was hungry.

  As I picked up my second slice of pizza, he said, “Look at you. Gastric juices stimulated by anything in particular?”

  “No breakfast.”

  “Huh…let me ask you something: Chelsea being numb about Chet is one thing but the way she made fun of her brother was pretty damn cruel. Is she more than just a dull kid? Actively hated Daddy for a reason?”

  I said, “Chet abused her? There’s no evidence of it but I guess anything’s possible.”

  “It’s not fun to think about, Alex, but it could explain Braun. What if Mr. Do-Gooder was covering up nasty tendencies. What if he and Chet bonded over them.”

  “Chet pimped his own daughter out to Braun?” I pushed my food away.

  He said, “Yeah, it’s gross, sorry, but I have to think of everything. Maybe it wasn’t that overt. Just photographs, covert videos. Those assholes love to share, right
? What if Felice found out, went nuclear, and decided to take care of business. Phase One was luring hubby’s sicko buddy somewhere with promises of more nasty. Instead of that, Braun got a hired pro who de-faced and de-handed him and dumped what was left in hubby’s personal space. A message to Chet, just like you’ve been saying all along.”

  I said, “If so, it didn’t get through to Chet. He didn’t seem the least bit scared.”

  “That’s because he was a narcissist, shallow, a psychopath, whatever, couldn’t imagine anyone aggressing against him. Maybe he didn’t even realize it was Braun. Now, if that’s the case and I’m Felice, that would piss me off even more. So I set up Phase Two and take care of the problem once and for all. She’s got the money for a coupla serious contracts. Just told us so.”

  “It’s a theory,” I said.

  “But not much of one.”

  “If you find evidence—”

  “Talk about role reversal—lost your appetite?”

  “Full.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Here’s a diet idea: the paleo-stress method. Make a hell of an infomercial.”

  * * *

  —

  By five p.m., we were back in his office, checking our messages. Thin gruel for both of us.

  He read and cursed and clicked off.

  I said, “Waiting for something?”

  “I asked Reed to check for life insurance. Nothing for Chet or Felice, though Chet’s company took out a policy on him that pays them if he attempts to ‘sever relations’ prematurely. Wonder if they’ll try to claim. That would be some court battle, huh? Casualty insurance company up against a life insurance company.”

  I said, “Godzilla versus Rodan.”

  “More like Hitler versus Stalin.”

  * * *

  —

  At four fifty-five, Raul Biro called to say no video of the Rover had shown up anywhere but he had located the liquor store that had sold Corvin the wine.

  “Fancy place, Sunset and La Cienega, transaction was at six thirteen p.m. Owner’s daughter was working the register, she didn’t have to find the receipt to remember him. He asked for something romantic. Same wink-wink deal he gave the motel clerk. She thought he was quote unquote ‘a little slimy.’ He also bought a sandwich, roast beef on rye, they get ’em from a deli on the Strip. Coroner bothers to open him up, they can confirm.”