by M. Z. Kelly
“Everyone goes through emotional and physical changes in their life and relationships. You need to give it some time.”
He sighed, pushed back in his chair, and tossed his glasses on the desk. “Wilma just flunked the test. There’s a seventy-three percent chance that she’s cheating.”
I skimmed my messages and said, “I think you’re reading way too much into that so called quiz.”
“I’m thinking about following her. See who she’s meeting with.”
I glanced up. “Now you’re acting like a stalker. You need to get a grip, partner.”
He got a bag out of his desk drawer that I remembered him bringing in a couple of days earlier. He pulled out a breakfast sandwich, took a bite, and with his mouth full said, “Maybe. But I’m a trained detective. I know when something doesn’t pass the sniff test.”
He munched away as I looked down at Bernie and said, “I think there’s a seventy-three percent chance Charlie couldn’t pass a sniff test.” My big dog’s ears perked up and he licked the air, a sure sign that he agreed with me.
We had a mid-morning briefing with Lieutenant Edna before the Gooch and Glade were scheduled to arrive. After Bernie settled in a corner and the meeting began, I realized that Edna had purposely scheduled it so that the brothers wouldn’t be there. From the way he talked it was obvious that the duo got on the lieutenant’s nerves. Maybe he’d been ordered to put them on our case by the captain.
Charlie and I summarized what we’d learned in the three days since we’d been working the case, including what we’d found out at Westridge University. I then told Edna what Latisha Hill had told the brothers about Jezzie being pregnant and having a miscarriage.
“I called Brie Henner at the coroner’s office and asked her if Jezzie’s medical records had any information about the pregnancy and miscarriage. There was nothing in the reports.”
After we finished our summary the lieutenant tossed the morning edition of the Herald-Press onto the table. “They’re making it sound like we completely fucked up the investigation. The reporter is saying it was lazy police work, that we took the easy way out by claiming Ralston was guilty when there was no solid evidence linking him to the crime.”
Charlie picked up the paper and shrugged. “It’s hard to argue with that. Jessica Barlow couldn’t pin a purse snatch on Spiderman if he was carrying a Gucci handbag in front of Grauman’s.”
“Did Tristan’s article mention Jezzie being pregnant?” I asked, at the same time wondering if the Roses knew about the miscarriage.
Edna blew out a breath. “No. Maybe they’re saving that for a follow-up. All I know is that between the press and the higher ups they’ve got my balls in a vice and are squeezing hard.”
“LT,” Kyle Gooch said, grinning and coming through the conference room door. “My studly rock star partner and I are just the guys you need to extricate your testicles from their delicate predicament.”
“Your scrotum is in good hands with us,” Eric Glade agreed, trailing behind his partner.
“Fuck me,” Edna said, standing up and pushing past them. He turned back to us before slamming the door behind him. “Close this case and make it happen soon.”
When the lieutenant was gone Gooch brushed his hands along the sides of his gelled hair and said to his brother, “Our boss is like one of those old time record players with the needle stuck on that indelicate word choice. Maybe he needs to subscribe to Readers Digest and expand his word power.”
Glade, whose hair was darker and much shorter than his cop brethren’s, nodded. “There’s a veritable plethora of alternate linguistic phrases Henrietta could select from, bro.”
“Crush it, dude.”
Glade said, “The lieutenant might simply choose to say, Let’s get out there and pound the punani.”
“Nice alliteration.”
“Or he could wax poetic and say, Let’s put some stinky on the Twinkie.”
“I always did like a good rhyme.”
“And for those rainy winter nights, LT might consider telling us to, Go for the Malibu Mudslide.”
“A Malibu what?” Charlie said.
“Never mind,” I said, cutting Glade off before he could explain. “Let’s focus on our case before we end up working traffic control at the beach during a rainstorm.”
After our new partners took seats at the table, I said to the brothers, “Let’s go over exactly what Latisha Hill told you yesterday.”
“That girl is considered royalty at the Bakersfield brick pile,” Gooch said. “Tyson Gray was her dealer but Queen Latisha is the pit boss. Everything there goes through mama drama.”
“She’s behind the drug dealing?”
“Big time,” the shorter and younger brother said. He had a notepad in front of him and was drawing squiggles. “But she’s clever. None of the local cops realize that the queen is running the kingdom.”
“Was she dealing to Ralston?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it was small time,” Gooch said. “Barry came sniffing around one day looking for a little crack. With the queen’s approval Tyler Gray sold to him a few times. Barry eventually met Latisha and got hooked on another kind of crack. Our boy became her BUB.”
“What’s that?”
“Back Up Boyfriend,” Gooch explained. “One of several. The queen bee was busy with lots of the hood rats in the brick pile. Tyler eventually found out about her fling with Barry and planned to take him out. But our man on the lamb beat him to the punch the other night. End of story.”
“What did Barry tell Latisha about Jezzie being pregnant?” Charlie asked.
“Just that he wasn’t the tadpole’s daddy. He said that he and Jezzie had their ups and down and weren’t doing the whoopee-wow-wow. Latisha said that when Barry found out about the pregnancy he went a little manic on the bipolar scale.”
“As in abusing Jezzie and causing the miscarriage?” I asked.
Gooch shrugged. “That would be my guess. He probably did the beat down on the babe with a baby.”
“And he never mentioned who the father was to Latisha?”
The brothers gave me a simultaneous head shake. “Could be that Barry didn’t know,” Glade opined.
“Do you know if Latisha told the reporter from the Herald-Press about Jezzie’s pregnancy?” I asked, thinking about how the Roses might react if they didn’t know about the miscarriage and Haley Tristan showed up at their doorstep with that information.
“Latisha confided in us only because she fell victim to our prodigious charm,” Glade said, clicking his pen off and on. “I don’t think the reporter got much that she didn’t already know.”
“Do you think we should go back to the Roses?” Charlie asked me. “Maybe they knew about the pregnancy and have been withholding something material to the case.”
As an investigator I knew what Charlie was suggesting was the right move, but if the Roses didn’t know about the miscarriage I hated the thought of adding to their pain. “Let’s wait a day or two and see what else we turn up first.” I turned back to the brothers. “We’ve learned that our Olympic star was quite popular.” I filled them in on what Sandra Weimer had told us and then mentioned what Natalie and Mo had said last night about Chucky Wilson.
“Chucky?” Glade said. “Really?”
“A name like that makes him no good right there,” the older brother said. “He’s emotionally stuck in the schoolyard with a childhood name.”
Glade dropped his pen and looked at Gooch like he’d just had an epiphany. “Or he’s some kind of psycho serial killer doll, bro.”
“Chucky’s got a joint prior, so he’s no schoolboy,” I said. “According to his jacket, he also has a fondness for just about every drug you can name. And a few you probably haven’t heard of.”
“There’s another player in the mix,” Charlie said, sliding a picture of Terry Gibson across the table. “Jezzie’s brother, Bix, texted Kate this photograph late last night.”
“A pretty boy,”
Kyle Gooch said, studying the photo.
“A metro-man with a sartorial flair,” Eric Glade agreed, looking over his shoulder. “Sexual ambiguity run rampant.”
Gibson looked to be in his mid-thirties and had delicate, refined features with steel blue eyes. He was dressed in a blousy jade-colored shirt and white pants. His hair was the color of summer wheat.
While the photograph was probably a casual shot taken by Jezzie, it almost looked like a posed publicity shot. His sexual ambiguity, as Eric Glade called it, made me wonder if Gibson had any real interest in Jezzie, other than her celebrity status.
“Do we have an address?” Charlie said.
I nodded. “Gibson lives in a loft over on Lexington. He was less than thrilled with the prospect but agreed that we could come by at noon today.”
“I guess that leaves the DB’s to do battle with Chucky,” Glade said, turning to his older partner. “I’ll bring the voodoo pins and a knife soaked in chicken blood.”
“I don’t play well with dolls unless it’s a Barbie,” Gooch said. “But I’ll try to channel my inner girl for the cause.”
“Dude,” Glade said. “Don’t go all tranny on me.”
I suppressed an eye roll, again wondering how we’d had the luck of being partnered with a duo that might have more aptly been named the doofus brothers.
I tried to refocus the conversation. “We’ve just learned that Chucky Wilson’s office closed down a couple of weeks ago. We haven’t been able to locate him. I need you two to go back to the university, talk to the staff and students. I also want you to find out if anyone can give us an ID on the big guy with the ponytail that Sandra Weimer said was bothering Jezzie.”
The brothers did a high five. “It’s back to school for us,” Gooch said. “Hey, maybe they need a couple of rock stars on their volleyball team.”
“Maybe we’ll find a Misty May and her fine looking tall sister,” Glade agreed. “I’m ready to sizzle the pits, bang the balls.”
“Enough,” I said, raising my voice. “One more thing. I want you two to also hook up with Pearl Kramer and see if you can locate Shane Mumford, Jezzie’s personal trainer. Maybe he can give you a lead on Mr. Ponytail. Pearl’s going to work on locating Chucky Wilson in his spare time.”
Eric Glade looked at his partner. “Pearl is one cool bro, bro.”
“With Papa Pearl and the DB’s on your team,” Gooch said to me. “You must be living right, Kate.”
“Yeah, my life is one big fairytale, kind of like a certain motel in Bakersfield.”
***
Terry Gibson answered his door at noon after stepping out of the shower. Jezzie’s former boyfriend was wearing a terry cloth robe, drying his beautiful straw-colored hair, and talking on the phone. He motioned us inside while he finished his call.
Charlie and I settled in on a sofa that was mid-century vintage and complimented by several other pieces of that era. The living area was open to the kitchen with high ceilings, lots of brick, and industrial lighting. One wall was lined with vintage musical instruments, including several autographed guitars. From the windows of our fourth floor perch we could see the city drifting in and out of a thick fogbank.
As Bernie rested at my feet, I listened in on Gibson’s conversation while he paced and argued. From what I could gather he was negotiating some kind of contract and wasn’t happy with the terms being offered. I had the impression that the other party was still talking when he abruptly ended the call.
“My apologies,” Gibson said, coming over to us. After introductions, he took a seat across from us on a white leather armchair with chrome accents. He scowled at Bernie and sniffed. “I’d rather you hadn’t brought the dog. I’m allergic to dander.”
“This shouldn’t take too long,” I said, waiting for his watery blue eyes to come up to me before continuing. “We understand that you were involved with Jezzie Rose at one time.”
“I read in the paper that her killer is dead. What’s the point of bringing all this up again? I talked to the other detectives several months ago.”
“The point is,” Charlie said, taking the bad guy role that we’d agreed upon before the interview. “You got Jezzie pregnant before she was murdered.” When my partner plays bad cop he seldom beats around the bush.
Gibson’s mouth fell open before it turned up. He began to cackle in a pitch that was so high it made Bernie’s ears stand straight up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do we look like we’re kidding?” Charlie deadpanned. My partner leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and his big belly spilling over his belt buckle. “But if you wanna laugh and put on the stupid face we can take this downtown.”
“I don’t know anything about her being pregnant,” Gibson said, his chiseled features growing serious. “And I don’t appreciate the stupid face comment.” He sighed. “Just so you know, Jezzie and I were…we were just friends.”
“Friends with benefits that got her into trouble,” Charlie said. “We know that Jezzie got pregnant and lost the baby.”
Gibson stood up and began pacing again. “You don’t understand.”
“Then enlighten us,” I said.
“And sit down,” Charlie barked. “Or I’ll send the dog over to help you out.” Bernie stood, the fur on his back lifting.
After a moment, our subject complied, coming back to his chair and tugging on the sleeves of his robe. Bernie settled down after a pull on his leash.
“Okay, yes, Jezzie did get pregnant but I wasn’t the father.” He exhaled. “I don’t know who the father was.”
“Bullshit,” Charlie said. “Jezzie’s your girlfriend, you’re living together, she gets pregnant, and you’re trying to tell us you were just standing around with your dick in your pocket.”
Gibson shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Then break it down for us.”
More heavy sighs followed before he finally said, “Jezzie and I had an arrangement. She’d broken up with that dirt bag Ralston but he wouldn’t stay away. She asked me if I would pretend to be her boyfriend so that he’d think she’d found someone else.”
“Meanwhile, you get her pregnant.”
“No.” Gibson was on his feet again.
“Final warning, Charlie bellowed. “Sit. And I ain’t talking to the dog.” Bernie was on his feet again, salivating.
Gibson took his seat as my big dog relaxed. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m gay.”
Charlie laughed but with a straight face. “You wouldn’t be the first guy to play in both sandboxes.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t sleep with Jezzie and I don’t know who the father was. All I know is that Jezzie said it wasn’t Barry.”
“Was Barry upset about the pregnancy?” I asked. “Did he hit her?”
“He was upset but they weren’t together when she got pregnant. He was an abusive asshole to her but I don’t think he caused her to lose the baby if that’s what you’re asking.”
“How did Jezzie react when she miscarried?” I asked.
“She was depressed. I think she had conflicted feelings about everything.”
“Tell us about how you used Jezzie for financial gain,” Charlie said.
Gibson’s pretty face twisted up. “What?”
“You sold her memorabilia, hotshot.”
Gibson splayed his hands in a pleading gesture. “We were business associates. Before she began winning medals and getting endorsement deals, Jezzie and I were just trying to make ends meet. She gave me some autographs and a few personal items that I sold to collectors. It was strictly a financial arrangement that benefited both of us. I didn’t use her and it was no big deal.”
Charlie growled, “It was apparently a big enough deal to make you a wad of cash.” He looked around the expansive loft. “Looks like you’re doing okay.”
A scoff. “Hardly. Jezzie hadn’t hit the big time when I knew her. Any success I have now is due to my modeling career taking off, not be
cause I sold a few autographs.”
“But back when the business wasn’t going so well you took it out on Jezzie, didn’t you?” Charlie said. “You used your fists on her.”
Gibson’s back stiffened. He sniffed and his voice rose. “What? I never touched her.”
Charlie did the bulldog stare. “Don’t lie to us. Jezzie got pregnant, you were upset about it, and you took it out on her.”
Gibson tugged at the ties on his robe. Tears were in his eyes. “You’ve got to believe me. Jezzie and I were never romantically involved.” He shook his head slowly. When he spoke again his voice was softer, the tears coming harder. “Barry threatened me.”
“Because he thought you got Jezzie pregnant,” Charlie said, his voice kicking up a notch.
“No—he knew I wasn’t the father. But he wanted me out of Jezzie’s life, so I agreed to move out of her apartment if he wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t what?” Charlie demanded.
Gibson wiped his tears on the sleeve of his robe. “Barry said he would ruin my modeling career. He hired a big guy to threaten me. The guy told me my face would never look the same when he was through with me.” More sniffles. “I believed him.”
“What’s this guy’s name?”
“I don’t know. I’d never seen him before.”
“Can you give us a description?” I asked, trying to soften Charlie’s bulldog approach.
“He was a weight-lifter type, tall with big shoulders and arms. I wouldn’t stand a chance with him.”
“What else can you tell us about him?” Charlie asked.
“He was probably about six-two and had brown hair tied into a ponytail.”
I looked at Charlie, then back at Gibson. “Did you ever see this guy hanging around Jezzie’s practices?”
A nod. “Yeah, a couple of times, I think.”
“You were afraid of Ralston’s buddy so you left Jezzie to fend for herself,” Charlie said, his voice full of disgust.
Gibson nodded, not looking at us.
“What about Jezzie’s agent, Chucky Wilson?” I said. “Was he hanging around Jezzie, threatening her?”