Макс Коллинз - No One Will Hear You

Hamilton asked, “Is there someone you would like us to call, Mrs. Vicker?”

Her eyes were a lovely pale blue, the white filigreed red. “My mother. Melinda Cummings.”

The woman gave Hamilton the number and he excused himself.

Amari said, “Ms. Chase and Ms. Garcia have a camera crew outside. After we finish, they’d like to interview you on camera.”

“Can I... can I think about that?”

“Certainly,” Carmen said, jumping in. “We can step outside while you and Lieutenant Amari talk, if you like...?”

Mrs. Vicker’s eyes questioned Amari.

“I don’t mind them staying,” she told the woman. “I’m only here because of what their television program was able to do. We frankly hadn’t been able to identify your husband.”

“You sound... sound certain ...”

“Mrs. Vicker, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. The man in that photo with you...” She indicated the end-table portrait. “... is our murder victim.”

That brought on a brief relapse of tears.

Then Amari said, “We do need to ask if you have something we can use to match DNA. Toothbrush, comb...”

The woman’s eyes flickered with hope, but Amari had to say, “It’s just a formality, really.”

Hope died.

In that all too familiar shell-shocked way, the victim’s wife said, “We were separated. For several months. I don’t think you’ll find any personal items like that here, though maybe you could.”

“Where was he staying locally?”

“A motel. I’ll give you that address. He was at a motel in Los Angeles, too, but it wasn’t... what was the name of that hotel mentioned on TV?”

“Star Struck. In West Hollywood.”

“He wasn’t staying there. Brent’s motel was in Van Nuys. That’s where SP’s subsidiary is.”

“SP?”

“Springfield Pump. Subsidiary is overstating it, really — just one IT guy, that was Brent’s field, information technologies. You know, he said he wanted to come back home and try again. He said he missed me, missed living with me...”

Two Billy Shears victims, each with a connection to Van Nuys, one staying there, one found nearby.

Amari asked, “What motel in Van Nuys?”

“It’s a chain Brent liked... Sleep and Stay? One of those long-term places that caters to business travelers. He was at a Sleep and Stay here too, out by the airport.”

“Mrs. Vicker, your husband’s body wasn’t discovered at a Sleep and Stay.”

“I know... You said that...”

“This is difficult, but there’s something unpleasant we have to deal with.”

The woman drew a deep if shaky breath; let it out. Her response was mildly defensive: “Lieutenant, my husband was murdered. How much more unpleasant could it be?”

Quite a bit more, actually.

Amari said, “The Star Struck in West Hollywood caters to a specific clientele — a mostly gay clientele.”

“... What? Are you asking me if my husband was a homosexual ?”

“Could Brent have been gay, or possibly bisexual?”

“No! Absolutely not.” She laughed. It was shrill, unpleasant. “If you knew Brent, you’d know how foolish that notion is. His problem was women , Lieutenant, not men.”

“We’re merely trying to understand why he was found at this particular hotel.”

“Do you have to be gay to stay there? Do they ask for your gay membership card at the desk?”

This was getting uncomfortable, and it was getting out of hand. But Amari bet the Crime Seen gals wished their camera was rolling...

“I hate to upset you further, Mrs. Vicker,” Amari said. “But if I can find out why Brent was at the Star Struck, perhaps it will lead us to his killer.”

“I... I do understand,” Mrs. Vicker said, much more calm now. “But Brent was, if anything, a little... what’s the term? Anti-gay?”

Chase put in: “Homophobic.”

This was a slight breach of etiquette, as the Crime Seen pair wasn’t to participate in this initial interview. But Amari understood, and even appreciated, Chase’s point of view on this subject, and flashed her a look to give momentary approval.

Chase seized this permission and said, “Some gay men who are passing as straight will say hateful things about homosexuals. It’s part of trying to pass.”

But Mrs. Vicker began to shake her head halfway through that.

“No,” she said. “My husband... I won’t say this on camera, understand, but I will tell you right now — he was a letch.”

An awkward silence followed.

Amari glanced out the picture window at their backs. That cop Hamilton was meeting a car that was hurriedly pulling up. A woman in her sixties hopped out, in sneakers, jeans, and a kitty T-shirt.

Amari said, “Mrs. Vicker, I may have a few further questions, but I think perhaps you should go

ahead with the Crime Seen interview, if you’re willing.”

She was.

The techs came in and Carmen and Laurene began the process. Amari felt confident Carmen, after that traumatic Kansas episode, would handle the woman considerately.

Outside, Hamilton introduced Amari to Mrs. Cummings, then left them alone in the front yard.

The LAPD detective expressed her condolences, then asked Mrs. Cummings a few preliminary questions before getting to the same explosive subject that had so upset her daughter.

Mrs. Cummings coughed out a cigarette laugh even as she was lighting up a Camel. “Brent gay? I didn’t think I could ever laugh on this sorry day, lady, so thanks for the tickle.”

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’ ”

“That’s a hell no. That man was a certifiable poon hound. He’d screw mud.”

“But not other men?”

“Make it female mud. Dumb-ass even hit on me once. I mean, I was foxy in my day, but that day passed about twenty years back, being generous.”

“Did you tell Becky?”

“That he hit on me? No. That he was no good? Yes. But what can you do? She was in love. And if I may be crude?”

Hadn’t she been?

“Certainly,” Amari said.

“There were always females after that man. Word got around — my son-in-law’s hung like a horse.”

Not anymore.

Mrs. Cummings went inside to console her daughter, probably not to include a discussion of her late husband’s sex habits.

When Carmen and Chase emerged from the brick bungalow, they had the names of a couple of Brent’s coworkers. Lewin drove them around to interview them, and both Crime Seen reporters agreed that Brent Vickers was a lot of things, but gay or bi-curious weren’t likely among them.

At the airport Sleep and Stay, Hamilton and Deeter collected from Vicker’s room a comb and a toothbrush for Amari, no court order required.

As ex-cop Lewin drove the three women back to the airport, night coming on fast, they were whipped. Return trip, Chase sat up front, Carmen and Amari in back texting.

Carmen tucked her cell away and said across the aisle, “I’ve got a sweet one.”

“Sweet what?”

“Guy. Cancelled a date with him for about five minutes from now. Meeting him for breakfast tomorrow instead.”

“This is all the notice you give him, and he’s not cranky?”

“Naw. Vince is special. Who were you texting?”

“My partner. He’s a young black kid.”

“Cute?”

“Very.”

“Interested in you?”

“Naw. I’m way too old, plus there’s already somebody in his life.”

“Who?”

“Himself... Speak of the devil...”

Return message from Polk.

Checking Wendi Erskine’s savings and loan seemed a dead end, so far. No other accounts had been touched and the bank couldn’t track who’d made the wire transfer.