Goodbye Sister Disco

by James Patrick Hunt

  Hastings said, “Your car, where is it now?”

  Judy Chen said, “It’s in the parking garage.”

  “Has anyone touched it since you drove here this morning?”

  “No.”

  “We’re going to have to have some technicians go over it. Obviously, the man or men who planted that tape got into your vehicle, and we’re going to have to look for prints and hairs and, you know, technical stuff. Now, we’ll be glad to get you home by cab or police escort while we’re using your car. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Yes.”

  Hastings knew that if it wasn’t, they could still seize it. At least temporarily. But she could make things difficult if she was of a mind to.

  Hastings said, “Now, the man you spoke to. What did he sound like?”

  Judy Chen seemed to have mentally unfolded her arms. She said, “Uh, youngish. Maybe thirty. I mean, twenties, early thirties.” She shrugged in a way that was not unkind. “If that helps,” she said.

  “It does,” Hastings said.

  “He sounded white. He didn’t sound like a country guy. He didn’t sound like a redneck. I would say that his accent was midwestern.”

  “You mean midwestern like around here?”

  “Yes. He didn’t sound like a Chicagoan. Or a Michigander. He sounded like he was from around here.”

  “Okay,” Hastings said, “And did you hear anything in the background? Traffic, music, anything.”

  “I can’t remember hearing anything.”

  “All right,” Hastings said. “Now, your car. When you’re at home, where do you park it?”

  “In the street. I have a permit.”

  “It’s not parked in a garage?”

  “No.”

  “You lock it?”

  “Always.”

  “Any cameras around where you park?”

  “On the street?” she said. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” Hastings said, “Did he say he would contact you again?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  She said, “I don’t know.”

  “Did you encourage him to?” Hastings believed it was a necessary question.

  She paused for a moment, but did not seem offended. She said, “No. I don’t believe I did.”

  “Okay,” Hastings said. “I believe that. But I want to tell you that we’re going to have to set up recording devices on your home phone and cell phone in case he tries it again. No one’s interested in your private life, but this will be necessary. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand it.”

  “Having said that, I want you to know that I don’t want this man to contact you again. It may be a great news story, but this man is a killer. He murdered a young man who was Cordelia Penmark’s escort. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know it.”

  “And the physical evidence that we have so far seems to suggest that the young man gave them no struggle. In other words, they killed him in cold blood.”

  The woman didn’t say anything.

  Hastings said, “So he’s not someone you want a relationship with. A man like this Carl, people are just objects to him. He used you and, if necessary, he’d kill you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I don’t think I’m telling you something you didn’t already know.” Hastings said this, though he didn’t fully believe it. He said, “Am I right?”

  Judy Chen said, “You’re right.”

  “Also,” Hastings said, “we have a duty to advise you that what you did technically constitutes obstructing an investigation.” Hastings raised a hand and said, “Don’t worry about it. No one’s charging you with anything. But in the future, please notify us before doing anything. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  When they left, the station manager and Judy Chen both shook Hastings’s hand. They shook the agents’ hands too. Hastings had had enough experience dealing with people to know that this gesture was done more out of relief in settling a tense situation than out of friendship. He remembered when he was on patrol a belligerent drunk had wanted to shake his hand a few minutes after Hastings had thrown him against a car. But that was okay. They got the woman’s cooperation and that of the station in less than an hour with minimal head butting and, better, no attorneys.

  Still, when they were walking back to the car, Agent Gabler gave him a look that was pretty hard to read and said, “Man, you can be quite the charmer, huh?”

  “I have moments,” Hastings said. He didn’t make eye contact when he said it.

  FOURTEEN

  There was little, if any, discussion on the ride back to the station. Agent Kubiak continued to talk about the case with Agent Gabler as if Hastings were not in the car. When they pulled up to sally port, Kubiak stopped the car and didn’t say anything. Gabler turned around and said, “What are you going to do now?”

  Hastings did not detect any sarcasm in the question. He said, “I’ll check in with forensics. See what they got from the crime scene.”

  Kubiak shook his head without turning around. He said, “I’m not sure if it’s theirs anymore.”

  Hastings said, “They’re going to complete their report.”

  Kubiak didn’t respond to that.

  Hastings said to Agent Gabler, “I’ll let you know if we turn up anything.”

  “Thanks,” Gabler said.

  Hastings got out of the car. The feds drove off and Hastings thought, Fuck it. It’s not a time to be angry.

  * * *

  Andy Kustura was the lead field evidence technician (FET) on the Myers murder. He was a short, stocky man of around fifty with a gentle disposition. He dressed unfashionably—dated boat shoes and golf shirts buttoned to the top—and people often mistook him for a high school science teacher. Like many top people in forensics, he was a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley. He was quiet and studious by nature, but there were stories of him once doing a flawless David Caruso impersonation at a Christmas party, using sunglasses as a prop. It was said that he could be funny and animated once in a blue moon, given enough alcohol.

  He met Hastings at the anteroom next to the tech lab. Andy Kustura had already been told that the feds were taking over.

  He said, “We should probably have a preliminary report ready tomorrow. The crime occurred at night and we still haven’t completed our daylight follow-up.” All major scenes had to be redone in daylight.

  Hastings said, “Can you give me a rough summary of what you got now?”

  Andy brought Hastings to a table and showed him the crime-scene sketch. A street with rectangles marking cars and positions of bodies and bloodstains. He spoke as he indicated objects on the sketch.

  Andy said, “Here’s what it looks like. The victim’s car, a BMW, was parked facing west. He and the girl walked through the grass. She’s wearing high heels, he’s wearing a pair of Allen-Edmonds. They both walk in the grass, single file, until they get to the car. Victim comes off the grass and around to the driver’s side of the BMW. Here. And that’s when two other people appear.” Andy gestured to the other side of the BMW rectangle. He said, “We’ve got footprints on the passenger side, impressions in the soft ground. Behind the girl. A pair of Rockport boots. This guy grabs the girl from behind. On the driver’s side, assailant one walks up to Myers. Bam, bam. Myers goes down, assailant leans over and shoots him again. See. The bloodstain is there, by the driver’s door. They keep the girl and a car pulls up and they put her in the car. Then, they move Myers’s body behind the BMW. Now, we were hoping to get something off the car. Because it appears like the assailants wanted to put him sort of under the car. Put him out of sight. But he must have been wearing gloves, because we don’t see a print impression on the back of the car.”

  Hastings said, “You mean, the assailant crouched down to shove the body?”

  “Yeah. He would have had to do that to shove t
he body. But he didn’t crouch. See, he left knee impressions.”

  “In the grass.”

  “Yeah. We got those. But, see, this is what we were hoping for. We hoped when the guy got back up, he would put his hands on the car to steady himself. Help lift himself up.”

  “Well, I would,” Hastings said.

  “Yeah, but you’re a middle-aged man. I would too,” Andy said. “This guy didn’t use the car to steady himself. Just stood back up.”

  “A younger man, then.”

  “Perhaps,” Andy said. “That’s what I would think. He pushes or rolls Myers’s body sort of underneath the back of the car and then he gets in another car and leaves.” Andy said, “I think the guy on the passenger side would have had his hands full with the girl, so this guy would have had to drag the victim’s body by himself. He was strong enough to do that. And then they both got into another vehicle and left. My speculation—my reasonable speculation—is that there was a third person involved here. One driving the getaway vehicle. They kept the car out of sight until they killed the victim and had the girl subdued. You know Isaac?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He was one of the first criminalists on the scene. He thinks they used chloroform to subdue the girl. He said he smelled it.”

  “You find traces of that?”

  “No. Not on the vehicle. And … no, we didn’t.”

  “Okay. What’s the word from the coroner?”

  “The victim was killed with a .357 revolver.”

  “That’s a loud gun. I think someone would have heard it.”

  Andy Kustura shrugged. “There was a party going on. And they were a ways from the house.”

  Hastings said, “Would you say this was a planned abduction?”

  “Oh yeah. They could have killed the girl easy. As to the victim, we haven’t found any fiber evidence, et cetera, that he struggled with his assailant. Again, just looks like the assailant walked up and shot him.” Andy said, “Now, George, I just look at things, you know. I’m not a people guy like you. But my guess is that they planned to kill him all along. Or decided to kill him once they saw him.”

  “Why do you think that, Andy?”

  Andy shrugged. “Savages, like most murderers, I guess. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time and they wanted to get him out of the way. Dispose of him. But maybe something else too, if this was a planned abduction.”

  “You mean, like a demonstration.”

  “Yeah. We killed this guy, we can kill your daughter too.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll call you if something else comes up, George.”

  “Thanks, Andy.”

  FIFTEEN

  Adele Beckwith’s house was in Clayton, off Wydown Boulevard. It was a modest two-story home perched among lush, green grass and hedges and old-money trees. Maybe twenty-five hundred square feet to it and you wouldn’t be able to touch it for less than three-quarters of a million. Hastings remembered a few years back Eileen pointing to a house in this neighborhood and suggesting that maybe they could make an offer. Hastings had said, “Are you nuts?” Not seeing the problems back then.

  Hastings parked the Jag in the driveway and rang the doorbell.

  Adele Beckwith answered. She seemed to hesitate for a moment.

  Hastings said, “Ms. Beckwith, I’m Lieutenant Hastings. I called you a half hour ago.”

  “Oh. Yes, come in.”

  The house was less appealing inside. It smelled old and looked unkempt. There were books on the coffee table and dinner table and a lot of other places. Adele Beckwith led him into the living room, where there was a little black pug on the couch. The pug growled at Hastings.

  “Now, William,” Adele said, “you behave.” She made no attempt to move the dog off the furniture.

  She turned to the policeman and said, “Have you heard anything?”

  “No, ma’am. Not yet.”

  For a moment she did not say anything. The silence discomfited him and he found himself saying, “We’re working on it. And we think—we believe she’s alive.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, it’s a kidnapping. And they need her alive so they can ransom her.”

  The woman took a seat on the couch. The dog remained where he was.

  Adele said, “A kidnapping?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know. We’re trying to find out.”

  “A kidnapping. For money.”

  “Yes.”

  “His money.”

  “You mean, your ex-husband’s.”

  “Well, I haven’t got it. Who else would it be?”

  “Right,” Hastings said.

  It didn’t look like she was going to ask him to sit down. So he asked if she minded if he did. She gestured to a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” Hastings said.

  The woman shrugged.

  Hastings said, “Do you have—do you have someone you could stay with?”

  She shook her head.

  “Any family…?”

  She shook her head again.

  Hastings said, “Ms. Beckwith, do you mind if I ask you a few things?”

  “No.”

  “Do you mind talking with me?”

  “No.”

  “Your husband. Your ex-husband—are you aware of any enemies he had? People who would target him?”

  She snorted, a bitter near laugh. “Gene? Enemies?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “He’s not the sort to have enemies. He’s weak.”

  “Do you have much of a relationship with him anymore?”

  “No. I’ve been discarded, you see. His past. He bought me off. Gave me this house, an annual stipend. He was generous, really. With money. He’s got plenty of that. He just wanted me to go away.”

  “You didn’t want to be divorced?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I guess I became an embarrassment to him.”

  “Well…”

  “This is supposed to keep me happy. This house. This … prison. This isolation. Would it keep you happy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He seemed to think so. Him and that—that beast he married. I was bought off. Paid to stay away from my own children.”

  “And that angers you?”

  “Of course! What, does that make me a suspect? Sir?”

  “No. I doubt it.”

  She put her face in her hands and sobbed. The sobs turned to shrieks. Hastings walked over and sat next to her.

  “What’s going to happen?” she said. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “We’ll get her back,” Hastings said. He didn’t have the strength to tell her he didn’t know.

  SIXTEEN

  A few hours later, Hastings was in his office with Klosterman. It was close to end of watch and Klosterman was sitting in front of Hastings’s desk.

  Klosterman said, “What does she do?”

  “She reads a lot,” Hastings said. “She goes to coffee shops. She watches a lot of television. She buys things on eBay. He gave her enough money in the divorce that she doesn’t have to work. I think it’d be better for her if she had something to do.”

  “You mean, during this?”

  “No, I mean in general. I got the feeling she’s pretty well educated. That at one time she had genuine feelings for Penmark. She said that when they married, she had no idea he’d get rich. She doesn’t think he did either.”

  “But he did.”

  “And bought himself another wife.”

  “She hate the new wife?”

  “Oh yeah. But … if it hadn’t been Lexie Lacquere, it would have been someone else. He found a new life and Adele didn’t fit into it.”

  “Would that make her vengeful?”

  “Sure. But not enough to hire someone to kidnap her own daughter. If that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Klosterman shrugged
.

  Hastings said, “God. She can’t even control her own dog. It was heartbreaking.”

  “A house off Wydown, yeah, that’s heartbreaking.”

  “Christ, Joe, show some fucking compassion. Her daughter’s been abducted.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s all right. Jesus, she told me she feels like she’s a prisoner in that house. It sounds silly if you’re outside of it. But if you’re there, you understand what she means.”

  “How?”

  “Well, she’s … she’s a misfit. Yeah, she’s got the money. Enough money not to have to worry about living. But those groups—those society groups—they’re not going to let someone like her in. They invent clubs like that to keep people like her out.”

  “Evolution at work, Georgie.”

  “I thought you Catholic types didn’t believe in that.”

  “Yeah. Well, police work makes it hard for us mackerel snappers to cling to all our traditions. She couldn’t make it in Penmark’s new life, so he cut her out of it. Survival of the fittest and all that … shit. Now he’s rich, and on top of being abandoned by him, her daughter’s been kidnapped. Does she like the girl?”

  “Her daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. Loves her. I don’t think the daughter’s cut her out. I don’t think.”

  “Are you worried about her?”

  “Yeah, I am. I think if Cordelia’s killed, her mother won’t survive it.”

  Klosterman said, “You think she’d…”

  “Yeah.”

  Hastings had checked Adele Beckwith’s bathrooms for sleeping pills. Had even asked her if she kept firearms in the house. (She didn’t.) After that, he gave her the number of a counselor and told her to call the woman if she felt like she was in trouble. He gave her his own number as well and told her she could call him anytime she wanted to talk. Did all that and hoped it would help, though he didn’t feel too secure about it.

  Klosterman left it alone. It wasn’t something they could do much about. Klosterman sighed and said, “They check out Judy Chen’s vehicle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So nothing?”

  “No,” Hastings said. “We found a lot of her prints on the videotape and car, but nothing else. They tried.”