Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

How did Kat Shonsky’s murder fit?

I worked that every way I could think of, concluded it didn’t. If the same killer had gotten her, the motive had to be personal.

Young woman with hostile tendencies confronts a cross-dresser with a much darker secret than choice of wardrobe.

That brought me back to Tony Mancusi’s effeminate mannerisms. Donald Bragen’s description of Bright as “fluttering” over the phone.

Dale, an androgynous name.

A contract killer with a thing for chic French dresses meeting likeminded individuals and drumming up business?

Overtones…

If Tony led a secret life, surveillance of his apartment might eventually bear fruit. Finding Dale nine years after his sister’s murder would be a lot tougher.

I got back on the computer, searched for soup kitchens and missions in L.A.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d printed three pages. Nice to know the city wasn’t all about ego and tax brackets. I made a few calls. Most offices were closed until morning. The people I spoke to had never heard of Ansell or Dale Bright.

Just as I was about to pack it in, a new e-mail arrived.

Dr. Delaware, George again. I got back from a false raccoon call at Mavis’s and that made me think about animal shelters. Leonora said Dale was cruel to animals but faked like he wasn’t so wouldn’t that be a perfect split personality thing? Anyway, I did find a group where he volunteered. Paws and Claws, the person in charge at the Berkeley branch remembers Bright because she used to work with him back when she was a volunteer. She said one day he just stopped coming in and when she called him the number was d.c.’d. She recalls this clearly as nine years ago, right after Easter, because someone dropped off abandoned bunnies and Bright took good care of them, then a few days later he went awol. That makes it a month before Leonora and Vicki Tranh were killed, so maybe he left to plan the crime. Or Mavis is wrong and he’s just a normal guy who got tired of cleaning up animal crap. If you’re interested, the informant’s name is Shantee Moloney. Her number is 415…

Shantee Moloney said, “Whoa. That Mayberry cop said you might be calling but that was fast.”

I said, “I appreciate your talking to me.”

“I’ve gotta be honest, I’m not a big police person, when I was a student at Cal, law enforcement was tear gas and billy clubs. But I guess if Dale did something that bad – you really think he did? ’Cause part of me says that’s impossible. Dale was so devoted and nonviolent.”

“But,” I said.

“But what?”

“Part of you…”

“Oh,” said Shantee Moloney. “It was just strange the way he dropped out of sight without telling anyone.”

“What was Dale like?”

“Devoted. Like I said. He said he was a vegan, didn’t even wear leather.”

“He said?”

“I really have no basis for doubting him.”

“But you doubt him anyway.”

“What are you, a mind reader?”

“Just a mere mortal trying to get some facts,” I said. “Did Dale do something that made you wonder about his credibility?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m not sure it’s even true.”

I waited.

Shantee Moloney said, “I’m not a gossip.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s petty and what’s important.”

Dead air.

“Ms. Moloney-”

“Okay, okay. After Dale stopped coming in, I mentioned to another volunteer that I’d tried to call him, got a disconnected number, was worried if he was okay. This other person said, ‘Oh, he’s fine, just saw him over at the Tadich Grill a couple of nights ago.’ That’s an old restaurant in San Francisco. I said, ‘Well that’s good, at least I know he’s okay. But I’m still wondering why he suddenly stopped coming to the shelter.’ And this other person laughs and says, ‘Looked to me like Dale had a sudden conversion.’ I say, ‘What you mean?’ And he tells me Dale was in a booth by himself eating a ginormous meal – huge platter of oysters, crab cocktail, then a honkin’ shoulder of lamb. That floored me. I’m a vegetarian but I eat eggs and dairy. Dale claimed to be total vegan, used to go on about the ethical and health virtues of eliminating all animal matter. And now he’s stuffing his face with flesh?”

“Faking it,” I said.

“I guess he fooled me. If it’s true. One thing he didn’t fake was his dedication to the strays. No one could’ve cared for those animals with more tenderness.”

“Bunnies.”

“Someone’s stupid idea of an Easter gift. I’m talking newborns, like big as your thumb. Dale stayed up all night nursing them with an eyedropper. When I left, he was still there.”

“Why would the other volunteer make up that story?”

“Let’s just say he and Dale weren’t chummy.”

“Could I have this person’s name, please?”

“Brian Leary, but that won’t help you, he’s gone. AIDS, six years ago.”

“Is there anyone else at the shelter who’d remember Dale?”

“No,” she said. “It was just the three of us working the midnight shift. I’m a freelance embroiderer, my hours are flexible, and Brian was a nurse at UCSF, did the three to eleven and didn’t need much sleep, so he’d come in after work.”

“What about Dale?”

“Dale spent more time at the shelter than anyone. He never mentioned any job at all. I got the feeling there was family money.”

“Why’s that?”

“The way he dressed – wrinkled clothes but good quality? The way he carried himself? I’m pretty tuned in to class distinctions.”

“What was the problem between him and Brian?”

“I really couldn’t tell you. Brian mostly worked with the cats, he loved cats. Dale and I did anything else that needed to be done.”

“Brian never said why he didn’t like Dale?”

“No, I guess it was just bad chemistry. I was in the middle – I thought they were both good guys.”

“Brian just happened to be at the Tadich Grill that night?”

“Was he stalking Dale? Not at all. Brian was out on a date, some doctor he’d been seeing.”

“Do you recall a name?”

“You’re kidding,” she said. “First of all, Brian never gave me a name. Second of all, this was almost a decade ago.”

I said, “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”

“I really can’t imagine Dale doing anything criminal. Anyway, gotta go-”

“How’d Dale come to work at the shelter?”

“Walked in one night and volunteered. I was up to my elbows in abandoned puppies and it was a blessing. He got right to work, cleaning, feeding, checking for fleas. He was great.”

“Can you describe him for me?”

“Big,” said Shantee Moloney.

“Tall or heavy?”

“Both. At least six feet, probably taller. He wasn’t really fat, more like… padded.”

“What about his hair color?”

“Light – dirty blond, but it was dyed. He wore it long – shaggy, over his forehead. But it always looked clean and shiny. Real shiny. That’s what I meant about carrying himself well. He wore hemp shoes and belt. But there was always a… I guess what I’m saying is he managed to look polished.”

“Did he ever talk about his family?”

“Nope.”

“No personal details at all?”

“The other cop asked the same thing and that made me realize Dale’s family never came up. I’d call Dale a private person. But not cold. Just the opposite, friendly. And businesslike – really into doing the job efficiently.”

“Any other physical details you can remember?”

“His beard was darker than his hair – medium brown.”

First mention of facial hair. “Full beard or goatee?”

“It totally covered his face. Reminded me of that guy used to be on TV, that mountain man – Grizzly whatever – Adams. But Dale was no mountain man.”