Джонатан Келлерман - Night Moves

“I didn’t have them in the restaurant but because I knew what I wanted beforehand, the menu was irrelevant. Except for paying the check, for that I borrowed the bride’s glasses.” He laughed. “Pink girlie glasses, Brett thought it was a crack-up, thankfully the place was dark—”

“So you went downstairs—”

“Went downstairs, saw it, and boom,” said Chet Corvin, punching a palm. “There was no smell, nothing to warn me, it was just there. I was a little thrown off, who the hell wouldn’t be? You’re in your own house and you find that ? I mean it’s insane. It’s absolutely insane. ”

It. That. Not him.

Depersonalizing the body for a reason? Or just Chet being Chet?

Milo said, “You were there long enough for your wife to come down.”

“That,” said Corvin, “was my bad, Lieutenant. I should’ve kept her out but to be honest, I was still a little thrown. So she saw and started screaming her head off and that brought the kids down and now they’re seeing it. She pushes them away, runs toward the front door, I’m saying where you going and she doesn’t answer. So I follow and she looks around and heads here to Paul and Donna’s. We ring the bell, he comes to the door, Felice is totally freaked, she’s jabbering, I take charge and explain clearly, am ready to call you guys. Then I realize I hadn’t taken my phone. So Paul calls you guys.”

Shifting his weight. “And here we are, team.”

Milo said, “Mr. Corvin, some of the questions we ask you may sound foolish but we still need to go through them. Starting with can you think of anyone who could be behind this?”

“Negative.”

“Is there someone who’d want to target your home specifically?”

“Same answer,” said Corvin. “What kind of target would we be? Dumping a body? It’s not like it directly hurt us.”

Milo said, “It could be a psychological assault—”

“Yeah, well, this has nothing to do with us, we’ll get past it and move on. None of that PTSD crap I’m always getting from teamsters.”

“Okay... any idea how whoever did it got in?”

“If I had to guess, Lieutenant, I’d say the utility door. Always remind the bride to lock, she gets careless. Same with the alarm, she’s a smart gal but absentminded, like the professor she used to be.”

“Professor of what?”

“Elementary education. Before that she was a teacher. Then a vice principal. Now she works for L.A. Unified, setting up curriculum. Important job, all kinds of responsibilities. You can see how she’d lose track.”

“Is she in the district’s main office, downtown?”

“Nope, satellite, the Valley, Van Nuys. Paul’s at the downtown office, that’s how he and Donna found out about the house — they rent, don’t own. Felice told them.”

“What does Mr. Weyland do at the district?”

“Search me,” said Corvin. “They’re not teachers, some sort of paper-pushers — he and Donna, both. Couple years ago, they met the bride at a symposium or something, she told them next door was coming vacant.”

“Who’s the owner?” I said.

“No idea. It’s been rented out since we moved in.”

“How long ago is that?”

“Six years.” Corvin touched his chest. “Bought mine when I got transferred from the Bay Area, had to downsize property-wise from this great place in Mill Valley but lucky for us, the recession hit, we stole the place.”

“So,” said Milo, “your rear door could’ve been unlocked and the alarm off.”

“I’m sure the alarm was off or the company would’ve texted me. In terms of the door, I’m sure she left it open.” Wink and a smile. “Don’t tell her I said that or you’ll be aiding and abetting husband abuse.”

Milo smiled back, checked his notes. “Your wife told me she locked it.”

Corvin shrugged. “You know how it is, guys. Choose your battles.”

Milo flipped a page. “Any strange events recently, sir?”

“Like what?”

“Hang-up phone calls, unusual vehicles parked on the street or driving around.”

“Nope.”

“Anyone who didn’t look like they belonged?”

“Nothing,” said Corvin. “Absolutely nothing.”

I said, “Have there been any neighborhood conflicts?”

“Like what?”

“Disputes over anything.”

“Nah, it’s quiet here — okay, here you go, I just thought of something.” He held up a finger. “There’s an oddball, neighbor on the other side of us. Not that I’m saying he did anything but man, he’s different.”

Milo picked up his pen. “Who’s that?”

Corvin glanced to the side. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want it getting back to him.”

“It won’t, sir,” said Milo. “We’re going to be canvassing all your neighbors, so talking to anyone will be routine.”

“Yeah, but I need to — like I said, he’s weird.”

“You’ve had problems with him?”

“Not per se.”

“But...”

“Nothing,” said Corvin. “He’s just weird, so keep me out of it.” Half smile. “Scout’s honor?”

Milo crossed his heart.

“Fine. His name is Trevor Bitt, writes comic books or something.”

“How’s he strange?”

“Lives by himself, keeps to himself, no visitors I’ve ever seen. He never comes out except to bring his cans to the curb or when he drives away in a noisy pickup — a Dodge. If you happen to be there and say hello, he makes like he doesn’t hear.”

I said, “Not a social guy.”

“In his own world, Alan,” said Corvin. “You’ll meet him, you’ll see. But we’ve never given him a reason to hassle us. One time we got his mail and I brought it over. He took it, even said thank you. But I could tell he didn’t mean it. Next time, on can day, he ignored me. Weird.”

“Comic books,” said Milo.

Corvin said, “That’s what they say, I read nonfiction.”

“Who says?”

“I don’t know, I just heard it — go Google him. Maybe I heard wrong and he’s the head of Finland or something.”

“How long has Mr. Bitt been living here?”

“You’re interested in him? Listen, I didn’t want to open some worm can.”

“You haven’t,” said Milo, “but at this point we need to look into everything. How long’s Mr. Bitt been your neighbor?”

Corvin frowned. “He moved in, I want to say, two years after we did. So four years, give or take? I brought him a bottle of wine. No answer at the door so I left it on his doorstep. Next day it was gone but not a single thank-you. The second time we got his mail, the bride brought it over. I warned her he’d snub her. She’s sensitive, bruises like a peach. I used to call her that. My Georgia peach, she spent some time in Atlanta as a kid, father taught at Emory.”

I said, “Did Bitt snub her.”

“She didn’t say, it’s not like he’s a topic. That’s all I can tell you about him.”

“Anyone else in the neighborhood we should be looking at? Even if it seems unlikely.”

“Not a one, Al. This whole thing is unlikely. That it would happen to us.”

Milo did the usual repetition of questions that often pulls up info. With Corvin it didn’t and we walked him out of the kitchen. Brett was seated closer to his mother, fooling with his phone. Chelsea stood at the rear of the room, staring at black glass.

Milo said, “I know it’s late, so how about we talk to the kids now, Mrs. Corvin. Let’s start with Chelsea.”

Felice shook her head. “You heard what I said before, Lieutenant. And actually, the kids and I have been discussing it and they have absolutely nothing to offer. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

Milo said, “How old are you, Brett?”