Gun Games (25 page)

“Unsubstantiated at this time,” Beezel said.

“Except by Kevin Stanger,” Marge said.

“Who could be exaggerating,” Beezel said.

“What kind of rumors?” Marge asked Mikey.

The teen said, “This is theoretical and definitely not
firsthand . . .
but . . . if I wanted to get hold of a gun, there are a few people in the school I might seek out. Because these same people have a reputation of selling a lot of things.”

Marge said, “And those people would be . . .”

Mikey said, “I’m not naming names because, like I said, I don’t know firsthand.”

“Might one of those people be Dylan Lashay?” Oliver asked.

“I’ve said what I’ve had to say.” Mikey smiled. “Anything else would be mere speculating on my speculations.”

“What about his buddies?” Oliver took out a list. “Jarrod Lovelace, Stance O’Brien, Nate Asaroff, or JJ Little? Do they sell things?”

Three noncommittal shrugs.

“Okay,” Marge said. “We’ll address the topic of guns later. Let’s get back to Gregory Hesse’s suicide. None of you saw any signs that this was a possibility?”

“Nothing,” Mikey said. “But Joey knew him better than anyone.”

Joey said, “I already told the lieutenant that his death came out of the blue.”

“You also told the lieutenant that you thought there might have been a girl involved in his life before he died,” Marge said.

“I said
maybe,
” Joey said.

Mikey held up a finger. “You know, I never thought of that, but it kinda makes sense.”

“Why?” Oliver asked.

“He started taking better care of himself.”

Joey said, “That’s exactly what I told the lieutenant. That he started showering.”

“But you have no idea who the girl was,” Oliver said.

“I don’t even know if there was a girl,” Joey said. “I certainly don’t know a name.”

Marge said, “What about Myra Gelb?” When three sets of eyes stared at her, she went on, “They knew each other. They called each other frequently.” A lie at the moment but when the phone records came in, maybe it would be the truth. She waited for one of them to speak.

“News to me,” Beezel said.

Joey said, “Greg never said anything about knowing Myra. Why? Do you think the two suicides are related?”

“You’re telling me you never thought about it?” Oliver said.

“No, not at all,” Joey answered. “I mean, why would I? They didn’t hang out with each other or anything.”

Mikey said, “Both of them worked on the paper.” Oliver and Marge turned to him and waited for the boy to elaborate. “I mean, I’m on the paper, too. So are about a hundred other kids. It’s one of those silver stars that you put on your college application.”

“Kevin Stanger told us that Greg was working on something big before he died,” Marge said.

“News to me,” Joey said.

Marge turned to Mikey, who seemed to be the most cooperative of the boys. “Do you think it might have had something to do with the paper? Did Greg ever tell you he was working on something top secret?”

Mikey appeared to give the question some deep thought. “No. I would remember Greg saying something like that.”

Beezel said, “He never said anything to me about a top-secret project. But I will say this. Greg
loved
his camcorder and seemed to record anything in his path. Maybe he accidentally hit upon something that he felt was newsworthy.”

“Just what I told the lieutenant,” Joey said.

Beezel said, “He got kind of obnoxious with it . . . it made any real conversation hard ’cause he was always recording it for posterity or something.”

“It was real obnoxious,” Mikey said. “I used to tell him I was going to smash it over his head if he didn’t get out of my face.” He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes watering. “I didn’t know . . .”

The room fell silent.

“Mikey, did you ever see Myra and Greg working together?” Oliver said.

The boy slumped in his chair. “Myra didn’t write for the
Tattler.
She did some cartooning. Greg wrote some articles—at least one was published.” He threw his hands in the air. “I never noticed them together, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

Oliver said, “I told you we had a few snags to clear up before we can clear the file. The first issue was the stolen gun, but we’re concerned about a few other things: Greg’s camcorder is missing.”

Joey was taken aback. “Stolen?”

“It appears that way,” Marge said.

“Who’d want Greg’s camcorder?”

“Maybe it was like Beezel said,” Marge suggested. “Maybe he accidentally filmed something scandalous.”

“If he did, he never showed it to me,” Joey said. “All we ever saw were clips of us nerds farting around. Nothing even remotely scandalous.”

“Mrs. Hesse found things on Greg’s computer,” Oliver said.

“Porno?” Mikey asked. The boys looked at each other and smiled. “And that’s weird because . . .”

Oliver said, “It’s not weird at all if they were standard skin flicks. But she found amateur porno on Greg’s laptop: a girl giving oral sex.”

“Oral sex to
Greg
?” Beezel was incredulous.

“We’re not sure,” Oliver said. “No faces to match the genitals.”

Joey said, “If it was Greg, he never said anything about scoring.”

“Would he have said something about scoring?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah.” Joey let go with a single laugh. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Maybe he cared about the girl and didn’t want to embarrass her,” Marge suggested.

“If he cared about the girl, why would he film it?” Mikey asked.

“Maybe the images were for his eyes only,” Oliver said.

“That’s what guys always tell girls. And then they wind up showing it all around,” Joey said. “It’s bragging rights.”

“But he didn’t show you anything, did he?” Oliver said.

Silence. Then Beezel said, “Uh . . . I’m not saying this to be weird or anything, but if you showed us the images, we could maybe identify somebody.”

“Like I said, there were no faces, so what would be the point.” Oliver looked up from his pad. “Not only is the camcorder missing, his computer was also stolen.”

Three surprised faces. Mikey said, “Are you
sure
?”

“Positive,” Marge said. “About three weeks ago, Mrs. Hesse left his computer on the dining room table before she went to bed and it wasn’t there in the morning.”

Oliver said, “She was going to bring it into the police station not because of the oral sex, but because it showed Greg playing with a gun. She wanted us to see if it was the same gun he used to kill himself.”

“Shit!” Joey said. “That’s really weird.”

“It’s really
creepy
!” Mikey said.

“What do you mean by playing with a gun?” Beezel asked.

“She told us he was twirling it, pointing it at the camera,” Marge said. “She also told us that Greg’s eyelids were droopy—like he was drugged or drunk.”

“Man oh man,” Mikey said. “This is getting more bizarre by the moment.”

“This is definitely not the Gregory Hesse that we all knew,” Joey said.

Beezel said, “I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but . . . is it possible that Mrs. Hesse changed her mind about the computer and just told you it was stolen to prevent further . . . I don’t know . . . embarrassment about her son.”

Marge said, “Mrs. Hesse had stopped returning our phone calls. When Greg’s computer was stolen, it freaked her out that someone broke into her house and took the computer. That’s why she called us. So yes, I do believe that the computer was stolen.”

“Maybe the anonymous sex girl stole the computer,” Joey suggested. “Maybe she didn’t want her identity revealed to the police.”

Oliver said, “How would the girl or anyone know that Mrs. Hesse was getting ready to show it to the police?”

Marge asked, “And how would the girl know that Mrs. Hesse had discovered the porno images on her son’s computer?”

Beezel said, “Maybe the sex girl had a remote access to his computer.”

“Remote access?” Oliver asked.

“Good thinking,” Joey said. “It means that maybe she could control his computer from an off-site location.”

“It’s not weird,” Mikey said. “You buy a program that allows select people to access your computer by a remote.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Marge said.

Joey said, “Because if your computer breaks, your tech support guy can access your computer by remote, meaning he can diagnose the problem and clean it up without you having to physically drop it off. It, like, saves a bunch of time.”

“It’s done all the time,” Mikey said. “The thing is, in order for the tech to gain access to the computer, the user has to sign the tech guy on with a password. But c’mon, if you know your way around a hard drive, you probably can bypass the user’s permission and access the computer whenever you want.”

“That would be illegal, of course,” Oliver said.

“Of course,” Mikey said. “But c’mon. If you’ve got motivation to do something, you’re gonna do it—legal or not.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

S
itting in his office with Marge and Oliver, Decker raked his hair and sipped cold coffee. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. In a couple of hours, Cindy, Koby, and his twin grandsons would be at the house for Sabbath dinner. He could feel his mind slipping into off-duty mode. To prevent him from zoning out altogether, he flipped through his notes. “So what’s with this remote control computer access? What does it have to do with Greg’s stolen computer?”

Marge was picking the pilling off her sweater. “Maybe someone realized that Greg’s computer was in use and his personal things were being watched. Someone got scared that things would come out.”

Oliver said, “Specifically, the girl who was giving Greg a blow job. It could be she wasn’t ready for X-rated distribution.”

Decker was skeptical. “You actually think that a girl broke into Hesse’s house and took the computer before Wendy could give it to the police?”

Marge said, “Or perhaps it was taken by a certain future Yalie and his posse nicknamed the B and W Mafia. Maybe one of the guys realized that there were images on the computer of Greg playing with a stolen gun.”

Oliver said, “The same stolen gun sold to Greg by Yalie who was now worried about being implicated in something more serious than stolen weapons. Something like negligent homicide, which doesn’t look good on any transcript except maybe Corcoran or Pelican Bay.”

“The problem is,” Marge said, “that until someone names names, we’ve got nothing.”

Decker wasn’t quite ready to give up. “What about Saul Hinton? Could you lean on him a little?”

“That was our next step.” Oliver smoothed his silver tie. “We called him this morning, asking him to meet with us next week, but he hasn’t called us back.”

Decker said, “Call him again. Tell him you want to talk about Myra Gelb. If he forgot to follow up on what Heddy told him about Myra’s depression, that’ll get his heart racing. Maybe he’ll spill something on Dylan.”

Oliver checked his watch. “You know, school’s letting out right around this time.” He turned to his partner. “How about we use the old ‘we were on our way home anyway’ thing.”

“No guarantee he’ll talk to us, but . . .” Marge slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’m supposed to meet up with Willy at eight in Ventura. I got time.”

Oliver stood up. “Let’s go.”

Marge said, “We’ll fill you in if we find out anything.” The two of them walked out together. “Do you have any plans tonight, Scott?”

“Actually I’m going to dinner with my son and daughter-in-law.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Yeah, it’s fun.” He let go with a smile and she asked what was funny. “It’s especially fun for them. I always pay.”

A
flash of the badge and B and W’s campus security guard gave ground without a fuss. They walked past the Administration Building and promptly got lost looking for Saul Hinton’s classroom. They asked a fireplug of a boy in a letter jacket where to find room 26 and he walked them to the correct classroom. Erasing a whiteboard, Hinton had his back to the door when they came in. Marge cleared her throat and he turned around, frowning with immediate recognition. But his speech was civil. “I did get your message, Detectives.” He continued erasing the board. “I just haven’t had a moment to call you back.”

Marge said, “I know, sir. We’re sorry to intrude if this is a bad time. We were just on our way home.”

“Where is home?” Hinton asked.

“About a half mile from here,” Marge answered.

“So you live in the district where you work.”

“I do. So does Detective Oliver.”

“I suppose that’s admirable.” Hinton put down the eraser. “What can I do for you?”

Oliver said, “Do you mind if we sit down?”

“So this is going to take a while?”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m just old and tired.”

A small bit of red came to Hinton’s cheeks. “Of course. Sit anywhere. No need to even ask.”

Marge said, “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m fine.” Hinton chose a student’s desk chair. “What do you want to ask me?”

“The gun that Myra Gelb used to kill herself . . . it was stolen.”

“I heard something about that.”

“It was taken in a year-old burglary along with some CDs and an iPod. We all think that kids did it.” Marge waited for a reaction and she got it—a deep blush. “There are rumors, sir, about certain seniors who like guns. And the same certain seniors were people that Myra did not like.”

“She used to draw cartoons of them,” Oliver said. “The only reason we’re not mentioning names is that we want to see if you mention the same ones first.”

“If you do know someone at the school who might be dealing in stolen weapons, now’s the time to tell us. Remember, please, that two stolen guns were used in two separate suicides.”

The thin man with the long arms seemed to fold up over himself. “We’re all probably thinking about the same people. I won’t mention names because anything I’d tell you would be speculation and I don’t speculate.”

“Even if it could save another depressed teenager’s life?”

Hinton looked away. “I can’t help you. Take it up with the administration. They’re the only ones allowed to open school lockers and they won’t do it without probable cause or a court order.”

“So we have to wait until another child commits suicide to get what we need?”

“First Amendment rights supersede the nebulous possibility of something that may happen in the future.” Hinton spoke but his heart wasn’t into it.

“First Amendment rights don’t apply to the kids in this school,” Marge said. “I know that the parents and kids sign contracts that allow the administration to go into school lockers without asking their permission.”

“With probable cause.”

“If you implied that a certain person might be dealing, that would be probable cause,” Oliver said. “Think about Gregory Hesse or Myra Gelb. If you could have done something to stop their suicides, you would have done it, right?”

Hinton became very pale and Marge grew worried. Perhaps the accusation came too fast and too pointed. “You’re white, sir. Are you okay?”

He dropped his head between his knees. “I feel a little dizzy.”

Oliver stood up. “I’ll get you some water.”

Hinton said, “There’s a bottle of orange juice in my backpack. I think my blood sugar is low.”

Marge retrieved it and gave it to the teacher. He drank greedily. A minute later, he could sit up, but his complexion remained wan. “If I tell you names and the administration opens lockers based on my accusations and it turns out to be wrong, I could get fired. Worse still, I could get sued. I would probably lose everything and be blackballed from teaching. There are certain kids in B and W who are products of very litigious parents.”

The detectives nodded.

“All that being said . . . if I knew someone was dealing in weapons as a certainty, I would have told the administration a long time ago. It would be morally outrageous for me not to say something.” His eyes grew wet. “If I could have prevented past deaths, I would have stepped up to the plate. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Marge spoke softly. “Your sincerity is evident. I hope you’re not speaking from personal experience.”

Hinton was quiet. “You talked to Heddy Kramer, didn’t you?”

“We did.”

“So she told you.”

“She did.”

No one spoke. Then Hinton said, “I did talk to Myra. She said she was saddened, but personally she was okay. We spoke for about twenty minutes. She seemed angry more than anything else.”

“Did she say who she was angry at?” Oliver asked.

“No names. Really it seemed she was angry at life. So after she left, I called her mother . . . left a message for her to call me back, that I had some concerns about Myra.” He licked his lips. “No one called me back. And then I promptly forgot about it. Now I’m thinking that Myra might have intercepted the message and erased it. I should have made a follow-up call.” A pause. “I blew it.”

Time to offer him a life preserver. Marge said, “You know that if someone is determined to kill himself—”

“Yes, I know,” Hinton interrupted. “It doesn’t alleviate the pain or the guilt. It’s eating me alive. I’m going to have to find my own expiation. Otherwise . . .” He threw his hands in the air. He finished his juice. Color had returned to his cheeks. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep my ears open. If I discover something concrete, you’ll be the first to know about it. I promise you I’ll call . . . even though it violates every moral code I’ve ever established for myself.”

“To tell the police about a kid who’s dealing in stolen firearms?” Oliver said.

“I’m fifty-nine, Detective.”

Marge was astonished. “You look much younger.”

“Nonetheless, I am of that age,” Hinton told her. “I grew up in the sixties. Old hippie habits die very hard.”

T
he babies wore wristbands, the only way that Decker could tell them apart physically. Aaron, the oldest by four minutes, was calmer by nature than Akiva, but neither boy was very fussy. They were huge: off the charts in height and weight. They ate round the clock: Cindy called them organic milking machines. In addition to nursing them, she had brought a half-dozen eight-ounce bottles of expressed breast milk. By the end of dinner, the boys had depleted everything.

“Thank you for feeding me and by extension, your grandsons,” Cindy said. “And as always, we were fed extremely well.”

“The curried lamb was delicious,” Koby said. “I think I ate an entire sheep by myself. Everything tasted so good, so I overate.”

“You and me both, son,” Decker said. “You’d think I’d learn by now.”

“Would you like a care package, kids?” Rina asked.

“I should say no, but I won’t say no,” Koby said.

Cindy laughed. “Homemade food has been a scarcity in our fridge since the babies were born.”

Rina smiled. “I’ll pack you a few meals’ worth of grub. We certainly don’t need all the leftovers.”

Cindy looked at Gabe who had been clearing the table. She cocked a thumb in his direction. “You can pack Mr. Piano Player up some food while you’re at it.”

“You know, I do eat.” Gabe put down a dirty plate. “I’m at that lucky stage where none of it sticks.”

Cindy walked over to Gabe and threw her arm around his shoulders. “If I pat your tummy, will your lack of fat rub off on me?”

Gabe gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look great. Your sons are very lucky to have such a wonderful mother.” Said a little too strong.

“Thank you, Prince Charming.” Gabe smiled, and Cindy took Aaron from Rina. She patted Koby’s flat stomach. “Some lucky people are just naturally blessed with a good constitution.”

Decker hefted Akiva and patted his paunch. “Others are born with a good constitution but have resorted to gluttony.” He turned to his grandson. “How about you, buddy? Is all that yummy milk going into a hollow leg?”

The baby responded by spitting up on Decker’s shirt.

Cindy laughed. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

To the baby, he said, “That’ll teach me to hold you without a burp cloth.”

Koby took Akiva from his grandfather’s hands. “Thank you very much for dinner. I think we’re wearing out the doormat.”

“He means the welcome mat,” Cindy said. “As often as we come here, we’re probably wearing out both.”

Rina returned with a grocery bag filled with plastic containers of food. She kissed Cindy, then she kissed Aaron. “Take care of your mom, little boy. She’s a good woman.”

Koby, holding Akiva, said, “Thanks for everything, Rina.”

Rina kissed his cheek and then kissed Akiva. “Be kind to your parents. They’re good folk.”

“Listen to her,” Koby said to his son.

“Come anytime and I mean that.” But as soon as the door closed behind the Kutiel family, Rina let out a sigh of relief. “Oh my Lord, I’m getting old.”

Decker whispered in a plaintive voice, “Do you need any help?”

“Oh please, don’t give me that ‘have pity on me’ voice.” Rina laughed. “It’s fine, Peter. I’m fine. Go read the paper.”

“No, I don’t want to stick you with all the work.”

Gabe said, “Why don’t you both relax? I’ll finish up everything. I didn’t work all day.”

“By the way, what do you do all day?” Decker asked him.

“Peter!” Rina said.

Gabe laughed. “It’s a good question.”

Decker said, “It’s a serious question. I want to make sure you’re not bored.”

“Nah, I’m not bored.” Lonely was another story. He answered them with sincerity. “I practice an awful lot. I take it much more seriously now that I’m actually performing for money. Or I will be this summer. When I’m not practicing, I listen to the music that I’m practicing. It’s almost as important as practicing. Plus I’ve started composing. When I’m not doing music, I read . . . I take a lot of long walks.” He shrugged. “I keep busy. Certainly I’ll be busy enough next year, so I’m kinda enjoying having unstructured time.”