Webster’s eyes panned over the scenery, spied an average-looking group congregating on the sidewalk. Three blue-blazered boys, and two white-shirted, plaid-skirted girls. The boys were big and thick—football players or wrestlers. One of the girls had blond hair; the other lass had tresses of garnet red. Webster ambled over, presented his badge, watched them grow wary. Then he spoke.
“Any of y’all happen to be members of Greenvale Country Club…through your parents, maybe?”
The tallest of the boys stepped forward, eyes focused on Webster. Around six two with a refrigerator chest. Simianfeatured. Bushy hair, swarthy complexion, hooded eyes, and the ever-present adolescent gaping mouth. “What’s going on?”
Webster said. “We’re doing a little follow-up on the tragedy at Estelle’s. On the shooter—”
“Harlan Manz,” the redhead broke in. She had been bronzed by the sun, her ruby mane tied back in a braid.
Webster took out his notebook. “And you are…”
“Kelly Putnam.”
“Don’t tell him your name,” the blond girl scolded.
Long straight hair, blue eyes, creamy skin, and legs that didn’t quit. A nice young package. Then Webster thought about the Loo’s Fact Sheet earlier in the day, Decker being raked over the coals…
Blondy said, “Can I see your badge again?”
“Sure.” Webster showed it to her. “Detective Thomas Webster, LAPD, Homicide Division.”
The blond stared at the shield, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “How do I know that it’s for real? You could be a perv in cop’s clothing.”
“Good to be cautious,” Webster said. “None of you have to talk to me. I’m just trying to get a fix on Harlan Manz.”
“Why?” Simian asked. “He’s dead.”
“We’re trying to understand the situation. Give some closure to the victims of this terrible tragedy. Any of y’all happen to know him? Harlan?”
“Why would we know him?” Simian asked.
“That’s why I asked if any of y’all happened to be members of Greenvale. He worked there…’bout two years ago.”
One of the boys spoke up. He was a tad shorter than Simian. Pug features, straight dark hair, and green eyes. He held out a meaty hand. “Rudy Wright.” He pointed first to Simian. “Jack Goldsteen.” Then he cocked a thumb at the last male friend. The smallest but only in relationship to the other two. He was fair and had the finest features but was far from delicate-looking. “He’s Dylan Anderson.”
“Pleased to meet you boys.” Webster shook hands all around. “And thanks for talking to me. We’re pretty upset ’bout Estelle’s. Figured taking it to the public might help.”
He turned to Blondy.
“I didn’t catch your name, miss.”
“It’s ms. to you and that’s because I didn’t tell you.”
Kelly the redhead let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s Sarah Amos—”
“Kelly!”
“Stop being so nasty, Sarah.”
“Screw you!” Sarah turned to Webster. “What do you want to know about Harlan?”
Webster looked into her eyes, hoping his excitement wouldn’t show.
Sarah Amos.
In one school, how many Amoses could there possibly be?
“Did you know him, Ms. Amos?”
“Sure, I remember him.”
“We all do,” Kelly interrupted. “Hart Mansfield. I realized who he was right away. When I told my parents I thought it was the same guy, my dad didn’t believe me. Said I was just being an…”
She sighed.
“An overly emotional, hormonally driven, hysterical female adolescent. Dad equates enthusiasm with hysteria. To Dad, excitement means an eagle on the eighteenth hole.”
Jack said, “Yeah, your old man is pretty grave.” To Webster, he said, “He’s a sports lawyer. Negotiates multimillion-dollar deals for free agents.” He turned back to Kelly. “Maybe it’s me, but I think he’s looking me over.”
Kelly said, “Wouldn’t doubt it, Lug. Despite your Neanderthal appearance, you do have solid raw talent.”
Webster said, “Your dad belongs to Greenvale, Kelly?”
“But of course!” She spoke in a French accent. “He belongs to all the right places.”
“You know, I had a hard time believing it myself,” Rudy said. “About Harlan, I mean. What a shock! You don’t expect a normal-looking guy with a good backhand to suddenly kill twelve people.”
“Thirteen,” Webster corrected.
Rudy grimaced. “God, that’s awful!”
“You should be talking to Amy Silver,” Jack said. “She was there. At the restaurant.”
“She was one of the girls at the Sweet Sixteen,” Webster said. “She’s been interviewed.”
“She hasn’t come back to school,” Kelly said. “I’m not good friends with her, but I did visit her. She’s really a basket case, poor thing.”
Webster said, “So you remember Harlan Manz, Ms. Sarah Amos? Did you ever meet him?”
She shuddered. “Couple of times.”
“Take lessons from him?” Webster asked.
“Nope,” Sarah said.
Kelly added, “I don’t think he taught teens. More like worked with women my mom’s age.”
“He taught teens,” Sarah said. “He taught my brother.”
Webster counted one one thousand. “And who might your brother be?”
“Sean Amos,” Dylan said. “Mr. Studmuffin—”
“Fuck off!” Sarah whined.
“Don’t tease her, Dyl,” Kelly said. “Ain’t her fault that she has the bad luck to share progenitors with him.”
Sarah had become edgy. “Sean doesn’t like to talk about Estelle’s. I mean, he was really freaked when he found out about Harlan.”
Jack said, “I was freaked, too.”
Rudy said, “Speak of the studmuffin, that’s him in the red Acura convertible.”
Webster’s eyes went to a blond boy wearing a white shirt and sunglasses. His hair was down to his shoulders. Webster said, “Nice wheels.”
Dylan said, “Yeah, if you don’t mind changing tires every five thousand miles.”
Jack added, “Tread wears out faster than a virgin in an army barracks. Something screwy with the alignment and balance.”
Dylan said, “Wasn’t there a recall on the car, Sarah?”
“Beats me,” Sarah said. “I don’t talk to Sean about his car.” In an undertone, she added, “If I can help it, I don’t talk to Sean, period!”
“Would he mind if I spoke to him?” Webster asked.
Sarah shrugged. “Probably. Sean doesn’t like anyone to invade his personal space.”
Sean honked, but Sarah waved him over. The boy frowned, blasted the horn. Sarah, God bless her, remained rooted, continued to motion to him. Finally, he killed the motor, double-parked, and got out. Jogged over to his sister.
“Whaddaya doing? I gotta go!”
Sarah said, “Sean, this guy’s from Homicide—”
“What?” Sean took off his sunglasses. Glanced at Kelly, then at Webster with midnight-blue eyes. “Who are you?”
Kid spoke with a very slight Texas drawl. Webster took out his shield, introduced himself. Sean’s expression turned dark. “Whaddaya doing talking to a cop, Sarah? You outta your mind”
Sarah turned red. “I didn’t say any—”
“Just shut up and get in the car.”
“Sean, I—”
He grabbed her arm. “Just shut up and get—”
“Drop her arm now!” Webster ordered.
Immediately, Sean let go of his sister’s biceps, raised both his palms in the air. “No prob…sir.”
Webster glared at him. “You know the drill, son?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How ’bout this? You keep your hands to yourself. Is that clear enough?”
“Fine. Can I go now…sir?”
To Sarah, Webster said. �
��You okay, Ms. Amos?”
“She’s fine!” Sean sniped at his sister. “Now look what you’ve done. Get in the car.”
Sarah hugged her books tightly, didn’t move.
Webster said, “I’ll take you home if you want, Sarah.”
Red-faced, Sean silently mouthed, “Get! In! The! Car!”
Sarah blinked back tears and ran toward the Acura. Again Sean gave Kelly a sidelong glance, then turned his stormy eyes to Webster. “Is that what you do for kicks, Detective? Hassle minors? Your superior will hear about this!”
Webster said, “Uh-huh. In the meantime, quit grabbing girls, including your sister.”
Sean bit his lip, spoke to the group. “You guys are stupid fucks. You’re playing into their bullshit. You know how cops twist words. Go home.” He slipped on his shades, muttered, “Bunch of retards!” and jogged off.
Webster let out a gush of air. “Whew! What’s his problem?”
But the kids had turned silent. Sean had done his job. Finally, Rudy said, “Sorry. I’ve gotta go.”
“We all do,” Jack said. “Weight-training practice.”
Rudy said, “That’s not a problem, is it?”
“Not at all,” Webster said. “Thanks for your help.”
Dylan shrugged. “We really didn’t do anything. You coming, Kelly?”
“In a minute.”
Rudy paused, then said, “Sean’s an asshole but he has a point, Kel. We shouldn’t be sticking our noses where they don’t belong.” He turned to Webster. “No offense.”
“None taken. Thanks again.”
When the boys were out of earshot, Webster said, “You don’t have to talk to me, either.”
Kelly was silent.
Webster said, “You used to date Sean, didn’t you?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“He kept looking at you.”
“He dated my older sister, Tara.”
“And?”
“Why do you think there’s an ‘and’?”
Webster looked around. “Kelly, it’s not real private here. Can I meet you someplace public but more discreet? I’ll call my female partner to come join us. Her name is Detective Marge Dunn. Phone the police station at Devonshire and ask for her and about me, too. We’re both legitimate.”
“It’s okay. I believe you.”
“Tell me a place.”
“It’s not necessary.” Kelly fiddled with her plait. “I don’t have anything to say.”
“You don’t like Sean much, do you?”
“Why is that relevant?”
“He seems…cautious around you.”
“Why are you asking about Sean? I thought you wanted to know about Harlan Manz.”
She’s gotcha, Tom. “Well…” Webster’s mind raced for a logical retort. “Sarah said he freaked when he found out about Manz. That he acted strange—”
“So?”
Webster stalled. “Maybe he knew something about Harlan. Something that made him feel guilty when the shootings at Estelle’s went down.”
Kelly played with her braid.
“Were they tight?” Webster asked. “He and Harlan?”
“How should I know?”
He was probing too deeply. “Yeah, that’s true. Anyway, thanks a heap for your time—”
“I hate him,” Kelly blurted out.
Webster paused. “Harlan?”
“No, Sean. I hate his fucking guts.” Kelly’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He knocked up my sister. Paid for the abortion, of course. Then dumped her. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he spread rumors about her. Horrible lies. He said she was…she was diseased.”
“That’s despicable.”
“My sister hasn’t been the same since. She was a straight-A student. Now she’s lucky if she pulls C’s. He ruined her. Just…buried her self-confidence.”
Her eyes moistened. But she held the tears in check.
“Your parents know about the abortion?” Webster asked.
“Of course not.”
“How old is Tara?”
“Seventeen.”
“And you are?”
“Fifteen and a half.” Kelly paused. “I saw him shove Tara once. After he dumped her. She just wanted to talk to him and he…he pushed her away like she was rancid or something! I became infuriated!”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Yeah, well, listen to this. Later that day, I caught him alone. I told him that if he ever, ever dissed my sister again, I’d go straight to his mother. He tried to scare me, grabbed my arm just like he did to Sarah. I took my other hand and slapped his face. Hard! I stunned him. He’s been nervous around me ever since. He’s all bluff and no bite.”
“So his mother never knew about the abortion?”
“No.”
“How’d he get the money?”
“Detective, obscenely rich boys like him always have money.”
“And you think his mom would be upset about the abortion?”
“She’d have a fit and a half because she’s a real right-to-lifer. Card-carrying protestor with pictures of aborted fetuses and all that crap. Never mind that she dresses like the whore of Bourbon Street. When it comes to politics, she’s Madame Reactionary.”
“Bourbon Street.” Webster paused. “She’s from Louisiana?”
Kelly nodded.
“But Sean’s from Texas.”
Kelly faced him. “How’d you know that?”
Shit, Webster thought. Sometimes a little learning is indeed a dangerous thing. Smoothly, he said, “I recognized the accent.”
“You think Sean has an accent?”
“To my Southern ear, it screams Dallas, Texas.”
“Ah.” Kelly smiled. “Guess it takes one to know one. Accents, I mean. Are you really from the South?”
“Biloxi, Mississippi, if you please. Home of the Dixie Mafia.”
“But you’re college educated, aren’t you.”
“Tulane University.” Webster smiled. “Ever thought of a career as a detective?”
Again Kelly smiled. Then she checked her watch. “I really gotta go.”
“Out of curiosity,” Webster said, “who’s Sean dating now?”
Kelly shrugged. “Don’t know. Why?”
Again, Webster was forced to ad-lib. “If she’s young enough, might be helpful to warn her about Sean’s temper.”
“Oh.” Kelly nodded. “That’s nice of you.” She thought a moment. “Could be he’s seeing someone from Greenvale. He’s there all the time practicing his backhand. He’s on the school’s varsity tennis team.”
“Ever see him there with anyone specific?”
Kelly shook her head no. “Just his tennis partner, Ms. Garrison.”
“Garrison…” Webster paused. “Why does that name…” He stared at Kelly. “Now that wouldn’t be Jeanine Garrison, would it?”
Kelly nodded. “Her parents were murdered at Estelle’s.”
Webster said, “And she and Sean are tennis partners?”
Kelly nodded.
“Maybe that’s why Sean’s so freaked out about Harlan. That this monster killed his partner’s parents.”
Kelly looked at Webster. “Good observation.”
“Thanks.” Webster appeared to be thinking. “Jeanine Garrison. She’s a bit older than Sean.”
“She’s in her late twenties, I think. Why?”
“Any chance that maybe she and Sean are…”
“What?”
Webster backtracked. “Just a thought.”
Kelly laughed. “Sean may be hot stuff for high school. But Ms. Garrison is like…God, she’s beautiful! And she always has like a ton of men hanging around her. Sean is way out of her league.”
“I see. Thanks for talking to me, Kelly. Can I ask you a favor? Keep what we talked about confidential? It would make my life easier.”
Kelly smiled sadly. “I’ve kept a zillion secrets in my life. One more ain’t no big deal.”
24
; “Hassle minors,” Decker repeated.
“Yes,” Webster said.
“You’re sure Sean used the word minor.”
“I’m sure. And then he said that my superior would hear about it. ‘It’ meaning the conversation I was having with the kids.”
“Hostile little bugger,” Oliver said. “Probably thinks that a good defense is an offense.”
“Reckon that about sums it up.”
Decker sat back in his chair. “Jeanine prepped him.”
“My take on the situation,” Webster said.
Marge said, “You know, she might have messed herself up. By Sean making a case of his being a minor…if she and he are screwing…well, then she can’t plead ignorance of his age.”
Oliver said, “She can always claim he told her he was eighteen.”
“But the onus is on her.” Martinez turned to Webster. “You think he’s spouting idle threats?”
“Maybe.”
Decker sipped cold coffee. “My opinion? We’re going to hear about it. Probably first thing Sean did when he got home was give Garrison a ring.”
“She’s calling the shots,” Webster said.
Oliver said, “Probably told Seanny boy to call the police and make a stink.”
“Not call the police,” Decker said. “Call the school. Have them make the stink.” He looked at Webster. “Where were you when you talked to the kids? I mean physically. Where were you standing?”
Webster thought a moment. “’Bout fifty yards from the front entrance of Westbridge.”
“On school property?”
“On the sidewalk.”
“Public domain,” Marge said.
Decker said. “But you were still standing in front of school buildings, correct?”
“Yes.”
Without preamble, Strapp walked into Decker’s office.
“We’ve been expecting you,” Oliver said. “Get a call from a kid named Sean Amos, Captain?”
“Westbridge Prep.” Strapp’s eyes locked on to Webster’s face. “You were out there today, Tom?”
“Yes, sir.”
Decker said, “Captain, we agreed to interview the kids about Harlan Manz—”
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