Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

We stopped.

“It’s not really an altercation, but – I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Everything’s helpful, Amelie.”

“Okay… About a month ago, maybe five, six weeks, I was off for the morning and came in after lunch and found Kat was in a real goofy mood. All giggly, which wasn’t like her. I said what’s up and she said the most hilarious thing had happened. A customer – a man – had just come in and started pawing through the sale items. Kat assumed, just like I did with you guys, that he was looking for a gift. Kat ignored him like she always does. The guy kept examining the goods, concentrating on the larger sizes. After a while, it made Kat nervous and she finally went over and asked if he needed help.”

“What made her nervous?”

“Being alone with him, how long he was taking. We’re not some huge department store, how much time does it take to go through the merchandise? And most guys have no patience at all, they’re in and out or asking for help. Anyway, this guy said he was fine and Kat returned to the counter. But something gave her a funny feeling and she checked him out again. Couldn’t see him, but heard him behind one of the double racks and she went over and peeked. The guy had taken out a dress and was holding it up against his own body. Stroking it – like fitting it on himself. Kat said she couldn’t control herself, she just broke up and the guy heard it and nearly fell over himself putting the dress back. But instead of apologizing, Kat just stood there. And instead of rushing out, the guy turned and stared at her. Being… blatant. Like he needed to show he wasn’t ashamed. Kat told me that really pissed her off, she wasn’t going to take shit from a weirdo, so she stared back. I guess you could call that conflict.”

“Sounds like an assertive weirdo,” said Milo.

“Kat thought it was hilarious,” said Amelie. “I was appalled. Everyone’s got their secrets, why make them feel stupid?”

“Then what happened?”

“The guy stared some more, finally gave in and left quickly. Kat said she made sure to laugh some more. So he could hear her as he slunk away. It’s probably nothing, but you asked about problems.”

“Did Kat describe this guy?”

Black-rimmed eyes rounded. “You think it could be him? Oh, no, what if he comes back?”

“I’m sure there’s no connection, Amelie. We just need to collect as many facts as possible.”

“That would really freak me out,” she said. “The thought of being here with-”

“You’ll be fine, Amelie. Did Kat describe him?”

“No, no. She just told the story and laughed. It kept her giggly the whole rest of the day.”

A jewelry store named Cachet was visible at the end of the block.

Milo said, “Being a big-time hoohah detective, I’m willing to guess that’s where Beth Holloway works. But first, blood sugar therapy.”

I followed him into the coffee store. The place was nearly empty but it took a while to get the attention of the iPod-wearing kid hiding behind the espresso machine.

Milo bought two Frisbee-sized bagels smeared with crème fraîche, filled a small paper cup with free water, brought his bounty to a corner stool.

One bagel down. He wiped his chin. “Been a while since I worked a case with overtones. ”

Years ago, he’d reported to a captain who’d made sure to assign him every homicide with “unconventional overtones” that came through the division. Meaning anything but male on female, the more lurid the better.

Kat Shonsky’s body bore the signs of a lust homicide – blitz-attack head wound, overkill knifework, sexual positioning, the contemptuous placement of the driver’s license. But nothing suggested it was anything but male on female.

“I’m not sure I see overtones, Big Guy.”

He smiled.

“What’s funny?”

“Wherever it leads.”

Glitter and temptation filled the jewelry store’s windows. A spade-faced young man in a dark suit studied us before buzzing us in. Once we entered, he kept his hands beneath the counter.

Milo identified himself and asked for Beth Holloway and the guy relaxed.

“That’s Beth.” Eyeing a petite honey blonde showing a gray velvet tray of cocktail rings to a stooped white-haired man around eighty.

Beth Holloway had large pale eyes, flawless skin, smooth, bronze arms. A mini-collection of bangles circled delicate wrists. She wore a clingy, low-cut taupe dress, enjoyed frequent bends that flashed a freckled wealth of cleavage. The customer’s attention kept shifting between all that skin and the toys on the tray.

She said, “Pretty gorgeous, Mr. Wein. No?”

The old man sighed. “This is always difficult.”

Beth touched his wrist. “You always know what to do, Mr. Wein.”

“If you say so…” He held up a platinum-and-sapphire piece. “What do you think?”

“Perfect, she’ll love it.”

Wein held the ring to the light and turned it.

“Would you like a loupe, sir?”

“Like I know what I’m looking at.”

Beth laughed. “Take it from me, Mr. Wein, these are really great stones. And those are teeny baguettes, not chips.”

A few more turns. “Okay, this is fine.”

“Great! I’ll have it sized and ready for Mrs. Wein in two days. Would you like me to deliver it to your house?”

“No, not this time, I’m going to give it to her at dinner.”

Beth clapped her hands. “So romantic! She’s a lucky woman, Mr. Wein.”

“Depends what day you ask her.”

He left and she turned to us, smoothing her dress. “Hi!”

Milo introduced himself and told her why we were there.

She froze.

Burst into tears. Covered her face with one hand and pressed the other against the countertop.

The man in the dark suit took the tray of rings, locked it up, and looked on curiously.

Milo said, “Sorry to have to tell you.”

Beth Holloway ran toward the rear of the store, threw a door open, and disappeared.

The dark-suited man said, “We’re talking Kat, from La Femme?”

“You know her?”

“Wow,” he said.

Milo repeated the question.

“I went in there a couple of times, maybe get my wife something.”

“Kat waited on you?”

“She was there, but she didn’t do much,” said the man. “It’s her, huh? Weird.”

“What is?”

“Knowing someone who got killed.”

“What can you tell us about her?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

The man’s lips screwed up.

I said, “She wasn’t a helpful salesperson.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t bother me,” said the man. “I like to do my own thing. With jewelry, you’ve got to guide them. But clothes, it’s whatever works for you.”

Beth Holloway reemerged wearing a chocolate-brown sweater over her dress. Her eyes were puffy. Her lips looked bruised.

“What happened to Kat?” she asked.

Milo said, “We don’t know much yet. Can you spare some time?”

“You bet. Whatever it takes to find the animal who did this.”

“Any candidates come to mind?”

The man in the dark suit had sidled closer.

Beth Holloway said, “I wish, but no.”

Milo said, “Let’s take a walk.”

When the three of us were outside, he pointed to the coffee emporium.

Beth Holloway said, “I’d throw up. Let’s just walk.”

She took off, arms swinging. “What I really need is a ten-mile run.”

Milo said, “We’d need the EMT rescue van for me.”

“You should get into it. It’s therapeutic.”

“Kat into exercise?”

“Not a lick. And I tried.” She slowed down, picked up speed again. We hustled past storefronts, dodged pedestrians. Beth Holloway forged through the crowd like a woman with a plan.