by Alan Cook
She pointed to a doorway that led into a conference room. Tony and Shahla went into the room containing a worn wooden table and worn wooden chairs. On the wall were posters relating to drugs, alcohol, and other temptations of the flesh. The posters exhorted the reader against yielding to these temptations.
Shahla said, “‘Can I help you?’ means, ‘Am I able to help you?’ I was tempted to say, ‘I don’t know. Can you?’”
“So what should she have said?” Tony asked. He had never paid much attention in English class.
“‘May I help you?’ That asks for permission.”
“Thank you for the lesson.”
“No charge.”
“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite people. I might have known I’d see you on Friday the thirteenth.”
Detective Croyden had entered the room while they had their backs to the door, looking at posters. Tony turned around and said, “Working late, aren’t you?” He knew why Croyden might be sarcastic with him, but not Shahla, unless she had let some of her dislike of the police show when he talked to her.
“Crime never sleeps,” Croyden said. “What have you got for me?”
He didn’t ask them to sit down, and he didn’t take a seat himself, so the three of them remained standing. Tony thought he looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, and his facial wrinkles were pronounced, as was his broken nose. Tony pointed to the brown envelope he had set on the table and told Croyden what was inside. He related how he had found and handled the white envelope, mentioning that several of his own fingerprints might be on it.
“But at least you came to your senses before you covered it with your prints,” Croyden said, with what might be faint praise. “Do you know what’s inside it?”
Tony missed a beat while he reconsidered his first answer and then said, “No.” He hoped Croyden hadn’t noticed his involuntary head-fake.
“All right, we’ll take a look at it. You said the Hotline office door was locked. That’s good. Did anybody knock or did you hear any sounds outside the door?”
He directed this question to both of them. They shook their heads.
“All right. Tony, do you have any objection to the desk officer taking your fingerprints so that we can eliminate the ones on the envelope?”
He could probably refuse, at least temporarily, but what would be the point. “No objection.” It appeared that Croyden was dismissing them.
Shahla said, “Detective Croyden, since the person who left the envelope knows where the Hotline is, doesn’t that sound to you as if the…killer might work for the Hotline?”
Croyden looked at her for a while, and Tony began to wonder whether he wasn’t ogling her breasts instead of contemplating his answer. He finally said, “Sha…” and stumbled.
“Shahla.”
“Shahla, first of all, we don’t know whether the envelope was left by the killer. Assuming it was, there is a possibility that he—or she—works for the Hotline. But other people know where it is, too.”
“You mean, like ex-listeners. But we just moved to this building six months ago, so that eliminates most of them.”
“A smart caller could find out. One of your listeners could have slipped and given away your location to a caller. Like the Chameleon. I told Nancy she had a security leak big enough to drive a Hummer through.”
Tony said, “It’s my observation that the listeners are very security conscious. I don’t know how the Chameleon might have found out.”
“But you know and I know that some of these guys can sweet-talk the teenyboppers on the phone, and they’ll lose their heads. Look at all these young girls who are seduced on the Internet.”
“We’re not like them,” Shahla said hotly. “We’ve been through the training and, anyway, we’re a lot smarter than the dippy girls who look for love online.”
“What have you found out about the Chameleon?” Tony asked to try to defuse the situation.
“Still working on it,” Croyden said stiffly. “Did you get any calls from him today?”
“No.” If there had been calls from him during the previous shifts, his name would have been on the board.
“He hasn’t called since you went after him. Looks like you scared him away. And made our job harder.”
Tony was tempted to make a retort about the police not being able to find him, even with subpoenaed call records, but Shahla didn’t know about those.
Croyden said, “Listen, I’d love to chat with you, but I’ve got work to do. Tony, come over to the counter, and we’ll get your prints.”
“What if there are prints on the envelope that aren’t on file somewhere?” Shahla asked.
“We’ll try to match them against any suspects’ prints. Why, did you touch the envelope? Do we need to take your prints?”
“No,” Shahla said hastily. “I…don’t want to get my fingers dirty.”
***
“I’ll have a piece of cherry pie with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top,” Shahla said to the waitress at the Beach House, the local all-night diner.
“Uh…coffee—decaf,” Tony said when she looked at him. He didn’t want to stay awake the rest of the night.
“Well, at least you’re not anorexic,” Tony said to Shahla. “But we can’t eliminate the possibility that you’re a binge eater.” It had been Shahla’s idea to stop here.
“I’m not a binge eater unless you call eating all the time bingeing.”
It was true. She was always munching on something at the Hotline. “So how do you maintain your girlish figure?”
“I’m on the cross-country team.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“A girl doesn’t tell all her secrets.”
“I thought you were going to get a job.”
“With all that’s been happening, I haven’t had time to look for a job. But what about you? I don’t know anything about you except that you own a condo…”
“Town house.”
“…you own a town house and drive a noisy car.”
“I’m one of those poor people who have to work for a living.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m marketing manager for an Internet company that gives people who are dissatisfied with their weight or the appearance of their bodies alternatives as to what to do.”
“You mean like plastic surgery?”
“Yeah, and having their stomachs stapled.”
“Ugh, gross. Who would want to do any of that?”
“Lots of people. When you’re young and have a perfect body, you don’t realize that not everybody else does. Do you know how many teenagers want nose jobs or even boob jobs?”
“I don’t have a perfect body.”
“Okay, the violins are playing, but I don’t want to hear about it and 99.9% of the rest of the world doesn’t want to, either.”
Shahla smiled. “Tony, you’re funny. So what do you do when you aren’t working or driving your noisy car?”
Or going out with women. But his love life was in a tailspin, and he wasn’t about to discuss it. “I like to hike.” Although he hadn’t been hiking for a long time. And his gut showed it.
“Where do you like to hike?”
“Have you ever been up the Palm Springs Tramway?”
“No.”
“Well, from the top of the tram you can hike up Mt. San Jacinto. It’s beautiful up there.”
“I’d like to do that sometime.”
The waitress brought their food, and Shahla dove into her pie and ice cream. Tony sipped on his decaf. After he had allowed her to take several bites, he said, “Tell me about why you think Martha might be a suspect.”
“Jealousy. Joy was the star of the volleyball team, and Martha was riding the bench, mostly. Now she’s replaced Joy in the lineup as an outside hitter. But she’s not as good as Joy and never will be.” Shahla emphasized the last sentence.
“That doesn’t mean she killed Joy. Jealousy? There must be more to it than
that.”
“How about insane jealousy? They’ve known each other all their lives, and Joy has always been better at everything. School. Sports. Attracting boys.”
“How do you fit into this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said that they’ve known each other all their lives. But Joy was your best friend. Couldn’t you be feeling a little jealousy because of their closeness?”
Shahla glowered at him and took a big bite of pie.
“Well, look who’s here.”
Tony knew who it was even before he raised his eyes. He would know his ex-girlfriend’s voice anywhere. And Carol was with a man—not a bad looking man, a prosperous-looking man. Tony felt a twinge of something inside. And she was looking good, with a skirt and sweater that didn’t hide her curves. Her short brown hair with red highlights set off a smiling and perfectly proportioned face. No need for a nose job there. And she looked happy.
“Hi, Carol,” he said belatedly. “Uh, this is Shahla. Shahla works on the Hotline with me.”
“Working the late shift, eh?” Carol said, pointedly looking at her watch. Tony realized it was almost midnight. “Hi, Shahla. I’m so glad to meet you. This is Horace.”
Tony awkwardly stood up from the booth and shook hands with Horace. He didn’t see a ring through his nose, but maybe it was invisible.
“Well, we won’t keep you,” Carol said. “It must be way past Shahla’s bedtime. But it was great to see you both.” She tucked her hand into Horace’s arm and guided him to a table in the corner.
“Who was that?” Shahla asked, her eyes wide.
“That was my ex-girlfriend,” Tony said, following Carol with his own eyes and wondering how she still had such control over his emotions.
“She’s very pretty. But…”
“Pushy? Sarcastic?”
“I didn’t want to say anything bad about her.”
“You don’t have to. I know all her faults by heart.”
***
“I love your house.”
Tony had driven Shahla home, and they were sitting in his car in the driveway of a roomy and modern two-story house—the kind Tony would like to be able to afford someday. A house without attached neighbors.
“Fortunately, my father had lots of life insurance. And my mom works.”
“Your father? Your father is…?”
“My father is dead.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” Tony couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a parent. Both of his parents were still alive.
“He was murdered.”
“Ohmygod.”
“It’s been long enough so that I can talk about it. Five years. But the pain never goes away.”
“It must be very hard for you.” Before taking the class he wouldn’t have known what to say. But that didn’t seem strong enough, somehow.
Shahla was silent. And Tony didn’t know what else to say. Should he ask for details? It was time for her to go into the house, but he didn’t want to push her to get out of the car. That would seem heartless. He saw a light on in an upstairs window. Perhaps her mother had heard them drive in. As Shahla had said, his wasn’t the quietest car in the world. At least Mom would know her daughter was safe.
“My father was coming home from a meeting at night,” Shahla said softly. She seemed to be speaking to herself. “He stopped at a place like a 7-Eleven to get a loaf of bread or something. A man came into the store and pulled a gun on the clerk. I don’t think he even saw my father. The clerk gave him the money, and the robber was going to take him to the back of the store, probably to shoot him. My father intervened, and the bastard shot him.”
“Oh.” When Shahla remained silent, Tony said, “And the clerk?”
“The robber lost his cool at that point. He shot at the clerk and then took off. The clerk was wounded, but he survived. That’s how we know what happened.”
“And they didn’t get him?”
“No, they did. But the police screwed it up. They didn’t read him his rights, or something. The man made a confession, but the court threw it out. It was a big mess. He never went to jail.”
“No wonder you don’t like the police.”
Tony had been looking straight ahead out the car window at the house, but Shahla was silent so long that he stole a look at her. In the moonlight he could see tears running down her cheeks. He felt very awkward. He should do something to comfort her, but what?
She laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t dare move. He felt tense and uncomfortable. He had never felt that way with a girl before. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than five minutes, she lifted her head and said, “I have to go.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got out of the car. After she entered the house and closed the door, Tony sat for a minute, with conflicting emotions. Then he started the car, revved the engine, and backed out of the driveway.
CHAPTER 11
Nobody stopped Tony as he walked through the door into the gymnasium. He knew that a visitor entering the high school campus was supposed to report to the administration office first, but school was over for the day and, anyway, the gymnasium was next to the parking lot, somewhat removed from the classrooms.
The inside of the building immediately brought back memories of every gymnasium he had ever been in, with its wooden pull-out bleachers and the basketball nets at either end. And perhaps a faint odor of sweat, or was that his imagination? Tony could remember his own days on his high school basketball team, vividly, although his memories consisted mostly of him riding the bench while the taller, quicker and more talented players received the playing time.
A volleyball net dominated the center of the floor. A couple of dozen fans were scattered throughout the bleachers, some students, some parents. A few may have been grandparents. He was too old to be a student and too young to be a parent. Where did he fit in? Feeling self-conscious, Tony picked a seat near the door of the gym and put his cell phone on vibrate. If he received a call, he would run outside and take the call there. He didn’t want to have the background noise of a sporting event if Mona, his boss, called. And since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, that was a real possibility.
Tony hadn’t responded positively to Shahla’s feeling that Martha might be Joy’s killer, thinking that it sounded more like jealousy on Shahla’s part. Martha and Joy had enjoyed a certain amount of intimacy over the years, in spite of the supposed differences in their ability. He had decided, however, that if he was going to actively assist in the investigation, every lead was worth following up, to determine if it should be reported to Detective Croyden. But he didn’t want Shahla present to color his judgment.
The teams were huddling around their coaches; the match was about to start. The Bonita Beach players wore white home uniforms with red numbers on the shirts. The other team was dressed in green. The players on either side placed their hands together in the center of their circle and shouted bonding words, intended to psych them up for the battle to come. Then the six starters of each team trotted onto the court.
Tony had no trouble picking out Martha from Shahla’s description. She was tall and lanky and looked a bit awkward, in a body that had grown faster than her coordination. Acne spoiled her otherwise pretty face, indelibly marking her as a teenager, even though with her size she could have been a lot older.
The female referee, who sat on a platform at courtside, blew her whistle and gestured with her arm. A Bonita Beach player served the ball and the game began. Tony was immediately impressed by the quality of the play. Of course, here in the beach volleyball capital of the world, outstanding players were the rule, but Tony, who had grown up in western New York, was always fascinated with them.
Each player knew her role. One of the back players would dig out a smash so hard that Tony barely saw it and bump it to the setter. The Bonita Beach setter moved like a ballet dancer. She handled good balls and bad balls alike, making perfect sets, low,
high, and sometimes backwards over her head in response to secret signals that Tony didn’t understand.
Unfortunately, the Bonita Beach hitters didn’t do as well. They scored some kills, but they also hit balls out of bounds or into the net. And too often two of the opposing players would leap at the same time as the hitter and block the ball back into the Bonita Beach court, often for a point or a side out.
In the middle of the first game, Tony felt his cell phone vibrate. He got up from his seat and walked quickly through the door of the gym, extracting the phone from his shirt pocket as he went. Outside he pressed the Talk button and said, “This is Tony.”
“Tony, Mona.”
“Hi.” Several students were talking loudly nearby. He walked away from them, hoping their voices wouldn’t carry over the phone.
“How is that presentation coming for the lunch tomorrow?”
He was presenting the company program to a group of doctors. Mona, who didn’t usually accompany him for these presentations, was going with him. Everything had to be perfect.
“It’s almost ready. I’ve got one more call to make, and then I’m coming back to the office to work on it. I should be there by six.” It was the correct thing to do. Mona was a workaholic, and he knew she’d still be there. He looked at his electronic organizer. “Oh, I forgot. I’m supposed to work at the Hotline tonight. Well, maybe I can skip that.”
“Do you have any calls scheduled for tomorrow morning?”
“Well, no.”
“Can’t you finish the presentation then? I don’t want you to miss the Hotline. I’ve noticed a change in you since you started there. You’re more sensitive to people.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I guess I can finish it in the morning.” That’s what he had been planning to do before Mona called. And now it was her idea, which was good. And his working on the Hotline had also been her idea. Whatever it took to keep her happy. Within limits.
They said goodbye, and Tony walked back inside. As he took his seat, Martha spiked the ball into the net. She hit the ball hard, but not always where she wanted it to go. Occasionally she scored with a blistering shot, and the handful of spectators would yell their approval. When she learned to control her shots, she would be a standout. Tony guessed that would happen within two years. She did better on defense. Using her height and jumping ability to advantage, she blocked several shots.