Bones

by Jonathan Kellerman

“Tell them how she seduced you, Travis.”

  Huck shook his head furiously. “That makes it sound romantic. It wasn’t romantic, it was a . . . a . . . a . . .”

  “Tell them or I will.”

  Huck pleaded, “Debora.”

  “I told them you’d give them facts, Travis. They won’t believe you unless you give them facts.”

  Several moments passed. Huck said, “I—it—she came over. To the big house. No one was home. I’d been watching her. Because she’s beautiful. Physically. Talking to her was out of the question, she’s the daughter, I’m hired help. But she talked to me. It was like she knew my brain from the inside out. Being with her was like opening a window.”

  I said, “Easy for her.”

  Nod. “She made herself small, we stared at the ocean. She came into my room. Rested her head on my . . . she showed me her wounds. Cried into my shirt. It was a revelation. The geography of flesh. Holding her as she cried.” He rubbed glossy knuckles.

  “You knew about the geography of flesh.”

  He stared at leather.

  I said, “For her it’s blades, for you it’s fire.”

  Crooked smile. “I used to need punishment.”

  “In jail?”

  “After.” Waiting for Wallenburg to scold him.

  She said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Debora. Being free brought back pictures of Jeffrey . . . I didn’t want to worry you.” To me: “I needed to feel something.”

  I said, “What exactly does Simone use?”

  “Everything. Razors, kitchen knives, a box cutter. She has guns, gifts from Simon. When he married Nadine, Nadine said please, no guns in the house. Simone holds them, talks about them, expensive guns, she puts the barrels in her mouth, makes believe . . . she put her hands down her throat to vomit. Sometimes she gives herself a sore throat, coughs blood. She loves her own taste.”

  Reed exhaled silently.

  Milo continued to slump, barrel chest heaving. Wallenburg looked at him, then at me.

  I said, “What else are you going to tell us about Simone?”

  Huck said, “The first time she showed me fresh . . . stigmata, that’s what she called them—the first time, I held her. Then we . . . she shaved my head, told me I was her priest, my bones were beautiful. I thought . . . the dream was thinking I could help her.”

  “How long did the two of you have a relationship?”

  His eyes rolled back. Snapped back into place like slot-machine cherries. “An eternity.”

  I said, “Give us something more concrete.”

  Debora Wallenburg said, “Two months. It ended around six months ago.”

  “That true, Travis?”

  Nod.

  “How did you learn Simone wasn’t the person you thought she was?”

  “I stalked her.”

  Reed’s shoulders bunched.

  Milo didn’t budge.

  Wallenburg said, “Poor choice of words. Just give them the facts, Travis.”

  Huck said, “I stalked her, Debora.”

  “You had concerns so you began watching her.”

  I said, “You followed Simone.”

  “I called for a week but she didn’t answer. I was confused. The last time we were together, she said . . . kind things. Then all of a sudden, nothing? I started to worry she was hurt. Then I thought, maybe she’s waiting for me. To do something spontaneous. She told me spontaneous turned her on, I needed to loosen up. I was afraid to . . . improvise. Surprises aren’t . . . I don’t like them. Simone knew I didn’t like to leave the script. So it would be a surprise.”

  “You made a spontaneous visit to her house?”

  “Just once.”

  “When?”

  “Three months ago,” said Wallenburg.

  Huck said, “Simon and Nadine and Kelvin were in Ojai for the weekend, they went because Kelvin wanted to meet Nikrugsky—the composer. The house was quiet, Simone wasn’t calling back. The quiet turned into . . . old desires came back.”

  “For heat and pain.”

  “I found matches. Lit them but didn’t broil myself. I called a sponsor. We talked, but not about what was really in my head. The quiet kept getting louder. I said go, go, go, be spontaneous. Drove to Malibu Canyon and picked flowers, made a bouquet, tied it up with grocery twine, poured grape juice into a wine bottle, wrapped it with a ribbon—black, her favorite color. I took water biscuits from the pantry. Two boxes. Havershams, from England, licensed to the royal family, Simone doesn’t eat much more than water biscuits but when she does . . . I’ve seen her go through two boxes. Later she . . . expels them. Her throat bleeds, it looks like strawberry porridge.”

  I said, “You went over to her house.”

  “I wanted a loving surprise. She didn’t answer my knock. I went out in back, Simone likes to be outside. All kinds of weather, she takes off her clothes . . . outside is where she bleeds herself. There are stains on her furniture. Teak furniture. It’s a tiny backyard, overgrown, steep hillside in back, a little gazebo where she sleeps. Before I got there I heard it. Simone and someone. My brain understood but my legs kept moving. I found a stalker spot. Watched. There was no reason, I already knew what was . . .”

  Catching his breath, he studied the ceiling.

  I said, “What did you see?”

  “Licking each other. Cats. Grooming, licking, licking, grooming.” Moistening his own lips. “Licking, growling. Laughing, talking brutality.”

  “Simone and . . .”

  Long silence.

  “Who was with her, Travis?”

  “The wig.”

  “Give us a name.”

  “Him,” said Huck. “The-wig-the-smile-Weir-the-lawyer. A nightmare. She told me she hated him, he was corrupt, stealing from Simon, she was going to tell Simon, I shouldn’t do it, she would do it, shit would hit the fan, teach those scumbags a lesson, then we’d be free . . .”

  “But in the backyard . . .”

  “Licking. No hatred. Except what they shared.”

  I said, “They shared hatred.”

  Silence.

  “Hatred of who, Travis?”

  Huck’s breathing quickened. His eyes jumped.

  “Who, Travis?”

  “Licking laughing, that disgusting word.”

  “What word?”

  “Gook.”

  “Nadine?” I said. “Because she’s Asian?”

  “They spewed it out like vomit gook-lover gook-sucker gook-fucker gook bitch slant-eyed gook scum-spawn.” Clenched fists turned burn scars into pearls. “My head—hearing it, I wanted to burn myself up. Went home, found more matches. Soaked them in water. Called another sponsor.”

  Tears filled his eyes. “I never told Simon.”

  “Simone hates her family.”

  “More than hatred,” said Huck. “It—she—there’s no word for it.”

  “Had Simone ever shown resentment about Simon remarrying?”

  “No, no, no, no, just the opposite. She loved Nadine, Nadine was smart, stylish, beautiful, not like her mother. I know Kelly, Kelly’s good people, but she wasn’t there for Simone, okay, I understand that, we all understand that, but . . .”

  “Simone claimed she loved Nadine.”

  “She said she wished Nadine had raised her. They hugged, they kissed, Nadine treated Simone like a sister. When Simone came to the house, she played with Kelvin’s hair. Beautiful hair, she always said. She kissed his cheeks. So cute, Travis. I love him, Travis. A genius, I love him, Travis. Hands of gold, I love him, Travis.”

  “Hands of gold.”

  “Gold, diamond, platinum, magic hands. She said his music was pure love and his hands went straight to his soul.”

  “No love that day in the backyard.”

  “My world flamed,” said Huck. “I crawled back in my cage.”

  Wallenburg said, “You didn’t say anything to the Vanders because you had no proof. Why would anyone believe you?”

  Huck smiled. “Objectio
n overruled.”

  “Travis—”

  “I didn’t say anything because I’m a coward.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Travis. You have more courage than most.”

  I said, “She may be right.”

  Moe Reed arched a brow. Milo still didn’t stir.

  I said, “It was a tough choice, Travis. Lance the boil and hope you can dodge the pus stream, or pray that it stays at the verbal level.”

  “Excuses,” said Huck. “Average German.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Travis,” said Wallenburg. “We’re not here to be cosmic and philosophical, these are legal matters. There was absolutely no way for you to know what they had planned and you had absolutely no obligation to divulge what you heard.”

  One of Milo’s eyes opened. “Unless he was involved.”

  Wallenburg said, “Oh, please. Have you been awake for the last ten minutes?”

  “Oh, yeah. Heard a good story.”

  Travis Huck said, “It’s logical, Debora. I killed someone, I pay for sex—”

  “Be quiet, Travis!”

  I said, “Let’s talk about the other victims.”

  Huck said, “Three women.”

  “Sheralyn Dawkins. Lurlene Chenoweth. DeMaura Montouthe.”

  No flicker of recognition. No tell, whatsoever.

  Huck said, “I heard about them on the television. That’s when I ran.”

  “Why then?”

  “What they did for a living. I go to women like them. I started to feel I knew them. Maybe I did do something.”

  “Did you?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to know what I do.”

  I repeated the names.

  He said, “No. I don’t think so.”

  Wallenburg’s teeth clenched. “Travis. That is not. What you. Told me.”

  “Deb—”

  Reed fished out three mug shots.

  Huck studied them for a long time. Shook his head.

  Wallenburg said, “He had nothing to do with it. He panicked and fled.”

  I said, “Have you ever picked up women near the airport?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you cruise for them?”

  “Sunset Strip.”

  “Why not the airport?”

  “I have to stay close to home, in case Simon and Nadine need me.”

  “Need you for what?”

  “Errands, takeout from all-night places—sometimes Nadine gets hungry late at night. Sometimes I get a CD for Kelvin at Tower Records on Sunset. Used to. It closed, now I go to Virgin.”

  Both stores were minutes from where Reed had found prostitutes who knew Huck.

  “Twenty-four seven availability,” I said.

  “It’s my job.”

  “Did Simone know you frequented prostitutes?”

  Tiny smile, hard to decipher.

  “Something funny?” said Reed.

  Huck gave a start. “No—it wasn’t frequent. I . . . I . . . occasioned.”

  I said, “Did Simone know?”

  “I confessed to her.”

  “Why?”

  “We were talking. Filling in dark spaces.”

  “Sharing secrets.”

  “Yes.”

  “What dark spaces did Simone fill?”

  “Tasting her blood. Needing to feel. Wanting the perfect body, always feeling huge, hating the mirror, seeing lumps.”

  “What did you tell her about prostitutes?”

  “I said before her there were only women like that. I said being with her was like landing on the moon.”

  “New life.”

  “New universe.”

  “So discovering her with Weir was—”

  Huck clapped his hands together. “Crash-down.”

  I glanced at Milo. Back in shut-eyed repose.

  “Travis, tell us about Silford Duboff.”

  Clouded eyes. “Who?”

  “The guy who takes care of the Bird Marsh.”

  “I’ve never been to the Bird Marsh.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  I repeated Duboff’s name.

  Huck said, “Am I supposed to know him? I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s talk about someone you do know. Selena Bass.”

  Huck seemed prepared for the question. “Selena is how I knew for sure.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Simone’s hatred didn’t stop at words.”

  “You figured Simone murdered Selena.”

  “Selena came from Simone.”

  “Came from her how?”

  “Simone found her. Said she did it for Kelvin. Simone brought Selena to the house.”

  “Finding a teacher for Kelvin.”

  “Finding a friend who—guess what—is also a piano genius and a teacher.”

  “Simone called Selena her friend.”

  “They acted like friends.”

  “How so?”

  “Happy skinny girls laughing,” said Huck. “Those low jeans they wear.”

  “How do you know they weren’t friends?”

  “Simone told me. Later. Said she heard Selena play piano at a party. Selena had magic hands, golden hands just like Kelvin, she’d be perfect for Kelvin. Kelvin had a grumpy old teacher, wanted to stop his lessons. Simone told Selena she could make big money. I should’ve known there was more.”

  “More what?”

  “The first time, I was bringing in groceries and Simone’s car pulled up, she’s got another girl with her, they’re giggling. I went inside. They didn’t. When I came out to get more groceries, they were looking at the ocean. Hands around each other. Simone’s hand went to Selena’s . . . her butt.”

  “Selena and Simone had a sexual relationship.”

  “Maybe.”

  “This was before you and Simone had a relationship.”

  “Yes.”

  “It didn’t make you wonder.”

  “About what?”

  “Simone’s sexual preferences?”

  Huck’s eyes turned fiery. “I didn’t care.”

  I said, “Later, after you were involved, Simone told you she’d met Selena at a party.”

  Nod.

  “What did she say about the party?”

  “Just a party.”

  “Tea and cookies?”

  Silence.

  He said, “Later, I had ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?”

  “In the backyard . . . after the licking, he got up and Simone stretched on the teak lounge and . . .” Wincing. “She had a razor blade. He came back, tasted her. He brought things with him. Ropes—beads—big huge plastic . . . I turned from that, didn’t want to look, but I could hear. He said, ‘Party time.’ She said, ‘Golden hands. Baby. All we’re missing is her and the piano.’ ”

  Huck shook his head; dripped sweat onto the desk. Debora Wallenburg saw it, let the spatter sit there.

  I said, “Party time. Meaning . . .”

  “Selena was into the same things.” Looking to me for confirmation.

  “When you heard about Selena’s murder, you developed a theory about what happened to her.”

  “A feeling.”

  “When we came to tell you about Selena, you didn’t mention that feeling.”

  “I was . . . I didn’t . . . you put fog in my head. Finally, it drifted out and I had the feeling. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Without opening his eyes, Milo said, “You could’ve picked up the phone.”

  Wallenburg said, “And told you what? He had an intuition.”

  Milo favored her with an avuncular smile. “On whodunit cases, Counselor, we take anything we can get.”

  “Oh, sure. You would’ve believed him.”