Bad People (7 page)

“Tommy. Detective Brussels,” said Starvold putting his hand on his partners arm. “Mrs. Hart, listen to me. There’s one more thing.” Starvold took a single thrice-folded sheet of paper out of a manila folder that he’d rested on the coffee table when they’d sat down. He unfolded it slowing, fixing his eyes on Connie’s. “These are the results of a medical test that your husband had done recently.”

He pushed the paper across the table top, slowly. She saw only five words:

Testing Result Positive for HIV
.

She curled forward and reflexively bit into her knuckle.

“Mrs. Hart?” said Starvold. “Can I get you anything?”

“Wexler,” she told him.

“Excuse me.”

“My husband’s name was Hart,” she said. My name is Connie Wexler.”

Chapter 8: Tommy

“She’s lying,” said Tommy on the way back to the car. They’d parked across the empty street from the empty house.

“Come on. She’s upset, you can see that,” said Starvold. “You have a bug up your ass about her.”

“She got these guys all on a string. Off doing her Tony-fuckin’-Robbins shit.”

“So it’s her fault?”

“She a contributor. Who do you like for this? I say she put the partner up to it. This Barry. He’s gaga over her you know. Think we ought to tell him about the AIDS test. I’ll lay odds she’s doing him. Maybe she gave AIDS to the husband.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. He’s the one with whores in Vegas jacking him up between the toes, and the wife gave
him
AIDS.”

“Still, someone ought to warn Taupe about the AIDS, too.”

“That’s up to her, if anybody. Can’t go handing out the guy’s medical records to everyone who ever met him.”

“Somebody ought to, that piece is going to eat some poor fucker alive.”

“You think she’s that good?”

“Oh fuck me, Starvold. You can barely keep your tongue in your mouth around her. You’re like a dog showing red crayon. Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“She’s an attractive woman, yeah.”

“You’ll have to do better than that in the flattery department when you decide to hit it.”

“Look, the lady comes home to a half a dozen uniforms slipping and sliding on her husband’s brains all over the garage floor. So she happened to have been out of town for a couple days. And she’s good-looking, okay better than good looking. That makes her the fucking Black Widow? Plain and simple, you just don’t like her.”

“ I don’t fucking like her. That’s right. You think it’s a personal problem? You think she reminds me of somebody? “

“Doesn’t she?”

Tommy stopped in the middle of the street and turned to flank Starvold. “Who would you be referring? Specifically-wise?”

“Forget it.”

“Why? Maybe you’ve got a valid fucking point. Maybe when I look at that snatch, I’ve got a preconceived notion of her coloring my motherfucking judgment. That’s something you should make me aware of Ethan. That’s what you should do.”

“All right. Forget it already.”

“Don’t bring it up again.”

“All right.”

“ I mean it.”

“I said all right, Tommy.”

“You’d better take it seriously, this path upon which you tread. ‘Cause I do.”

Ethan Starvold said nothing, gave Tommy that school-teacher look and got into the car on the driver’s side.

Tommy: “Oh, so you’re fucking driving?”

“I’ve got the keys.” He dangled them. “I drove here.”

Tommy made no move to get in the car. Starvold finally threw his hands open in a question:
are you riding or not?

Tommy took out his phone and flipped it open. “I got to make a call.” He walked away from the car, and pretended not the hear Starvold’s next comment:

“Yeah, you do that.”

He got her voicemail. “Hi Chrystal. It’s me. I’ll be on time tonight, pretty sure. If you don’t got nothing planned yet, I thought I’d go by Safeway, pick up a couple of them pre-made prime rib dinners. Let me know. Okay, bye.” He turned back toward the car, and the slim unlined face of Ethan Starvold made him say a little more in defiance. “Okay, Chrystal. Darling. Love ya.”

He got in the unit on the passenger side.

“How is she, Tommy?”

“You keep it up. You keep it up, son.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t talk about Chrystal.”

“I’m asking after her, that’s all.”

“No shit? No fucking implication? Do you think I look that stupid. You got no fucking implication. You sit there and talk about my daughter. My
daughter
!”

“What the fuck, Tommy. Are you serious? What implication?”

Tommy breathed deeply ground his teeth. He was seconds away from wringing Starvold’s neck. “You mean it Ethan? No implication?”

“Implication of what? Of what?”

Tommy looked away, into the street, trying to get control of himself. The neighborhood had been hit hard by the housing crisis. All these dream homes were worthless. Abandoned. Someone had lied. “Don’t talk about my daughter,” he said.

Starvold turned the key and start the engine. Then he Immediately cut it. “Jesus, look at yourself.” Starvold wrenched the rearview mirror around to assault Tommy with the monstrosity of his own wrecked face. “You ought to talk to somebody. You’re falling the fuck apart.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“
Yeah
you do. Killing yourself and you know it. Then who’ll look out for Chrystal?”

Tommy choked out words. “You got no say in it.”

“That right?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. I can’t make it no clearer than that, Detective. You want to spare yourself the anguish, then partner up with someone else. In regards my family you got no say.”

Ethan started the car again and pulled away from the curb muttering. “You’re a sorry motherfucker, Tommy.”

Detective Tommy Brussels did not argue the point.

Chapter 9: Luke

Some weeks after the library, Luke borrowed Ardiss’s Datsun on an impulse and drove past the Hart residence for the first time since he had killed Robb. Beyond a “For Sale” sign and flyers on a post in the yard, little, if anything, had changed outwardly. The neighborhood was still lonely and quiet. The house, like all the houses out there, had always looked unoccupied.

The garage door yawned open, revealing Connie in shorts and sandals inside. Luke almost impulsively threw the Datsun into gear, but made himself stop. Connie saw him idling there and stepped into the driveway, shading her eyes. She waved. He waved back, then she gestured to the post. He got her meaning—she was offering him a flyer. He nodded, and started to unbuckle his seatbelt. She waved him off, stepped to the yard for a flyer, then carried it to the car. Luke rolled the passenger side window down.

“There you go,” she said, handing him the flyer.

“Thank you. Nice place.”

“Yes.”

There were photos on the flyer showing the living room and other interiors, mostly empty of furniture. He noticed too, looking past her, that the garage had been stripped, like a naked concrete cell.

“Have you already moved out?”

“Oh yes. I’m having an open house this afternoon. Starting at noon, actually.”

“Ah, okay. What time is it now?”

“Just after eleven.”

“Well maybe I’ll drive around and come back if I can.”

“All right. You’re shopping for a house?”

“I’m always looking. I’m looking to get into real estate as an investment.”

“Well interest rates are low.”

“That’s good, right?”

She laughed. “It’s good if your buying or don’t need to sell. It’s bad in that if anyone had any cash to buy, interest rates would be higher.”

“Oh, I see what you mean. Well, I’m not probably a serious buyer, I guess you can tell.”

“What makes you say that?”

“My car for one thing. My age. I’m probably not the kind of person you should expend the energy on if you’re trying to move a house like this.”

She waved her hand. “Oh, come on.”

“Okay, maybe I will come back. What time did you say?”

“If you want to have a look, how about now?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? I’m ready. No sense in driving around the block and wasting your gas. Anyway you might find something you like better and I’d lose you.” She smiled.

He looked at the dollar range on the flyer. “I’m looking more for, you know fixer-uppers. Um, you know…”

“Bargains.”

“Yeah. I’m just learning about investing, and different…I don’t even know if real estate is my thing.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Okay, I’ll come in.”

“Good for you.”

He got out of the car and they walked up the driveway. Instinctively he found himself headed toward the open garage and she steered him back toward the front door. “Oh,” he said. “The garage certainly looks clean.” The concrete was spotless, almost white.

“It’s been steam cleaned,” she said mildly.

He followed her up the little walkway through the front door, the first time he’d been inside the house proper.

“Nice place,” he said, along with some other banalities. The living room was bare like the garage. The carpet was a good color: dark, lush, like a hotel suite. He commented on it.

She’d slipped off her sandals at entering and now grabbed a tuft of shag between her toes. “It’s only nine months old,” she said.

“I’ve got this terrible carpet in my place. They call it ‘landlord beige.’”

She laughed. “I think I’ve heard of that. Not to my face.”

“Not…oh, I see. You’re a landlord.”

“We have some buildings. My—” And then she stopped uncomfortably.

“That’s a lot of work.”

“Not really. Not at this point. We manage them through a company. We’re not involved in the day-to-day process.”

“No fixing pipes and collecting back rent.”

“Right. I wouldn’t be so good at that.”

“You have to know who to trust though. They could be screwing you.”

“Tenants?”

“The management company.”

“We have a relationship going back a long ways.”

“Sure, now. But suppose you were just starting out.”

“Like you?”

He smiled and rolled his eyes. “I guess you caught me.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind questions. As a matter-of-fact that is how it’s done. Asking questions. You talk to people, you meet people and you try new things.”

“Right.” He nodded. “As simple as that.”

“It’s not simple. Simple to explain, but not so simple unless you follow through.”

“
Follow-through
, yeah. But you have to know you’re following through on the right things.”

“Faith,” she said. “Faith and the willingness to make mistakes.”

“Wow.” The way she said it astounded him.

“What?”

“You didn’t even hesitate, you didn’t even think about it. You just know.”

“I don’t know anything. It’s just what I’ve experienced. The same thing will happen to you.”

“I think it will.”

“There you go.”

“I’d like to buy you lunch.” He hadn’t meant to say it.

See looked at him so hard her eyes crossed. She stammered. “I…I don’t know…I’m pretty busy with the sale…“

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Oh no. And don’t
you
be embarrassed.” She poked one bare foot at the carpet, looking ten years younger, and coltish. Her legs were white and very naked, this being probably the first time they’d been exposed all summer. In less than an instant, she returned to her more professional self.

“Or coffee then,” he put in before she slipped too far away. His senses were tingling. He felt time slow. He could smell her hair, he knew what her shirt felt like, protecting her skin.

“Um,” she said. “Hm.” At a loss. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Not today. Some other time. You have the open house. But soon. Before you forget all about me.” He flashed the smile.

“My appointment’s not today, it’s sometime next week. It not really an appointment, I’m waiting…Oh Jesus! I’m babbling, aren’t I. Sorry.” She waved her hand in front of her reddening face, trying to delete her last few sentences.

“It’s okay. People tell me things. I’m easy to talk to. But come on. Meet with me. It’s all about meeting people. Networking.”

“In one sense…”

“I hate that term too. Networking! Look, maybe you thought I meant like a date or something…” he tried that, and watched the emotions flash in her eyes. Relief and regret, and better yet, anger, all mixed together. He held his pause a bit, waiting while those emotions swam around in her head. “I hope you
did
think that, I have to tell you. Because that is what I meant. A date.”