Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

“Tenecia Lawrence,” Milo said, digging his notepad out of his pocket. “Let’s do it before Browning preps her. Your turn, I need two hands on the wheel.”

I put my cell on speaker and called the number he’d written down. A female voice answered with a high, chirpy “This is Neesh.”

When I told her the reason for the call, she dropped from soprano to alto. “Am I in trouble?”

I cited the date. “We need to know if you were with Michael-”

“He told you?” Her voice broke. “It was supposed to be totally secret.”

“It can stay that way,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “My parents.”

“True or not, Tenecia?”

“Um… how do I know you’re the police?”

“If you’d like we can drop by in person.”

“No, no, that’s okay.”

“Were you with Michael?”

Silence.

“Tenecia?”

A scared little girl’s voice said, “Yes, I was. My dad’s a fire captain and that weekend he took my mom to a reunion at Lake Arrowhead, all the battalions that had fought the big Laguna fire. Michael wanted to come to the house but I wouldn’t let him, no way. He would’ve stood out.”

“Why?”

“We live in Ladera Heights,” she said.

Prosperous black suburb.

I said, “Where did you and Michael go?”

“You’ll really keep this secret?”

“If you’re truthful, there’s no reason for it to get out.”

“Okay, um – Michael picked me up at school and we drove to a hotel.”

“Which one?”

“Dayside Inn.”

“Where is that?”

“Near the airport, I don’t know the street. We stayed in all day. Watched movies. The Wedding Planner and Prime with Uma Thurman and Meryl Streep ’cause it’s one of my favorites. Michael was okay with it, he likes chick flicks.”

“Then what?”

“Then the next day we went to Long Beach, visited the aquarium. I’d never been there.”

Silence.

“It’s really pretty,” she said. “The aquarium.”

“What happened after that, Tenecia?”

“Nothing.”

“You stayed in Long Beach.”

“I – this is going to sound… we were just having fun.”

“Where’d you go?”

Audible sigh. “Another hotel. Best Western, near the aquarium. The next day, we came home. I mean, not right away. First we went to dinner at Sizzler, then we drove through Palos Verdes to see the ocean. Then we went to Michael’s house in Granada Hills. I was nervous to go there but it was dark and Michael said it was okay. The next morning, he drove me back to school. I didn’t have a class until one p.m., so we had breakfast on campus, hung out, then he drove to work. Am I in trouble?”

“Not if you’ve been truthful.”

“I have been, I swear.”

“So you were definitely with Mr. Browning the entire weekend.”

“I won’t see him anymore,” she said. “He’s too old for me. Is he in trouble?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, Tenecia.”

“Okay, but I’m really not going to see him. You won’t have to call again, will you? Sometimes my dad picks up my phone.”

“You’re fine, Tenecia.”

“Thank you so much. Thank you.”

Milo said, “Poor kid, we mighta scared her into celibacy.”

“If she keeps away from Browning,” I said, “we did our good deed for the day.”

“Lowlife. Too bad he’s not our guy.”

He called in for messages. Gordon Beverly wanted to know if anything was new. Milo reached him, spent a few tortured minutes trying to be therapeutic.

Another try at Bradley Maisonette’s parole officer produced a third burst of voice mail. Milo left an irate message and dialed Wilson Good’s home number.

“No answer. Screw his flu, let’s go bug the coach.”

No cars behind the mesh gate at Wilson Good’s house. No answer to the bell ring.

A call to St. Xavier confirmed that Coach Good was still out sick.

I said, “Maybe he went to the doctor.”

Milo took in the sliver of view between the house and its northern neighbor. “Guy made a nice life for himself… okay, back to the gristmill.”

Sean Binchy waved the Bentley key.

His presence in Milo’s office meant no room to move and rapid oxygen depletion.

Milo said, “Heubel give it up easily?”

“Had to work on him a little, Loot. I figured telling him about Shonsky might do the trick but he got pretty freaked out, like ‘Don’t tell me stuff like that.’ He didn’t like the idea of the car being messed with but I got him to see it was important.”

“Where’s the car?”

“Across the street in the lot,” said Sean. “Couple of uniforms saw me drive in, had all sorts of fun. It’s an experience. Everyone stares.”

I said, “I’m sure it caught Kat Shonsky’s eye.”

Binchy said, “A lot of girls would trust someone with wheels like that.”

Milo said, “Okay, Sean, you get to be stared at all the way to the motor lab. I’ll call and set up the paperwork.”

Binchy grinned and rotated an imaginary steering wheel. “Anything else, Loot?”

“That’s enough for the time being.”

“Guess I opened a can of worms, huh? Calling you in the first place.”

“It was obviously a can that needed to be opened, Sean.”

“When you put it that way,” said Binchy. “Weird, huh?”

“Without weird, life would be boring, Sean.”

“Speaking of which, if I could possibly get in a position where I could return to Homicide, do you think that would be a good idea?”

“I think you should make yourself happy.”

“So… you’re not opposed to it.”

“Why would I be?”

Binchy nodded and left.

“Maybe he’s got a future,” I said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Opening worm cans all by himself.”

I drove home, walked Blanche, ate pizza with Robin, checked my e-mail.

Lots of urgent communication: six bogus stock tips, an offer to lengthen my penis, ads for two different kinds of organic Viagra, and Jason Blasco at DarkVisions.net wanting to know if I’d learned anything more about the Bright-Tranh murders and informing me he’d found pictures of one of the heads Jeffrey Dahmer had kept in his fridge ( “totally real don’t ask me where i recieved it” ).

At the bottom was a message from Sheriff George Cardenas:

Dr. Delaware, doesn’t look as if Ansell Bright ever owned property in California under that name or “Dale.” His last known car registration was the year his parents died and his address was their home in San Francisco. I’ll try to send you a jpg of his DMV photo tomorrow. The house was sold for $980,000 shortly after Mrs. Bright died and has changed hands twice. I managed to find the person who bought it the first time. The transaction was handled by agents and the buyer never met Ansell. He did confirm that Ansell was the seller, so we can assume Ansell got a nice chunk of money. Maybe he moved out of state to get more bang for his buck.

I haven’t been able to access Social Security records without a warrant but maybe LAPD has more clout. The only other thing I could think of is what Mrs. Wembley said about Leonora telling her Ansell fed the homeless. I looked up various groups in San Francisco, talked to a few people but no one remembers Ansell or Dale Bright.

Best,

George Cardenas

Nine hundred eighty thousand was a serious motive. Well over a million if Ansell Bright’s parents had left stocks, bonds, cash, or other real estate.

Tony Mancusi was set to become a millionaire as soon as his mother’s will cleared.

That level of incentive, paying a hit man would be a terrific investment, if you put aside petty distractions like human decency.