Джонатан Келлерман - Night Moves

“He pointed it at you?”

“No, he just held it at his side,” she said. “But it was a gun.”

“What kind?”

“How would I know?” she said. “I hate guns.”

“Was it long like a rifle or small like a pistol?”

“Long,” she said. “Made out of wood.”

I pulled out my phone, called up an image of a 12-gauge Remington.

Maillot Bernard shuddered. “I hate them... maybe.”

A photo of a deer rifle evoked a head shake. “They look the same to me.”

I said, “Trevor just stood there holding it.”

“For a long time,” she said. “Not saying anything. Then he left, came back without the gun and said, ‘Time for bed,’ and we went to bed. And that night he — we — he didn’t touch my chest. He used to make sure to do that, being super-gentle. It was like he looked at me different.”

“Scary.”

“I couldn’t sleep, terrified he’d bring the gun back and shoot me. I got up twice in the middle of the night. One time, I went to the bathroom and threw up. Trevor slept through totally, he was always a deep sleeper. The next morning, he’s not talking, he goes into the studio and I’m sitting there watching soaps. The day after that, he finally left to buy art supplies. I packed my stuff and got out of there. I didn’t even want to stay in San Francisco so I went to the Greyhound station and bought a one-way to L.A. Because I used to dance here, too. The Seventh Veil, places like that, but I also made it to the Hollywood Bowl stage for their big Fourth of July celebration. I was a stand-in but that was something, we had these star-spangled costumes.”

“Did you know people here?”

“I thought I did but the numbers I had for them weren’t good anymore. The only money I had was in my purse, like fifteen bucks. I went to a shelter downtown. It was crazy, full of addicts and psychos. But you know, I felt safer there. A few days later, I remembered my checking account, Bank of America, I’d forgotten about it because Trevor had been paying for everything. I managed to get funds wired and found a room in a motel on Hollywood. That was pretty sketchy, drug dealers out front, all night you could hear sirens. Finally, I located a girl who didn’t dance anymore and worked for a lawyer who did disability. He couldn’t believe I hadn’t applied, got me a doctor appointment and that got me signed up, and that’s where I’ve been since.”

She smiled. “Stuff happens, right?”

“Did Trevor try to make contact?”

“I was scared he would, but no, never,” she said. “Guess he’s not a stalker, just had a moment.”

“A gun,” I said. “That’s some moment.”

“I never even knew he owned one, Doctor. That’s what freaked me out, is he telling himself it’s time to kick it up to a new level?”

She leaned forward. “You can’t tell me? Did he do something really bad with a gun?”

“All I can say is his name came up.”

“Wow. I don’t wish him bad,” she said. “But talking to you made me feel a lot better. The police actually suspect him of something. I wasn’t crazy to worry, I was smart.”

She pretended to object when I paid the check, said, “If you insist,” and squeezed my hand when I got up.

“Thanks for your time, Mai-la.”

“Maybe I should be the one thanking you,” she said. “Maybe this was therapy.”

I phoned Milo at his desk. He said, “You and your hunches, just talked to Braun’s first wife, Barbara from Stockton. Not the sharpest in the drawer and she’s not a legal wife, she and Braun lived together for three years.”

“How’d you find her?”

“Masterful detection. I looked up Barbara Braun in Stockton.”

“They weren’t married but she uses Braun’s name.”

“It’s her name, too, they’re second cousins, he was an orphan, lived with her family for a while.”

“So that part of his story was true.”

“But the part about Barbara’s illness was a mix of truth and bullshit. She had cancer but survived it. Chemo, radiation, she couldn’t even tell me the diagnosis. Apparently, Hal stuck with her every step of the way, a real prince. In terms of why they split up, all she could say was they ended up different and that she was the one to initiate. She didn’t say initiate, just ‘I did it.’ She came across as basic, Alex. Maybe even a little impaired.”

“Hal was there for her but he claimed she was dead.”

“I didn’t tell her that, why burst her bubble? She had nothing bad to say about him. Broke down big-time when I informed her. Blamed herself, in fact.”

“Why?”

“If she hadn’t broken up with him, he never woulda left Stockton and gotten carried away by big-city sin. I asked her about their years together, the picture I got is a couple of poor kids barely scratching by. Rented trailer, Braun pumped gas part-time, both of them picked crops seasonally.”

“From that to knight in armor,” I said.

“Speaking of which, Braun had hero fantasies way back. Talked to Barbara about joining the FBI, the CIA, the Secret Service. Only place he actually applied was the Coast Guard but they turned him down. Something about allergies.”

“Any attempts to be a cop?”

“Nothing she was aware of, though in high school he’d been a police cadet. She does recall him participating in a search party for a missing kid. Nothing obviously creepy about his motives, the whole town turned out and the kid was found safe.”

“Maybe he wasn’t drawn to the city by sin,” I said. “More like expanding his altruistic horizons.”

“Being a big-time hero but he ends up selling shoes and then messing up his leg? Sure, but it doesn’t explain how he ended up on the Corvins’ hardwood. I asked Barbara if Hal had spent any time in San Francisco, trying to connect him to Bitt. It’s not far from Stockton but she said she never knew him to go there.”

“Speaking of Bitt.” I told him Maillot Bernard’s story.

“A long gun. But he didn’t threaten her with it?”

“Just held it and stared at her. She can’t tell the difference between a rifle and a shotgun, but wouldn’t it be interesting if what Bitt showed her was a 12-gauge that he still owns?”

“Easy enough to find out if I could get a warrant to cross his damn threshold.”

I said, “If Chelsea could be documented actually going into Bitt’s house, could you make a case for a welfare check?”

“On what grounds?”

“Mentally impaired minor sneaks into the home of a person of interest in a homicide.”

“Elegantly devious, Alex. But if she just goes in and comes out, iffy... maybe a coupla nights’ surveillance will help. I get lucky, see the two of them actually make inappropriate physical contact, I can go in there with no paper.”

Night one, he parked a block from Evada and watched through binoculars from the far end of the block. Chelsea Corvin never left her house. Bitt’s lights were out.

Night two, just after ten p.m., Bitt’s front door opened and the artist, carrying something, got in his pickup and drove away. Too dark to make out details. By the time Milo made it back to his car, the truck was out of sight.

He enlisted Binchy and Reed for two more nights. Nothing on Binchy’s Sunday watch. Two weeks had passed since the murder. The Corvins didn’t go out for dinner.

On Monday night, when Reed arrived, Bitt’s truck was already gone. No spotting of Chelsea.

Tuesday morning, both of the young D’s were pulled from Milo’s supervision, Reed handling a bar fight in Palms, Binchy catching an armed robbery in Pico-Robertson.

Milo said, “So much for that. Nguyen says it woulda been doubtful without an obvious felony.”