Capital Crimes (13 page)

“I remember Hewitt,” said Barnes. “Tall, skinny, dumb.”

“And rich—rich was a big thing to Janey’s parents. Anyway, we were downing shooters and smoking weed and getting high. Hewitt got sick to his stomach and fell asleep on Janey’s bed. The rest of us were feeling no pain. When Davida threw out the suggestion, Janey and I thought she was joking.”

Newell turned grave. His voice lowered. “But she wasn’t. It happened slowly…you know, just kissing and copping feels. Then…bam…” Newell was sweating. “Afterward was the scary part. Jane freaked out. It took the both of us and a lot more weed to calm her down, convince her that it was no big deal, only normal experimentation. A couple of months later, Davida came out. She and Jane remained friends, but I became an outsider real quick.”

“So Davida and Jane hooked up that long ago?”

“I rightly don’t know if they did or didn’t. Eventually, I started dating Jill, ’cause she was hot, too, wanted it all the time. Though looking back it seems like she was…you know, maybe acting? Like she really didn’t like it as much as she pretended?”

“How’d Davida react to your hanging with Jill?”

“Don’t know that she reacted at all. Davida and I were pretty much avoiding each other. Mostly I was avoiding her. I was embarrassed—stuff guys said.”

“I can understand that.”

“Like I couldn’t compete with a carpet muncher, crap like that.” Newell frowned. “Jane and I went our separate ways and she went back to Hewitt, until we graduated high school. Then Jane and Davida went off to the UC and Hewitt went to Stanford and I went to community college. We’re talking ancient history, pal.”

Barnes nodded.

“Willie, the last time I had really anything personal to do with Davida is when I brought her to the senior prom and that’s the truth.”

“You took Davida to the prom?”

“What a dumb-ass thing to do. Jill has never let me forget it.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Because Davida begged me and I guess I thought I owed her something for the great sex. I’d only been dating Jill for a few months and the girl was a sophomore. I figured she’d have two more chances in her junior and senior year. Also since Davida was a lesbian, I thought Jill wouldn’t care.” He laughed. “Boy, was I one stupid shit.”

“And you haven’t done anything sexually with her since she came out?”

“I believe I already answered that.”

“Don’t get testy, Donnie, I have my reasons for asking. Davida had gonorrhea and it didn’t come from her girlfriend, Minette.”

There was a long silence.

Newell looked up at the black sky. “Did it come from a guy?”

“I have no idea, Don, but we do know that the bug is passed more easily from boy to girl than from girl to girl.”

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “So she was carrying on with a man.”

“Maybe.”

“If she would have asked me for a tumble, I don’t know what I would have done. She was still a fine-looking woman.” His blue eyes focused in on Barnes’s face. “Lucky for me, she didn’t put me in that bind.”

“Where were you the night Davida was murdered? Every minute of the night.”

“Home in bed.”

“Mind if I test any of these shotguns for ballistic comparison?”

Newell thought long and hard. “What, that rifling stuff? Hell, I couldn’t care less but if I agree Jill’s gonna wonder why. I don’t want to give my wife any reason to suspect me of anything, Willie. Even though I didn’t do nothing. You know how it is, sometimes that just don’t matter to the missus.”

More silence.

“Why don’t you see how far your investigation takes you without my guns? If you’re still curious, then I’ll comply. But I sure as hell won’t be happy about it. Who in their right mind would be happy being viewed as a murder suspect?”

20

L
ucille Grayson lived in a three-story Victorian, shingle-sided and stately. The curving front porch was set up with wicker furniture, including an old-fashioned swinging love seat. The house had been painted a soft cream and trimmed in a green that blended with the surrounding acreage. Specimen oak, eucalyptus, sycamore and pine dotted the velvet lawn. Flower gardens shouted color, orchards of citrus and peach and plum pumped out fruit well beyond the growing season.

Inland California was flat, hot and dry, but this neighborhood had been bulldozed into hillocks and irrigated nearly a century ago. With Gold Rush optimism and enough trucked-in water, anything could happen.

Barnes and Amanda were almost a half hour early and they secreted themselves under an oak whose boughs hung so low they nearly touched the ground. Sipping the Peet’s coffee they’d picked up along the way, they watched visitors arrive and leave.

During the entire drive, Barnes had slept. Now he yawned and blinked himself awake.

Amanda had stayed up just as late, then made the drive back to San Francisco. She’d ended up talking to Larry, then cuddling, then more, and hadn’t slept much at all. What a doll her husband was, but she knew eventually fatigue would beat her to the ground. Right now, though she felt amped. “Good morning. So what do you think?”

Barnes said, “About what?”

“About Barry Bonds taking steroids. About your old homeboy Donnie Newell. Still suspicious of him?”

“Haven’t ruled him out, but he said we could test his guns and he didn’t give off any obvious tells. Honestly, I don’t know, Mandy.”

“Well, I’m liking Jill Newell. She’s always resented Davida, she doesn’t trust her husband and she knows how to shoot. If Don and Davida rekindled their passion and Jill found out, she’d be
major
pissed.”

“I don’t think they were doing the nasty.”

She took in her partner’s eyes. “Why not?”

“When he told me they weren’t, he seemed straight.”

“And you believe him, just like that.”

“He was upfront about everything, Mandy, not a trace of edge. When I told him about the gonorrhea his reaction was resentful, almost outraged, but not nervous. It was more like: if Davida was going to fuck a guy, it should have been him.”

“Ah, vanity, vanity, the male species is thy name.”

“I don’t think that’s the quote, pard. Anyway, he started reminiscing and it sounds like he and Davida had quite a thing going before she came out.”

He filled Amanda in.

She said, “All the more reason for wanting to start up again.”

“I guess…yeah, he was bragging, but it had more of a…wistful quality. Like life was better back then. We’re talking over twenty years ago. I’m not saying Don’s been an angel but if he cheated, I don’t see it with Davida. Because I think he would’ve told me.”

“Stud talk, guy to guy.”

“It’s what we do.”

“On the other hand, maybe that was a ploy, big fella,” Amanda said. “He confesses to what you already know so he doesn’t have to tell you anything new.”

“You could be right.”

Amanda smiled. “So we’ve basically reversed positions. I’m liking Jill and possibly Don, and you’re not.”

“That’s what we do, right? The old open-minded waltz.”

Moments later, when he’d finished his coffee: “I’d feel a whole lot better if we had some kind of forensics.”

“Let’s see what happens when we test the Newells’ guns. Any reason we didn’t take them last night?”

“I told Donnie I’d hold off. He didn’t want to give Jill the idea that he might be even a remote suspect.”

“When’s the right time, Will, after he’s dumped the guns?”

“I took down the serial numbers. He’s not gonna dump anything.”

“One minute you’ve got a hard-on for him, the next minute you let him off the hook? I don’t understand you.”

Barnes turned to her. “Right now, even if the Newells are involved, we got shit on the case. If we rule their guns out, we’ll have less than shit.”

“So we engage in major denial to forestall disappointment? You are not making sense. We need to go back today and get the guns.”

“Suit yourself, but my gut says it isn’t either of them.”

“So who does your gut say it is?”

“So far my gut’s only good at eliminating suspects, not catching them.”

Amanda regarded her partner—paler than usual and his hands had a slight tremor. “Maybe you should ease off on the all-black, Will.”

“It’s not the coffee, Mandy, it’s being back here. I used to clear brush over there.” Pointing. “Couldn’t have been more than fourteen, no one ever offered me a drink…yeah, I’m a bundle of raw nerve endings. Tom Clancy was right: you can’t go home. Furthermore, you shouldn’t even if you could.”

“That was Thomas Wolfe.”

“Thomas Wolfe? The writer in the white suit?”

“That’s Tom Wolfe.”

Barnes was irritated. “What I’m trying to say is I’ll be happy to get the hell out of here.”

The interior of the mansion was hot and close and noisy. A horde of well-wishers drank Chardonnay, munched on tea sandwiches and made small talk. Lucille Grayson held court from a camel-back, ruby brocade chair in a simple black dress, black stockings and black orthopedic shoes. Her makeup was discreet, her eyes dry as a San Joaquin summer.

When she saw Barnes, she cocked a beckoning finger. He quickly made his way through the crowd. “Again, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Grayson.”

Lucille couldn’t hear him. She shouted, “Go into the parlor. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

Barnes had no idea where the parlor was. He’d never gotten past the front room.

Davida had always met him outdoors. Stealing away was part of the thrill.

The two of them, under the stars, smelling the menthol of eucalyptus, faint overtones of horseshit.

Her hair, the quick uptake of her breath…

He sidled through the crowd and searched for the parlor.

This day and age, who had a parlor? Amanda, as stylish as any of Lucille’s friends, saw him and made her way over.

“She wants to meet us in the parlor, wherever that is.”

“House like this it would be off the side with a porch view.”

She pointed and he followed, once again groping through the mob until he felt a hard tap on his shoulder.

He looked back, faced Jane Meyerhoff’s steely eyes.

She yelled, “Something I can help you with?”

“Where’s the parlor?”

“Why?”

“Meeting Lucille there.”

Jane pointed exactly where Amanda had. Grabbing Barnes’s hand, she accompanied the two detectives to a carved door, then stepped forward and flung it open.

The room was musty, high-ceilinged, draped in heavy red velvet fringed with gold. Nail-head chairs and tufted ottomans were arranged in formal seatings. A mirror-backed walnut bar was stocked with bottles and crystal stemware.

To Barnes’s eye, it resembled a Spaghetti Western whorehouse. He wondered if Davida had brought any boys here.

Jane closed the door behind her and looked Amanda over. Both of them in black suits, svelte, groomed like champs. Like a photo from a charity luncheon.

“Jane Meyerhoff.” She proffered a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Amanda Isis.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Water.”

Jane’s eyes drifted to Barnes.

“I drink whatever you’re pouring.”

“Well,” said Jane, inspecting the bottles, “Lucille has Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Glenmorangie…aren’t you a bourbon man?”

“At times.”

“The second row is Wild Turkey, Knob Creek—”

“Jane, anything’s fine. And just a finger’s worth. We’re paying our respects but we’re also working.”

“Working with Lucille?”

“Wherever it takes. Thanks for directing us.”

“Not a problem.” Jane poured the drinks, allowed herself two fingers of vodka. “Lucille asked me to handle things today. You know, help marshal the great unwashed.” Tilting her head toward the door. Waves of chatter leaked through the wood. “I didn’t speak. It might’ve provoked Minette.”

“Not the time or the place,” Amanda said.

“Precisely.”

Barnes said, “You and Minette don’t get along?”

Jane took a long swallow of vodka. “No one gets along with Minette. If you’ll excuse me, I should see how Lucille’s doing.” She hurried out.

Amanda said, “Sensitive topic, Minette.”

Before Barnes could answer, the door opened and Lucille entered, holding a cane and clutching Jane’s arm.

Barnes pulled out a chair and Jane eased the old woman into it.

“Something to drink, Lucille?”

“Johnny Walker, rocks. Red or black, at this point I’m not tasting anything.”

As Jane poured: “Make it a double, dear.”

“Thanks so much for agreeing to see us, Mrs. Grayson,” Amanda said.

Lucille gripped the handle of her walking stick. Carved ivory—a woman’s bust. “Perhaps I should thank you. It’s a good excuse to get the hell out of there.”

Jane handed her the drink and Lucille polished it off with astonishing speed. “Ah, that’s good. Take over for me, Janey. Someone has to hold down the fort.”

Jane said, “You’re sure you don’t need me here?”

Lucille waved a dismissive hand. “Go on out there and make sure no one steals the silver.”

Jane sighed heavily and left.

Lucille looked at Barnes. “I’m assuming, Willie, that you and your pretty partner wish to talk to me without her hanging around.”

“You read my mind, Mrs. Grayson.”

“Your mind is not that tough to decipher.”

Barnes smiled. “You cut me to the quick, Mrs. Grayson.”

“I’m good at that.” Lucille’s eyes misted. “Davida was good at it also, though she was patient with me. I’m sure I was a giant pain in the posterior.”

“I’m sure you weren’t—”

Lucille patted his hand. “You didn’t know her very well, did you, Willie?”

Barnes kept a straight face. “She was younger than me. In Jack’s class.”

“Jack knew everyone…and everyone’s business.”

“True enough.”

“How long has it been since he passed away?”

“Ten years.”

“Really? I can scarcely believe how quickly the time passes.”

“It does indeed, Mrs. Grayson.”

“You can only imagine how rushed life has become for an old lady like myself. I recall all of them as youngsters. Glynnis, Jack…and now Davida. Life has dealt me bins of shit, but I refuse to die.” She waved her glass. “Thank God for alcohol. Get me another, Willie.”

Barnes complied. Lucille faced Amanda. “I’m not being very polite, am I? Going on about old times with which you’re not familiar.” She looked around absently, as if studying the overstuffed room for the first time. “I’ll need to get back to the barbarians shortly. What is it that you want to ask me?”

Barnes rubbed his hands together. “This might get a little prickly…”

Lucille sat and drank and waited, impassive.

“Do you know if Davida was having an affair?”

Lucille’s eyes whipped away from Barnes’s face and settled on the fireplace. She took another sip of whiskey. “I don’t like Minette, never did, and Davida was well aware of that fact. If my daughter had someone else, she wouldn’t have told me because I would have nagged her to dump Minette once and for all.”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Amanda said. “If Davida had someone else, who might it have been?”

The old lady shrugged.

Amanda said, “Is it possible that it could have been a man?”

Lucille didn’t answer right away. “No, I don’t think so. Davida got a lot of mileage out of being a lesbian.”

“All the more reason to keep an affair with a man hidden.”

“A man…” As if considering an exotic species. “No…” Lucille shook her head. “I knew my daughter better than one might think. She wasn’t interested in men.” Another sip of whiskey. She stared at Amanda. A smile spread slowly. “As the saying goes, it takes one to know one.”

Barnes almost choked on his drink although Lucille’s admission shouldn’t have come as a shock. It was well-known around town that she’d treated her husband coldly, had had no use for men since the divorce. He thought that resulted from a bad marriage, but maybe he’d mixed up cause and effect.

“One of the reasons I didn’t like Minette,” Lucille said, “is that she wasn’t
real.
Just a shallow, stupid girl using my daughter as a meal ticket. Now it’s out in the open…what that little bitch was doing all those nights my daughter was working.”

Barnes rubbed his chin. “I think Davida was doing more than working, Mrs. Grayson. Davida had gonorrhea but Minette is clean. There was someone else in your daughter’s life.”

Lucille took a deep breath and let it out. “I see.”

“That’s why I asked if there was a man in her life,” said Amanda. “The disease is passed easier from male to female than from female to female.”

“Aha…” Lucille nodded. “I see your logic, but I still know my daughter. If she got the disease, it was from a woman, most probably a woman who sleeps around with men.”

“Any candidates?” Barnes asked her.

Lucille smiled. “You’re wondering about Jane.”

“Jane moved back to Berkeley. She and Davida reignited their friendship.”