Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

“He’s a psychologist, Mavis.”

She gazed up at me. “I’ve known some people who could use one of those. As in mother-in-laws. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking into the murders of Leonora Bright and Vicki-”

“Tranh. Well, you came to the right place because I know who did it.”

Cardenas hitched his trousers. His holstered gun wobbled. “Really.”

“Really, George. And I told that to Wendell Salmey right in the beginning. Not that he did a darn thing about it.” To me: “Chronic depression, that one. And lazier than a welfare cheat. Always in a low mood, walking with his eyes down, like anything worth discovering was on the ground.”

She fanned herself with the magazine. “After that son of his got drunk and smashed himself up on the highway, he got even worse, just sat around all day doing nothing. Before I got married, I did some teaching and Wendell was one of my students. One of those who’d rather coast than drive. Only reason he took the sheriff job was he figured there’d be nothing to do – no offense, George.” More denture display. “One advantage to being ninety is you say what you want and get away with it.”

“Didn’t know you had a birthday, Mavis.”

“So I’m pushing it a little. The big day’s next month, on the sixteenth in case you intend to send me flowers, George. Wendell Salmey died young. Bleeding ulcer at fifty-nine. By the way, what’s a psychologist got to do with Leonora and the Oriental girl?”

“Their murders might be related to a current case in L.A.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“I sometimes consult to the police.”

“One of those mind readers, like on TV?”

“Not really-”

“I’m kidding. I know what a psychologist does. Geez, everyone in this generation’s so doggone serious. So, he killed someone else, huh?”

“Who?”

“Leonora’s brother. Half brother. That’s who killed her and the nail girl. George, would you be real nice and get me a Fresca and a slice of American cheese from the kitchen? Make it two slices, got the packet laid out on the counter along with a cute little cutting tool from The Sharper Image.”

Cardenas went to fill the order.

I pulled up a chair.

Mavis Wembley nibbled her cheese and swigged from the can of soda. Handing the empty to Cardenas, she wiped her mouth and looked out at her weedy plot with satisfaction. “I know the brother did it because Leonora confided in me a few weeks before that she was deathly afraid of him. They had different mothers but the same father and it was the father who had money and he died a few months before she confided in me that she was scared.”

I said, “Worried about an inheritance conflict?”

“Not worried, scared. That’s the word she used.”

“What’s the brother’s name?” said Cardenas.

“Don’t know, she never mentioned it, always referred to him as ‘my half brother.’ Emphasis on half. Making it clear there was no closeness there.”

I said, “How’d the topic come up?”

“She was color-rinsing me and kept dropping stuff, real butterfingered. Which wasn’t like Leonora, she’d always been a real coordinated girl. Magic hands, I used to call her. Sometimes she’d toss in a neck-and-scalp massage and that was better than… anyway, when she moved here from Frisco, all the gals were happy because of her skills. Before that we had Sarah Burkhardt who grew up here, borderline retarded if you ask me, taught herself from books, about as stylish as roadkill. We put up with her because she was all we had. Thank God she married a truck driver and moved away and we got Leonora. Who learned her trade in Frisco from a top homosexual stylist.”

“Magic hands,” I said, “but not that day.”

“Fumbly fingers. I asked her what was wrong. She said nothing. I said, Come on, don’t be holding back, there’s no one else here. Which there wasn’t. Just me and Leonora in the salon. She was good but there wasn’t that much call for her services, our local females believing they could do just as well with a box of Toni. If you saw them, you’d find that laughable.”

She asked Cardenas for another soda.

When he returned to the house, she said, “We’ll wait for George. So I don’t have to repeat myself.”

“Sure. I appreciate this.”

“So you think it’s a good clue – the brother?”

“Best we’ve got so far.”

Cardenas came back and popped the top.

“Thank you, George. Back to Leonora that day. I could tell she really wanted to talk so I pushed her until she did. She said her father had left a sizable estate, her mother was already dead, and her stepmother was sick. So the money was going to be split two ways between her and her half brother, which was fine with her, there was enough for everyone. But she knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just half. I said, What, he’s a selfish type? That’s when she broke down and cried. Said, Oh, Mavis, if you only knew. He comes across the nicest person, always wanting to do favors for people, feeds the homeless, smiles at little kids and gives ’em candy but it’s a façade. Down deep, it’s all about him, always was, I just know he’s going to cause me serious troubles over that money and it scares me.”

She sipped. Soda dribbled onto her chin and she wiped it quickly. “I said, What kind of serious troubles? She said, I don’t know, that’s what scares me, you don’t know what he’s capable of. I told her if she was scared to call the police. She said they’d laugh at her because she had no evidence, just feelings. I said, At least talk to a lawyer. You pay them upfront, they won’t laugh. But it was like she wasn’t hearing me, just kept going on about how this half brother was going to start troubles, no one knew what he was really like. Finally I said, If you’re going to accuse, at least tell me what you mean. She said, You don’t want to know, Mavis. I said if I didn’t I wouldn’t ask.”

She handed Cardenas the second soda can. “Now I’m full. You can spill that out, George, or finish it yourself.” Merriment tugged at her eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t have cooties.”

Cardenas said, “I’m not leaving again, Mavis. This story’s too good.”

“It’s not a story, George. It’s a factual account.”

“Even better.”

“It’s going to get way better once I tell you what she said. She said he taught himself to pick locks, she just knew it was to break in somewhere. Top of that, he tortured and killed animals. First bugs, then little critters, then who-knows-what. Had been doing that kind of nastiness since he was little. Leonora loved animals. Had two little Bichon Freezes or whatever you call them, would do anything for those dogs. After she was killed, they disappeared. So you tell me.”

I said, “Did she keep them in the shop with her?”

“Sometimes she brought them, sometimes she left them at home. But the point is, no one saw them again. I brought that up with Wendell when it was clear he wasn’t taking me seriously. That’s what I mean by lazy. Woman gets butchered up and she’s got dogs and they’re not in the house, wouldn’t that make you curious, George?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wendell lacked a shred of curiosity. Depression does that, right, Doctor?”

I nodded.

She said, “I know curiosity can kill cats, maybe even dogs. But satisfaction can also bring ’em all back. Wendell just didn’t care and neither did that Santa Barbara detective they sent down.”

“Donald Bragen,” I said.

“Him,” she said. “All macho, like Broderick Crawford on Highway Patrol – before both your times. ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,’ writing everything down in a little notebook. But Broderick listened. Bragen was an idiot, didn’t have time for anyone. You tell me: a prime suspect with a money motive who tortures animals and two dogs go missing. What would you think?”