Land of Shadows (24 page)

“Argued with her?”

He nodded. “A few times, but nothing…”

When he didn't finish his sentence, I said, “Nothing what?”

He bit his lip and didn't speak.

By now I knew that Von Neeley did not kill Monique Darson—he was a jerk and a liar, but he wasn't violent. Still, I needed his alibi to cross him off the list, just so I could tell Lieutenant Rodriguez that I had followed every lead. But the little fucker kept lying to me and refused to go quietly into the night. So, I squinted at Colin, then crossed my eyes.

My partner gave me a small smile—he, too, knew that Von Neeley was not our guy—then reached into the case file. He pulled out a head shot of Monique Darson on the coroner's table, eyes closed, lips purple, neck broken. He held it up for Von to see.

The kid groaned and dropped his eyes to the sidewalk.

“This is what happens when you let anger take over,” Colin said, matter-of-factly. “You're smilin' one minute, she says somethin' hurtful the next minute, somethin' like, ‘Derek fucks better than you ever will,' and then,
BOOM!
You blank out and lose time. Next thing you know, your hands are wrapped around her neck and she ain't breathin'.”

Colin considered the photo, then peered at Von. “You didn't
mean
to do it. It just …
happened
. Is that the deal, Von? Man to man, be honest with me. Did she set you off and shit just …
happened
?”

Von's shoulders were shuddering as he tried not to cry. “No, sir. She said stuff like that all the time, hurt me to the core. But I never reacted.”

“
Never reacted
?” I asked too loudly. Okay, I was done—with him, with men. Greg thought I was some ignorant housewife, oblivious to his late-night phone calls to skanks at home and abroad because I was mesmerized by a dick and a Porsche; Colin, another arrogant snot, thought he knew Los Angeles and criminals and everything better than me. And now,
this
kid thought I was a stupid bitch with a badge. He was about to see how stupid I could be.

I crossed my arms and took a step closer to Von. “A girl tells you that another man is a better lover than you and you
never
reacted? Bullshit.”

With pleading eyes, Von whined, “No, ma'am. I didn't.”

“Then, why didn't you?” I asked. “What kind of man is cool with hearing bullshit like that?”

Von's mouth moved, but no words came.

“I have her diary, Von,” I continued. “And I've read about your little temper. She wanted to break up with you, and she was scared shitless what your reaction would be. Why would she be scared?”

He shook his head and his shoulders slumped.

“You threaten her?” I asked again.

“No, ma'am.” His head dropped—he was getting tired now.

“Where were you on Tuesday night?” I asked.

“Out with friends, ma'am.”

“
Stop
—!” I took a deep breath, exhaled, then said calmly, “Stop with the ma'am thing, all right? It means jack-shit to me. So which friends were these that you were with?”

“
Fr-fr
-from
sc-sc
-school,” Von stuttered. “We all drove up to CityWalk to
s-s-
see a movie.”

“What time was the movie?”

“Eight o'clock.”

“Where did you park?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Which lot did you park in?” I asked, trying not to smile. “Which level?”

He wet his lips, and said, “P3?”

“Is that the Frankenstein level, the Dracula level, or the Wolf Man level?”

“Umm…”

“I'll need your friends' names and numbers.”

“They didn't see the movie with me,” Von said. “We just met up for nachos at El Camacho.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So you saw a movie all by yourself. Which movie?”

Von blinked. “The new Superman movie.”

“That's a lie,” I said with a smirk, “but I'll let it in just cuz I'm easily entertained. So the movie let out at, what, ten o'clock? What did you do after nachos at the Mexican place?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, then said, “Just hung out.”

“By yourself?” I asked, hands on my hips.

“Yes,” he said, eyes on my badge.

“Where?”

He crossed his arms. “I just chilled out, you know? Hung out by the fountain, went into a few shops…”

“You're
still
lying.” My temples throbbed, my stomach ached, and I wanted to vomit—this kid had given me cramps. “Why won't you just tell me the truth and let me go on my way? Why do you insist on lying to me, Von Neeley?”

Von licked his lips again. Bet they tasted like Lie.

Colin touched the boy's shoulder. “Look, son. We're gonna find out everything you did that night, down to how many times you took a piss. Wanna know why? Because my partner here? She ain't gonna let go until she hears the truth. If you don't wanna be ripped apart, then I suggest you start talkin'.”

Von swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed like a buoy on the ocean. “I was with this girl Margo on Tuesday night,” he whispered.

“Is Margo a hooker?” I near-shouted.

Colin stifled a chuckle.

Von lifted his chin with pride. “No, she's not a hooker. She's a youth minister like me.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Hooker. Youth minister. I don't care what you call her, but I'll still need her contact information.”

“Why?”

I sneered at him. “None of your business.”

He backed down and recited Margo's phone number.

“Is Pastor Margo of age?” I asked.

His eyebrows scrunched. “Huh?”

“Your
other
girlfriend, the one we found dead the other night? She was a minor, Von.”

“So you broke the law,” Colin said. “Bad deal for a youth minister. Could get you a few years in the Big House. You're a handsome kid, too, so your dance card will be filled quick as spit.”

“Margo is nineteen,” Von said, then moistened his lips.

“And you were together all night?” I asked. “Doing God's work, I suppose?”

He kinda nodded.

“And
where
were you ministering to each other?” I asked, tired of this
Degrassi-High
-Teenage-Love-Affair bull crap.

Von pinched the bridge of his nose, then shoved his hands into his pockets. He now stood before me like a delinquent standing before the school principal. “We went to the Jet Inn over on Slauson.”

The Jet Inn Motel charged by the hour. The rooms boasted round mirrors on the ceilings and dried blood and semen on the carpets, on the walls, in the air … If Zucca sprayed luminol in the Jet Inn's parking lot, the entire building would glow like a float in Disneyland's Electrical Parade. Astronauts at the International Space Station would see it from their kitchen window.

“The Jet Inn,” I said, shaking my head. “Wow. Do better, Von. She's a youth minister—she
at least
deserves the Travelodge over by the airport.”

“Will everyone have to know about me and Margo being at the motel?” Von asked meekly.

“If this case goes to trial,” I said, “yeah, they'll find out.”

“We'll probably need to talk to you again,” Colin said, pulling out his business card.

“I'll take a lie detector test if you want,” Von offered.

“Right now,” I said, “we want a DNA sample.”

Von's eyelashes fluttered like a hummingbird's wings. “Why? I didn't do anything.”

“Which means you'll be eliminated by your DNA.” I marched toward the Crown Vic.

Von trudged behind me. Once we reached the car, I opened the trunk and grabbed the DNA kit from the nest of flares, sweatshirts, and spools of barrier tape.

Von shook his head. “I'm not sure I wanna do that. The DNA thing.”

I paused—hadn't expected
that
response.

“Why not?” Colin asked. “If you're innocent, you got nothin' to worry about.”

“Me and Monie,” Von said. “We were … We had unprotected sex, and so you could find … you know…”

“Sperm?” I shouted.

He blushed, nodded, then said, “But that doesn't mean that I killed her.”

“When was the last time you and Monie had sex?” Colin asked.

“Like around June tenth.”

“You're fine,” I said. “Sperm can live up to five days in the best conditions.” And since Monie's cervix was not in its best condition, Von's little guys had probably shattered upon impact.

“Maybe I should talk to a lawyer,” the kid said.

Colin and I exchanged looks.

Von nodded. “Yeah. I think I'll talk to a lawyer first.”

And that was that.

I dropped the DNA kit back into the boot and gave the trunk's lid a good slam. Then I stomped over to the kid and snarled, “Go ahead and get your lawyer, but know this: I
will
expose you for what you are, whether you killed her or not, since you seem to care more about your reputation than your dead girlfriend. You are a liar and a hypocrite, and I hate liars and hypocrites. So get your lawyer, Von Neeley. I'm getting your DNA and I'm talking to Margo.
And
I'm sure there are security cameras at the Jet Inn and I'm almost positive that they'll have tape of you and a woman who is not your wife checking in at the front desk. So you, Von Neeley, you have a
blessed
day.”

And then I stomped to the driver's side of the Crown Vic and slammed my body behind the steering wheel.

Moments later, Colin climbed into the passenger seat. We sat in silence until he shouted: “Sperm?”

I laughed, even though my head was filled with buzzing and white noise. “Thanks for joining me on my gleeful quest to destroy that little jerk.”

“Anytime, Detective.” Colin lifted his palm. “High-five.”

And we slapped hands, feeling like partners for the first time in four days.

 

35

I dropped Colin back at the station, then drove to meet Macie Darson.

The Starbucks in this part of black Los Angeles was a known hub for Old Playas, the sixty- to seventy-year-old men who had a lot of cash in their pockets and the need to recapture their swagger and holla at the Fine Young Thangs wiggling past in spandex dresses; old men who sipped strawberry margaritas at the T.G.I. Friday's next door in their pressed slacks and shiny Stacy Adams or velour tracksuits and bright white Adidas, the keys to their Caddy or BMW on the table next to that too-sweet margarita or J-with-soda, sucking in their guts, wanting to “get some soon” cuz their sugar was up, damn margarita, or their pressure was down or they had only two hours left on their Viagra high.

But at almost noon, the Old Playas were either at work or sitting in a doctor's waiting room. And now, only a handful of that tribe sat at the chess benches outside the coffee shop.

Macie Darson occupied an outside table, cigarette between her fingers, hunched forward as though her stomach hurt. A whisper of a white dress barely covered her thighs … and the rest of her. She was dressed more for midnight than high noon.

But then, I couldn't judge—I never left the house without a bra and a gun.

“Macie,” I said, “how are you?”

She gave me a Mona Lisa smile. “Better now that you're here. You're gonna solve this. Any minute now. I know it.” She moved her Louis Vuitton bag from the chair and sat the purse at her feet.

A two-thousand-dollar bag on the ground. Kids.

“Thanks for coming, Detective Norton.”

“No problem.” My iPhone vibrated—a text from Lena.
Where u at?
To Macie, I said, “Hold on for a sec.” I texted Lena back,
Ladera Sbucks w/a wit.
She replied immediately:
Nearby c u soon.
I slipped the phone on the table and turned my full attention to the young woman in white. “Heard that you had a hard time at the morgue this morning.”

“I couldn't go in there,” Macie whispered. “And I felt bad cuz I knew Mom needed me. But I don't wanna remember Monie like that. I don't want my last memories of her…” She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. “I know: I need to be stronger.”

“Macie, don't push yourself to feel something you don't. The worst thing that could ever happen
has
happened. You're supposed to be sad. You're supposed to mourn.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear—”

A car horn blew.

Over in the parking lot, an old man behind the wheel of a gold Jaguar waved to Macie and shouted, “You gon' be here tonight?”

Macie pulled on a cute smile, the one reserved for Old Playas, and shouted back, “Not tonight, Willie. Family stuff.”

The old man said, “Okay, then.” He honked again, threw another wave, and zoomed toward the grocery store.

Macie plucked that smile off her lips, Mr. Potato Head style, and dumped it back into the tub. She absently swiped at a purple scratch that ran from her chin down to her left armpit.

I winced and pointed to the injury. “How did you do that?”

She considered the burning end of the cigarette. “I have no idea. Since all this started, I've been having nightmares, and every time I wake up, I find new scratches or bruises. Look.” She showed me her calf, smooth and brown except for the greenish blotch the size of a sausage patty. “And I don't even remember bumping into anything.” She took a quick puff, then tapped off the cigarette's ashes. “Mom wants me to go to the doctor to get some Valium. Maybe I will—I've been chain-smoking these things to relax…” She held up the cig. “Whoever killed my sister needs to get caught before I end up falling off a cliff or getting lung cancer.”

“I'm working as fast as I can.”