Night Moves

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Chelsea doesn’t talk about anything but it affected her, a mother can tell. That’s why I got so angry when Chet made that call to you. All of a sudden he’s the concerned parent? Pu-leeze. Have you figured it out, now? His ulterior motive?”

  “He suspected something inappropriate going on between Chelsea and Trevor, wanted to point me in that direction so I’d snoop around.”

  She nodded. “It made me mad but it also scared me.”

  “His learning the truth.”

  “At exactly the wrong time, Doctor. Eventually, we were going to get divorced—mutual decision. So far, the discussion had been civilized. But there are money issues, as I told you most of it’s mine. I didn’t want him using that against me.”

  “When did you start talking divorce?”

  “A while back. A year, at least. We’d bring it up, agree, get busy and forget about it. Our talks were always friendly, splitting up was one of the few things Chet and I could cooperate on.”

  She burst into tears. No tissues in sight. I tore a paper towel from a roll on the counter and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Sorry for being mawkish but I just remembered something. The things you think you’ve forgotten.”

  She sniffed, dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Don’t know if you noticed but one of the many obnoxious things Chet used to do was call me his bride.”

  I nodded.

  “I couldn’t stand it. But one day, when we were talking about the divorce, he got a look on his face. Troubled. What actually looked like a deep emotion, which for Chet was rare. He reached across the table and took my hand like he used to. Massaging my knuckles gently. I used to love that. When he wanted to, he could un-wind me. Then he said, ‘Guess you won’t be my bride anymore.’ And his voice choked up.”

  More tears. “If he’d been like that all along…”

  Footsteps cut her off. Brett bounced into the kitchen, miming jump shots.

  Felice wiped away tear-tracks. Not necessary. The boy’s eyes were on the fridge.

  “Hungry, Bretty?”

  Quiver in her voice. No evidence Brett noticed. He said, “Chelsea had Ben and Jerry’s. I want some.”

  “Go for it, honey.”

  “Get it myself?”

  “That would be nice, darling.”

  The boy grunted, flung the freezer door open, located a pint container and a soup spoon, and left.

  “My sensitive soul,” said Felice Corvin. “Maybe it’s good to be like that. Maybe his life will be easier.”

  “How’s he doing with his dad gone?”

  “Lately he seems to be moping but for the most part, he’s okay.”

  “Chelsea never reacted.”

  “Now you understand.”

  “When did she learn Trevor was her father?”

  “Do we really need to get into that?”

  “We do.”

  “It’s a new thing for her, Doctor. I told her the day after you and the lieutenant came to inform us about Chet. I acted quickly because she’s not a…typical girl. Yes, she’s been going to Trevor’s, but for art, a tutor-student thing. I didn’t want to lose control of the situation, have her undergo some sort of breakdown.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t already know?”

  “I wasn’t sure, so before I had a sit-down with Chelsea, I asked Trevor and he swore to me he’d never said a thing. That was the deal we had. Pacing was up to me.”

  “Your eventual goal was formalizing their relationship.”

  “After the divorce,” she said. “Not in the sense of adoption or anything legal, just so Chelsea could feel…a part of something. Being with Trevor has been terrific for her. They do art together, he tells her she’s talented.”

  “How long has she been going over to his house?”

  “Since last fall. And not often. And yes, at night, because we’ve needed to keep it under wraps. For another child, I’d worry about disrupting her school. But school’s never been Chelsea’s thing.”

  “Trevor’s been living here for years. Why just recently?”

  “My decision after I knew Chet and I would be breaking up. Chelsea’s always been into drawing. I showed some of her work to Trevor and he brightened up like I’ve never seen. So I went to Chelsea and told her Mr. Bitt wanted to see more. She’d go over when Chet was out of town and we could be sure Brett wouldn’t notice. He’s a heavy sleeper, that helped. Trevor’s just the opposite, total insomniac, so he was up late quite a bit.”

  “Chet eventually found out.”

  “A fluke,” she said. “A few months ago, he had some sort of virus, the guy was never sick, used to talk about germs being terrified of invading the sacred temple that was his body.”

  She shook her head. “Anyway, he did catch something, got up in the middle of the night to take a pill, heard the side door close and went to check and saw her. She didn’t knock on Trevor’s door, but she went to the side of Trevor’s house and smoked a cigarette and came back. Maybe she sensed she was being watched, or maybe she just wanted to smoke. And yes, I know it’s a terrible habit and no, I have no idea how she started and yes, I’ve tried to talk to her. You choose your battles.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  I said, “Does Trevor smoke?”

  “Are you asking if he’s a bad influence? No, Doctor. He used to but he hasn’t for years.”

  “So Chet spotted her.”

  “And got all worked up and I convinced him it was no big deal, kids do that. I thought I’d calmed him down but turns out when he was home he kept an eye out and he saw her go out again. Did he do the logical thing and tell me? No, he kept it to himself and did nothing. Which shows me he really didn’t care—he never has cared about Chelsea. He just wanted to make trouble so he called you.”

  “A manipulation.”

  “More like sabotage. I’d thought we’d kept our breakup civil but it got me thinking. Maybe he was setting me up as a bad mom so he could get more money, I really don’t know.”

  She’d just offered me plenty of motive for murder, seemed unaware.

  I said, “Did Chet ever see Chelsea actually go into Trevor’s house?”

  “Thank God, no. It was the smoking he concentrated on. Even he likes a cigar now and then.”

  “When did Chelsea start calling Trevor ‘Daddy’?”

  “What you just saw was the first time. I was as surprised as you.”

  “Trevor didn’t seem surprised.”

  “Trevor’s different, Doctor. His reactions are different,” she said. The blanket explanation for Chelsea extended to her father.

  I said, “How did he come to live next door?”

  “Oh, God,” she said. “I feel like my whole life’s being exposed—what the heck, that was my fault. Everything seems to be.” She used the crumpled towel to dab the corners of her eyes.

  “After we moved here, I was at a low ebb. Boring neighborhood, boring job, the marriage thing, I was pretty down. I don’t know what possessed me, but a year or so later, out of the clear blue, I phoned Trevor. Still had his number. Still thought about him. He was happy to hear from me. Told me he’d missed me. That got to me, Doctor. I kind of lost it and blurted out the Chelsea situation. One of those things you do but you really don’t understand.”

  “Sure,” I said. “How’d Trevor react?”

  “Different from what I expected. He said, ‘Really? That’s great.’ I said, ‘Trev, did you hear me?’ He said, ‘I’m a dad and I never had to change diapers. Sounds like a good deal.’ I was stunned, he thanked me for letting him know, neither of us had more to say so I hung up. I immediately decided I’d just made a huge mistake that could come back to bite me. But it didn’t. I never heard from him. A couple years later, the house next door went up for sale.”

  Another poke with the towel. “It was on the market for a long time, ugly pile of bricks, those crazy cactuses. Then one day there was a Sold sign, I see the real estate agent and she tells me who my new nei
ghbor is. I thought I’d have a stroke.”

  She used the towel to wipe a clean corner of butcher block. “I kept waiting to see him. Dreading but also…” Shrug. “One day a truck was parked out front but no sign of him. Weeks went on. I used to take a two-mile run an hour after dinner, like clockwork till I hurt my meniscus. One night the kids were doing whatever and Chet was on the road, as usual. I was running back, had slowed for my wind-down, and saw him standing in front of his door. I nearly tripped and fell. My first reaction was anger. What the hell had he done, it felt so intrusive. And why hadn’t he bothered to come over and talk about it? I asked him what the hell he was thinking. He said my call had changed his life. He was tired of San Francisco and hearing from me had helped him put things in perspective.”

  “About Chelsea.”

  “That’s what I took it to mean and I made it clear he needed to keep his mouth shut. He swore he would. I could tell he was sincere. There’s no duplicity in Trevor, what you see is what you get.”

  I said, “How’d he locate the house?”

  “He looked up my address on the Internet and used real estate sites to find available properties nearby. When he found one right next door, he took it as a sign. A massive dose of karma, he called it. Seeing him unsettled me but what could I do? I reiterated that he was forbidden from saying anything to Chelsea or anyone else, he’d screw up her life and mine and I’d never forgive him. Again, he swore he wouldn’t.”

  I said, “How long has he been ill?”

  Her eyes slid to the right, caromed back to me, drifted again. “What do you mean?”

  “He moves like a sick man.”

  “Does he, Doctor?”

  She took a sip of coffee, muttered, “Cold,” and pushed the mug away. “All right, no sense hiding reality. He’s got a situation. No one in his family lives past sixty, it’s a heart thing, they get congestive failure, fade away. Trevor’s fifty-nine and he’s doing okay, considering, but he’s weakening. So he tries to take life easy. Money’s not an issue for him, he’s got plenty. Could’ve lived in a huge estate with an ocean view but he chose here and has enriched Chelsea’s life. How could I not honor that?”

  “And now he can beef up his karma,” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “With Chet gone, he’s free to be Chelsea’s father.”

  She stared at me. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

  I kept silent.

  She said, “You are so wrong, Dr. Delaware. Trevor would never do anything like that and I really don’t want to continue this discussion. In fact, I’d like for you to leave right now.”

  “No problem,” I said. “But Trevor’s made himself a suspect and that won’t go away.”

  “Ridiculous. What exactly has he done?”

  “Lieutenant Sturgis has been trying to talk to him since Hargis Braun’s body was dumped in your house and he’s been stonewalling.”

  “Braun has nothing to do with Trevor. If it has to do with anyone, that would be Chet, it was his space that got invaded.”

  “Who do you suspect?”

  “I don’t suspect anyone! All I’m saying is it could have to do with business. Chet’s outside life. Which I’m not privy to and neither is Trevor. All the years I spent with Chet and I’m a total ignoramus about what he did when he left home.”

  I said, “With a homicide, a neighborhood canvass is part of the routine. Everyone else on the block cooperated. Trevor didn’t.”

  “I told you he’s different. And he’s sick, needs to conserve his energy.”

  I didn’t respond.

  She said, “You’d have to know Trevor to understand him.”

  “That’s the point, Felice. To know him, we’d have to spend time with him. He’s prevented that and the longer he holds out the worse it looks. Especially now, with Chet murdered. Neighbors have seen Chet and Trevor in a confrontation.”

  She seemed genuinely surprised. “About what?”

  “We don’t know yet but Chelsea’s paternity supplies a motive. Maybe Chet knew more than you thought.”

  “I don’t believe that—even so, it’s not relevant, Trevor would never hurt anyone.”

  I said, “Maybe the confrontation was based on chocolate.”

  Her eyes rounded.

  I said, “Two boxes, birthday and Christmas. Heart-shaped.”

  She gasped. Pressed her hands to the side of her face, compressing her features. Her eyes clamped shut. When she spoke, I could barely hear her.

  “You know about that. Omigod.”

  “We’re talking two murders, Felice. The cops don’t just sit around.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Yes, that happened, yes it…complicated things.”

  “What happened?”

  “Trevor was stupid, giving her the candy was absolute idiocy on his part. I never knew about the first box, Chelsea ate everything and hid it. But the second one, soon after Braun, she left right out on her desk. Along with a drawing that he signed. A little deer, like Bambi.”

  “Was the signature his name or ‘Dad’?”

  “His name, the dad part never came out, I promise you Chet had no clue. He just thought Trevor was being…over-attentive. Even after I explained that I’d showed Chelsea’s drawings to him and he thought she was talented. Was just trying to encourage her with the candy.”

  I said, “Not the whole story.”

  She gave a long dreary head shake.

  “Chet was a glutton and a big treat-stealer. Any of us would be eating something yummy and he’d just come over and take some without asking. He thought it was hilarious, the kids hated it and I wasn’t too fond of it, either. I told him over and over to respect their boundaries but he just laughed and said he paid the bills, everything was his. That’s what happened with the chocolates. He walked past Chelsea’s room, noticed the box, came over to steal, and saw the drawing.”

  Her right fist punched her left palm.

  “Everything hit the fan. Chet told me I was a gullible idiot, Trevor was probably a pervert, you don’t give expensive gifts to a kid without ulterior motives. He began interrogating Chelsea. She shut him out totally, wouldn’t say a word. That made him mad and he began calling her names. Space cadet, moron, retarded. It was horrid, I’d never seen him that way. Brett came out in the hall, I shooed him away. Chet kept going on, Chelsea just sat there and continued to tune him out. I managed to drag Chet out of there, he had the box in his hands. I gave him my…limited explanation. He looked me in the eye, removed each of the chocolates, and crushed it between his fingers before tossing it back in the box. Except for the last one. He grinned and said, ‘Chocolate mint, my favorite,’ and popped it in his mouth. Then he tossed the box in the trash. That night, Chelsea cried like I’d never heard her. I felt like crap because I hadn’t been able to protect her. Because nothing sick had happened but I couldn’t tell Chet the truth. Meanwhile, he’s threatening to call the cops on Trevor. Or better yet, to go next door and pound the crap out of Trevor. I begged him not to. Promised him Chelsea would cut off the relationship, I’d be more vigilant.”

  Another guilty eye drop. “That night, I even had sex with Chet. Anything to calm him down. I thought I’d succeeded but yesterday Trevor told me Chet had come over several times and pounded on his door. He was frightened and didn’t answer. So you can see why when the cops—anyway, Chet dropped it. That was Chet, short attention span, and it’s not like he actually cared about Chelsea, he just wanted to be outraged.”

  A beat. “What do the neighbors claim they saw?”

  “Chet in Trevor’s face, talking, Trevor listening.”

  “That’s it? Thank God that ended it.”

  “Not from Trevor’s end,” I said. “Chelsea continued to visit him.”

  “What I told you, Doctor, only on days when Chet was out of town and not often—you know, I think your showing up was what sparked Chet’s hostility. A psychologist he could use as a weapon against me. That’s why he called you.”
/>
  “I agree.”

  “You do? So you’ll drop the whole thing? Tell the cops to forget about Trevor?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

  Her right hand curled into a fist. “You’re not being reasonable. Hasn’t this family been through enough?”

  “If Trevor has nothing to hide, he can clear things up easily.”

  “Please,” she said. “He’s the only positive thing in Chelsea’s life and Chelsea deserves to be happy.”

  I said, “I appreciate that and the solution is simple: When the cops ring the bell, he needs to come to the door, welcome them in, and be cooperative.”

  “Simple,” she said. “I thought someone with your training could see life never is simple.”

  I got up. She stood in place.

  I’d taken four steps when she said, “See yourself out.”

  I phoned Milo’s cell from the Seville. He picked up after one chirp. “How’d it go with Felice? Get me anything for a warrant?”

  I talked, he was silent but for occasional no shits and unbelievables and wordless growls.

  When I finished, he said, “Fucking unbelievable. Bottom line is I’m that Greek guy, Tantalus, with the hanging fruit. No possible grounds for a child-molester warrant and Bitt’s an even stronger murder suspect.”

  “I told Felice it was in his best interest to cooperate. She resisted but maybe she’ll cool off and convince him.”

  “Hope springs infernal. The guy’s Chelsea’s baby-daddy, moves next door and lives there for two years with Felice keeping it secret from Chet? You believe her?”

  “I do, but I’m not sure Chet didn’t figure it out.”

  “The thing on the street wasn’t just chocolate, huh? You pick up any strong chemistry between Felice and Bitt?”

  “Not during the minute I saw them together,” I said. “You’re thinking just another domestic murder?”

  “Why not, Alex? Maybe she’s lying and they rekindled. Maybe they’ve been screwing since he moved in. She gives him a key, getting in would be no problem.”

  That didn’t explain Braun. Or the Camaro. While I considered pointing that out, he said, “Or Chelsea gave him the key. She wanted her real dad—or her best friend, whatever Bitt was to her at that point—to protect her against Fake-Dad who never gave a damn about her. And stole her candy. We know Bitt wasn’t home the night Chet got shot. He coulda followed Chet to the motel, done the deed, taken the Rover and the girlfriend, done her in some other spot, and put himself up in a hotel. Next morning he comes back and continues to ignore me. You know something, Alex, with the paternity thing and the confrontation, I’m feeling I can put together a warrant, gonna go judge-hunting.”