“Yep.”
“Heaven help Coach Howard,” David said softly. “He’s supposed to be innocent until proven guilty.”
“He is, David. And he also just admitted being at the scene of an unsolved murder. Maybe he could think about doing his civic duty and stepping forward with what he knows.”
“I guess he’ll have to do just that.”
“Is Howard a homo?”
“Why would he be?”
“The Boom Boom Bungalow is a homo bar and motel.”
“I didn’t know that. I do know Howard’s got a wonderful family.”
Andy hung up and swung back to Teresa.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“I’ve got a story to write. Give me half an hour.”
“This can’t wait.”
“Sure it can. Check-in time at the Seven Seas isn’t until what, two o’clock?”
33
ON NICK’S FIRST morning home he had breakfast with his family. He felt weak and disconnected. And grateful for every moment of life that buzzed around him.
He glanced at the Friday Journal while Willie and Katherine argued over the last of the Sugar Spangled Rice Krinkles. Katy lectured Stevie for prying the trim off the new Frigidaire again. Everyone tried to keep their voices down out of respect for Nick’s scrape with death.
“I told you not to hang on the refrigerator, Stevie.”
“I was only trying to get the juice, Mom.”
Nick was surprised to read that Howard Langton had been questioned by Laguna PD in connection with the killing at the Boom Boom Bungalow. Andy’s story and pictures. According to the article, Howard had admitted to the Journal being at the Boom Boom Bungalow that night. No comment from LBPD or OCSD. No comment from Howard, except Andy’s quoted “I was, but…”
Nick remembered Howard’s alibi and Linda’s shaky corroboration. Thought it was bogus then. Knew it was bogus now, if Howard Langton was really fagging around at the Boom Boom Bungalow. Wouldn’t that be something, to question a guy for one murder and he gets nailed for another? The picture made Howard look furtive and hapless, with the hat pulled down and the dark glasses.
Below the Howard Langton story Nick read that navy river patrol boats had wiped out a fleet of Vietcong junks and sampans on the My Tho but lost a minesweeper and suffered “heavy losses.”
Just before eight Lobdell came by with a bag of Winchell’s donuts for the kids and three coffees. The kids argued over frosting colors and sprinkles. Nick and Lobdell sat in the pleasant sunshine on the patio. Katy came out smiling and pulled over an extra chair for Nick’s feet. Got a pad. With his legs up the pressure on his groin was less. Her smile had seemed extra beautiful to him ever since he had died. Radiant and rich and fulfilled.
She left them with the coffee and a lingering scent of Tabu perfume that Nick loved.
Nick waited then because he knew that Lobdell hadn’t come over to bring donuts.
“The Sears garden supplies guy called me yesterday,” said Lobdell. “He saw Roger Stoltz on TV. Realized he was the guy who bought the Trim-Quick pruning saw the Sunday before Janelle Vonn was killed.”
“He didn’t recognize his own congressman when he sold him the saw?”
“He’s not overly bright.”
Nick considered. “Really. Stoltz.”
“Really.”
Nick tried to line it out like a prosecutor might. Even though it went against the evidence and what he knew to be true.
“Well, we know he gave her money and gifts, and the apartment in Newport. Kept it quiet as he could. We know Janelle died pregnant. According to Jesse Black, it was a mystery man’s child. Say it was Stoltz. Say Janelle was going to shake him down for big dollars. Or ruin his career with a scandal. That’s motive.”
Lobdell shrugged, sipped the coffee. “But we got a witness who can put Janelle with Cory Bonnett, half a mile from where she died, on the night she died. They knew each other. On tape we’ve got them talking about humping, right? He’s a violent SOB, too. And we’ve got a bloody saw blade from the trunk of Cory Bonnett’s car trunk, sheets with her blood type on them, and a sleeping bag that’s been dragged through the packinghouse where we found her. And Stoltz was in Washington, D.C., that night. Spending more public money to kill Commies in the jungle.”
“Yeah.”
“So Stoltz might have had some real paternity problems shaping up, Nick. But Bonnett’s our man.”
Nick nodded, watched a C-141 lowering toward the Santa Ana air station. An MP friend of his on base said they’d load off coffins fifty at a time. Always did it at night.
“That’s a big coincidence he’d buy a Trim-Quick then. Right at that time.”
“Not if he had some trees to prune.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Maybe I should do that. You rest.”
“Let me. He’s a friend of the family.”
Lobdell drank more coffee. Looked up at the big plane.
“They transferred Bonnett from Bay Hospital to General last night,” he said. “He’s in good condition and he’s hired Abbott Estle to defend him.”
Nick saw the transport plane disappear behind a liquidambar tree bright orange against the sky. Like the leaves had just pulled it in. Heard the high drone of the engines.
“Lucky?” he asked quietly. “How are we going to handle Mexico?”
“We were never in Mexico.”
“Bonnett will use it. You know Estle will try to make it a bad arrest.”
“I don’t know that at all. What, ‘My client was down in Mexico running drugs when these rotten deputies came and kidnapped him’? Nick, it’s simple. It’s one violent drug dealer against two honest cops. We got the stuff from his property with a good warrant. We picked him up at the border on a tip. Like Andy wrote. Read those articles again. Make sure you know exactly what they say we did. If Estle wants to get real involved and send a PI down to Baja, let him. The cops won’t help them, I guarantee you that. And the bartenders always know when to shake their heads and act dumb. Nothing changes what Bonnett did to Janelle. We were never in Mexico, Nick.”
Nick had thought it through a thousand times and kept coming up with the same answer. “Got it.”
“Don’t worry.”
A long silence then. Nick watched a hummingbird zoom to a stop midair and stare at him. Throat shimmering in the sunlight like a wet ruby. Heard Katy inside hustling the kids out the door for the short walk to the bus stop. I’m alive to hear and see all this. Amazing. He pictured perjuring himself on a superior court witness stand in front of God and man. Thought a man given a new life might find something better to do with it than tell lies to save his own butt.
“Funny about Langton, isn’t it?” asked Lobdell. “He lies to us about one rap and they land on him for another.”
“His story smelled wrong.”
“But did you figure him for a fairy?”
“No.”
“Hard to tell sometimes.”
“I suppose you could be at the Boom Boom and not be a fairy,” said Nick.
Another silence. Nick felt tired and it wasn’t even nine yet. Could still feel the sharp pain up inside him where the blade had cut muscle and bladder and bone. Doctors said they’d never seen a human live through that much blood loss and all the urine and gallbladder fluids backing up inside.
Nick had thought about that last hour over and over. Couldn’t remember his last breath. The exact moment he had died. All he remembered were lights. And cold. And his powerful understanding that he was not going to live out the day.
Then nothing. Just a silent blackness that could have been three seconds or three centuries.
His awakening was like coming out of a long and troubled sleep. Except that he understood he had been given the perfect, intimate gift of life. Again.
Twice.
“You and Shirley and Kevin doing okay?”
Lobdell shrugged and shook his head. “Kevin came into my room last n
ight. Sat on the bed, made some small talk. Told me he didn’t hate me. Just said it to be mean. To hurt something bigger than him. Said he felt stifled. Said he was taking the pills to feel happy but they made him mean later. I told him I understood how a young man needed to be free. I said Shirley and I might have tried too hard to control him because he was our only one and we had him kind of late. I told him I loved him and I’d help him do what he wanted to do. He said that would be great, and walked out.”
Lobdell looked down at the patio. “I respect what he’s going through. It’s not easy growing up. But I miss my boy. I really miss my little boy. Me and Shirley, we’ll be okay.”
Nick worked his feet off the pad, straightened in his chair, leaned over and patted Lucky’s shoulder.
EARLY THAT AFTERNOON Nick drove his take-home car over to Roger Stoltz’s house in Santa Ana. The day had gone dry and a warm breeze shivered the eucalyptus as Nick drove down Seventeenth Street.
Marie showed him into the den and helped him into a chair. Pushed an ottoman over. Roger sat at a desk with a look of concern. Necktie loose and a pencil in one hand and a pile of paper in front of him. Marie clicked on a lamp in one corner of the den and went out.
“You look better than I thought you would,” said Stoltz. “That must have been an incredible ordeal.”
“I feel more than a little lucky to be here.”
“I took flak over Korea once. Missed my balls by about four inches but tore the bottom of my ass up pretty good. Scary feeling to know you’re hurt but not know how bad.”
“I didn’t know you were shot.”
“Chuck Newman got killed right next to me. Kenton, Ohio. I think about that day a lot.”
“I understand.”
Marie brought in two glasses of lemonade. Handed Nick the tall glass and a small yellow napkin. Roger watched and thanked her. Marie quietly shut the door.
“How can I help you?”
“Tell me about you and Janelle Vonn.”
Stoltz nodded. “I tried my best to help her.”
“With the apartment and the money?”
“There was more than that.”
Stoltz dropped the pencil to the desktop and stood. Opened the blinds to let in more of the clean autumn light. He sat again and looked at Nick. Said he’d first met the Vonn family not long after Alma’s suicide back in sixty. At Nick’s house, actually. Remembered how dulled Karl Vonn had seemed. How damaged but proud the girls were. Both Janelle and Lynette, he said, didn’t want their hurt to show. Stoltz said he understood in a flash that night, right there in the Becker house in Tustin, that the girls were undergoing some terrible experience. Stoltz had made discreet inquiries with law enforcement and through private sources but hadn’t turned up anything solid. The brothers were bad, he said. But at that time no one knew how bad.
“I had the feeling that everyone just wished the Vonns would move on,” said Stoltz. “Like bad weather. But they stayed.”
Stoltz said he saw Janelle again in the fall of sixty-five. She was sixteen by then. She was in a coffee shop with some older girlfriends. They were all loud and giggly and unkempt and obviously drunk or high. Manager came over to throw them out and Stoltz took him aside, then got the girls to straighten up so there wouldn’t be a scene. He told Janelle to call him if there was anything she needed. Next day she did. Said she needed a place to stay. Said some people were after her. Roger checked with Marie and they offered Janelle the Newport apartment on Balboa Island. It was a summer rental for them and would have been empty most of that month anyway. They helped her move some things in. She’d just gotten her license and had a very old Dodge that smoked bad and smelled like wet dogs inside. Loaned her their Mercury, helped her sell off the Dodge. Got a hundred fifty for it. Paid for some dental work for Janelle. Bought her some clothes she needed and some books and records she might like.
“Marie and I weren’t able to have children,” said Stoltz. “So Marie and I got attached to Janelle very easily. Surrogate daughter to us. Marie was a country girl, always taking in strays. Big heart. Janelle was, well, pretty stray.”
Marie helped her furnish the apartment. Talked to her about things. They had her over for dinners. Goofed off together on the weekends sometimes, all three of them. They put Janelle to work part-time at RoMar—clerical. She was smart and competent.
Stoltz said that Janelle didn’t like the apartment in Newport Beach. It was supposed to be temporary and she was soon back sleeping in the homes of her girlfriends. Drinking and using pills. Lost touch with her a little.
A month later David called him to say that he was trying to help her. Janelle had spoken highly of Marie and Roger. Would they be willing to encourage her to stop her drinking and pill taking and move in with friends of his—Linda and Howard Langton? Langton was a teacher and Christian and a fine man. Linda a good mother and very principled. Janelle moved in with them in December. Stayed until March. Then she began to split her time between the Newport apartment again and the Vonn place in Tustin.
“During those months, from December through March, that was when the community stepped up to help Janelle,” said Stoltz. “Andy’s article actually started it. She went to David’s church, got involved with the youth group, did those Mexico things. Not too long after, she got interested in the Miss Tustin contest.”
Nick watched Stoltz pick up his pencil, tap the eraser on the desktop.
“With all respect, Congressman, were you sleeping with her?”
Stoltz colored deeply and shook his head. “Jeez. With all respect back, Nick, no.”
“There was some speculation that she was your lover.”
“On whose part?”
“Jesse Black’s.”
An injured gentleness settled into Roger Stoltz’s eyes. “That’s too bad. It says something about human nature.”
“Why would Black believe that?”
“I don’t know. He’s a promiscuous and wasteful young man. Maybe he assumes the worst in people.”
“I’ve read Janelle’s letters to Lynette. Janelle told her sister that she never went to bed with you.”
Stoltz looked up with a slight smile. “Now I know I’m telling the truth.”
“Did you know she died pregnant?”
“I did not know that.”
Stoltz looked out the window, then back to Nick. “I can’t say I’m surprised. She told me about more than one lover. And she spoke of them in a careless way. She was very open to sexual encounters with men. Very open to alcohol for a time. Then pills. Then marijuana. Finally to LSD. They all seem to go together, the sex and the drugs and the music.”
“It’s nineteen sixty-eight.”
“She deserved better, Nick. That’s all I’ll say in terms of judgment.”
“Who were the lovers?” asked Nick.
“Black, the singer. Jonas Dessinger at the Journal. And of course the man who almost killed you, Cory Bonnett. There may have been others. It wasn’t a subject I pursued with much interest.”
“Why?”
Stoltz’s glance cut. “Because I hated to think of those losers fucking over a girl that young and damaged.”
Nick nodded. “Well said.”
A zip of pain issued from low and deep inside. He remembered his face against the warm window of Cory Bonnett’s car down in Baja, thoughts about Katy pouring out of his imagination while his blood seeped onto the seat. He looked out the window to the Stoltz backyard garden.
“But she never told you she was pregnant?”
“She did not.”
“Is that an orange tree I see out there?”
Stoltz didn’t turn to look through the blinds into his sun-blasted backyard. “Yes. A navel. Why?”
“I’m wondering how you prune it.”
“With a pruning saw. This sounds like a line of trick questioning, Nick.”
“That’s what was used on Janelle’s head.”
Stoltz offered Nick a look of disappointment without surprise. Held N
ick’s gaze with his own but said nothing.
“Did you buy one recently, a pruning saw?”
Stoltz nodded. “Yes. Sears, up by Knott’s. Would have been…” He flipped backward through a desk calendar. Nick listened to the pages slap.
“Sunday, September twenty-nine. I’ll show it to you if you want.”
“I’d like to see it.”
Nick felt another stab of pain when he pushed off the chair with both arms and came face-to-face with Stoltz.
“It’s out in the potting shed, Nick.”
They walked to the living room, then out a sliding glass door. The brightness hit Nick hard. The breeze was warmer and stronger now. The backyard was big and surrounded by a six-foot grape stake fence long weathered to silver gray. There were raised beds for roses and flowers and a network of brick walkways. The navel tree was bright with fruit. So were a lemon, tangerine, and lime. The breeze shifted the leaves one way and then the other in a slow cadence. The potting shed was a rustic wood structure with a sun-faded fiberglass roof. The door was closed and latched but not locked.
“Marie does most of the gardening,” said Stoltz. “I help with the heavy stuff. We have a gardener once a week for weeds.”
Stoltz pulled the latch away and swung open the wooden door. Held the door for Nick, let the breeze slap it all the way open behind them. Sun on fiberglass. Heat and light. Potting tables and the stacks of empty plastic pots, the watering cans hung on nails in the wall along with the trowels and hand rakes and weed stabbers.
“This was where I discovered the cleaning properties of fermenting citrus juice,” said Stoltz. “I mixed my first few quarts of Orange Sunshine right here. First batch was an accident. I spilled it, wiped it up, and the wood floor came clean.”
Stoltz pointed out the Trim-Quick. Hanging between an old Rain Bird hose sprinkler and a pair of loppers. Blade folded shut.
“May I?”
“Whatever you need, Nick.”
Nick took it down. Noted the fresh shellac on the wooden handle. Unfolded the blade. Shiny and the bevels of the cutting edges still precise.
“Used once,” said Stoltz. “On the acacia tree out front, not on a woman’s neck.”
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