The Amazing Harvey (20 page)

Hannah said, “Sergeant Morton was just telling me about the father of Sherry's son.”

Morton stood and looked at me. “Since you were nice enough to have her boyfriend call, I thought I'd give you a little something.” His tone didn't sound like the gift was coming from his heart.

I kept my eyes on Morton as I took a few steps into the office.

He said, “Abner Raymond. That's the father of her kid. Former heroin addict turned rehab counselor. He managed to sleep with every vulnerable girl that he helped get sober. Guess he switched addictions from junk to sex.”

Hannah said, “Is that how he met Sherry?”

Morton sat down. “Nope. She was clean. At least as far as we know. Abner stuck around until she was about six months pregnant, then disappeared. Probably thought she was too fat.”

I saw Hannah wince.

Morton said, “According to the neighbors, they yelled at each other a lot. We didn't get any abuse calls.”

Hannah said, “A lot of battered women don't contact the authorities.”

Morton looked annoyed that she was schooling him in something so obvious. He said, “At any rate, we're trying to run him down. Oh. We checked out the boyfriend Kevin's alibi. Three people saw him working the night Sherry was killed.” Morton stood. “I'll take that thumb drive, please.”

She told him about the thumb drive?
I took a half step back.

Hannah opened her desk drawer and handed it over. Morton held up the device, squinted at it, then pulled out a plastic Baggie and dropped it in. I watched the Baggie disappear into his pocket.

Morton gave me a little grin as he walked past. “See you later, Mr. Kendall.”

As soon as the door closed, I said, “Did you hear that ‘See you later'? He was threatening me.”

“Don't be so jumpy. His coming by was a good thing.”

“Well, it scared the shit out of me. Why didn't you warn me?”

She started typing on her computer. “He just showed up. Cops do that. Sort of like cats.”

I started pacing. “What did you mean, it's a ‘good thing'?”

Hannah didn't look up from her typing. “It gave us a chance to cooperate by giving him the thumb drive. The more cooperative we are, the less guilty you look.”

“Why'd you tell him about the thumb drive?”

She punched a few keys with her index finger. “He wanted to know how we found Kevin.”

Still pacing, I said, “What if we need that info again?”

Hannah looked up at me. “You don't think I made a copy of the data?”

I stopped pacing and put up my hands in surrender. “You're the boss. When do we see Sherry's father?”

She stood and picked up her purse. “Now.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

As we drove toward Sherry Allen's father's house in Panorama City, I said, “You think Sherry's father could be the one who walked in and said ‘Slut' while she was in bed with Kevin?”

Hannah glanced over at me. “Possibly. But the Slut Man ran out. If it was her father, wouldn't he have had it out, right there?”

We turned onto Van Nuys Boulevard. I said, “Maybe he's smarter than that. Maybe dad sulked off and worked himself into a rage. Then he came back the next day, argued, and killed her.”

“She was lying nude, spread-eagle, with someone's semen in her. How does dad fit in that scenario?”

“Maybe it was Kevin's semen.”

“He said they didn't get that far.”

“Maybe he's not telling the truth. So say it was Kevin's semen—”

“Which happens to match your DNA?”

“—which the cops screwed up in testing the DNA. She kicks Kevin out. Dad comes back and strangles her.”

“Well, if that's true, this won't be a very friendly visit with dad.”

We turned onto Wyandotte and found Roy Allen's house a few blocks up. The one-story tract home had a gray composition roof, black bars over the windows, and a green garden hose snaking across the front yard. Inside the open garage door was a red Corvette with its hood up and a thick black pad on the fender.

As we walked toward Allen's house, my cell phone rang. Hannah glared at me. I took it out of my pocket and saw the name Carly.
She called back!
Am I forgiven? Or is she going to tell me to never call her again?

This isn't exactly the best time for a
tête-à-tête
.

I put the phone in my pants pocket. I could feel the rings vibrate against my leg until it died.

Walking up Allen's driveway, I heard the clank of metal in the garage. Next to the car was a red metal tool chest on wheels, with several drawers half-open. A hand reached around the hood, grabbed a wrench from one of the drawers, then disappeared. We stopped in front of the garage and waited for the man to notice us.

More clanking.

Hannah said, “Mr. Allen?”

A head popped up and looked around. Allen's face was deeply lined, like someone who'd spent a lot of time in the sun. His straight gray hair hung across his eyes, dripping sweat. Allen squinted at us, raised his forearm and used it to wipe his brow, then came toward us. He had almost as many tattoos as Kevin. A dagger, an eagle, the name Jenny.

Allen came closer toward us, carrying the wrench in his hand. “Can I help you?” His voice had a Southern twang.

Hannah said, “I'm Hannah Fisher, a private investigator working on your daughter's case. This is Harvey Kendall.”

Allen looked at Hannah, then at me. He squinted, studying my face. “Ain't we met?”

I said, “No, sir.” I felt Hannah looking at me.

He wagged the wrench at me. “I know I seen you before.”

I shook my head. “We've never met.”

His eyes went hard. “Hang on. The cops showed me some pictures. You was one of 'em.”

Hannah spoke evenly. “That's right, Mr. Allen. Harvey is a suspect in this case. He's innocent.”

Allen backed up, holding up his palms toward us, like he was trying to keep us away. “I ain't supposed to talk to you. Not without the po-lice.”

“It's perfectly fine to talk to us. You can call Sergeant Morton, if you like.”

He kept backing away. “I got nothin' to say I ain't already said.”

Hannah stepped toward him. “We all want the same thing. Which is to find your daughter's killer.”

Allen's lower lip trembled. He closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, he said, “I cain't talk about it no more. Up 'til yesterday, I ain't hardly been outta the house.” He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, blinked rapidly.

Hannah said, “We understand.”

He pointed the wrench at her. “Don't you try mollycoddlin' me like that. You ain't—”

I stepped forward. “Mr. Allen.”

Hannah shot me a look.

I said, “I lost my father. I know it's nothing like losing a child, but I couldn't get out of bed for three days. I couldn't leave my house for two weeks. My mother took it even worse. I swear to you, I never knew your daughter.”

He tightened his grip on the wrench. “Why'd the cops have your picture?”

“Like she said, I'm a suspect. Would I come here and face you if I was her killer?”

Allen blinked at me. He looked at Hannah. Looked back at me.

Hannah said, “Can we please just chat for a few minutes?”

He shook his head. “I done told the cops everythin' I know.”

Hannah said, “The cops have dozens of homicide cases. I only have one.”

He pointed the wrench at her. “You ain't interested in findin' her killer.” He threw his head my way. “You're just interested in gettin' this guy off.”

Hannah spoke soothingly. “You're right. My primary job is to get him off. Still, I might find her killer in the process.”

He lowered his hand, dangling the wrench at his side. “Well, leastways you're honest.” Allen slumped his shoulders, looked at the ground. “Truth is, I ain't seen Sherry much over the past year. I was in Seattle when she was kilt. I don't know nothin' that can help y'all.”

He turned around and slowly lumbered into the garage.

*   *   *

As we drove off, I said, “What do you think?”

“I'll ask Morton if they verified whether he was in Seattle. If so, he's obviously not the Slut Man.”

I let out a sigh. “I certainly don't get the vibe he's a killer. Though I guess the really good killers don't give off that vibe.” I scratched my scalp with my fingernails. “So where are we?”

Hannah glanced over. “You want a straight answer?”

“Not necessarily…”

“The apartment manager recognized you. Her father recognized you, though that was probably from the photo. The father of Sherry's son, with his sleazy past and abusive temper, can maybe create reasonable doubt. Too soon to tell.”

I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I pressed on the spot with my index finger. “I didn't do anything. That's got to come through.”

“As between you and God, you're golden.” Hannah drove onto the 101 freeway. “I need to talk to your alibi David Hu. We have to prove you were at the Magic Castle that night. Anything to put doubt in the jurors' minds.”

She swerved into a faster lane.

I rolled down the window a couple of inches, got a rush of air on my face, and said, “What else can I do?”

“Pray the DNA tests are faulty.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

That night, as I walked down the hall toward my apartment, I saw something taped to my door. It was a white envelope with my name handwritten on the front. I peeled it off the door, ripped it open, and unfolded the paper inside.

 

3-DAY NOTICE TO PAY RENT OR QUIT.

It went on to say that my rent was overdue.
Like I didn't know that?

If I don't pay up in three days, I'll be evicted.

I crumpled up the notice, went inside, and threw it on the floor. Lisa fluttered in her cage. I took her out and put her on my shoulder. She bit at my earlobe. I pushed her aside.

I sat on the couch and dialed Carly's cell. While it rang, I practiced what I was going to say.

“Hi, Carly.”

I cleared my throat.

“Hello, Carly.”

Pitched my voice lower. “Carly? It's Harvey.”

She answered, saying, “Hi, Harvey.”

Thank you, caller ID.

I said, “I … uh…”

“Me … um, too … I…”

“Well, I wondered…”

“Yes. I'd…”

Lisa backed a few steps down my shoulder.

I stood up. “I'm doing a magic show tomorrow night. Just a crappy little convention. You said you wanted to see some tricks, so I thought maybe you'd like to come along. I mean, I know it's short notice and all that, but—”

“I'd love to.”

*   *   *

Carly and I arrived at the Culver City Convention Hall just before my show. We went into the auditorium, which was a small gym, and saw clusters of middle-aged men holding red plastic cups while yapping at each other. The air smelled like beer. Uneven rows of empty folding chairs were arranged in front of the closed stage curtains.

Hmm.
Carly's the only woman here.

I said, “You want to watch from backstage?”

“No, I want the full effect of the show.”

“The only ones out here are these conventioning Moose-Heads, or whatever they're called.”

Carly chuckled. “I can handle myself.” She gave my arm a little squeeze.

I said, “I may have to raunch up the show to get their attention.”

“I'm a big girl.”

“Well … okay.” I glanced at the stage. “I've got to go back and get ready.”

“Break a wand.”

She turned and walked off. I watched her hips swing.

I went outside to the U-Haul trailer hitched to my car, unloaded the two rolling metal trunks, and used one to push the other as I wheeled them inside. I first took out my magic table, with its black velvet top and gold fringe, then unpacked the tricks and set them up.

When I finished, I walked to the front of the stage, leaned against a proscenium pillar, and pulled aside the thick velvet curtain to peek out.

None of the men were looking toward the stage. No doubt they'd rather tell fish-gutting stories than watch some doofus like me.

Where's Carly? Some guy already got her into his cab-over camper?

Where's my agent, Marty? And the Vegas promoter?

I studied the Moose-Heads. A bearded guy laughed so hard that he sloshed beer over the side of his cup. Most of these guys are shiny-eyed from the booze. Gotta do something to get their attention right away. Still no women besides Carly. Definitely raunch it up.

I let go of the curtain.

Someone behind me yelled, “Harvey!”

I turned around and saw my agent, Marty, walking my way, wearing his BriteSmile grin. He had gel-induced spiky hair and wore brown loafers without socks. In his right ear, a wireless cell phone earpiece blinked with a blue light. Beside Marty was a balding man with a ponytail who was working an Android phone with his thumbs.

Marty said, “This is Bernie Schulman.”

Bernie gave the Android a few more thumb taps, then slid it into his pocket. He stuck out his hand. “Marty says you've got some talent.”

I smiled at him. “I do.”

Bernie chuckled. “I like guys with confidence. Show me what you got, kid.” He clapped me on the arm and walked off.

Marty yelled after him. “Catch up with you, Bernie.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. Marty leaned in close and whispered, “Why are the cops asking about you?”

My breath caught. “What?”

“The cops. They called me right before I left tonight.”

“Why would they do that?”

“You tell me.”

I shifted my weight to the other foot. “Well, they've been talking to me about this misunderstanding. No big deal. What did they ask you?”