Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

“I never panic,” said the man.

“Unflappable.”

“That, too.”

Freed from the gate and recuffed, the man stared off into space.

Milo let the uniforms go, sat him on the curb.

“I finally get to meet you, Bradley.”

Bradley Maisonette hung his head.

“Here to see your old pal, Will? Interesting way to visit.”

“You know me?” said Maisonette. “’Cause I don’t know you.”

“Been looking for you, sir.”

The honorific gave Maisonette a start. He smiled. “You didn’t find me for a while.”

“Congratulations. Let’s talk.”

“How’d you do it?” said Maisonette. “Look for me, I mean. Like what’s your technique? I was in plain sight, living the good life on Fourth Street.”

“ Tent City?”

Maisonette flashed rotten teeth. “We call it the Sidewalk Suburb. I’m in and out of there all the time, all you had to do was ask. Flash enough trash, some junkie would’ve sold me out.”

Speaking softly, clearly. His clothes were in tatters but over the phone he’d sound like a refined man.

Milo said, “Your P.O. have any idea you crashed there?”

Bradley Maisonette laughed. “Those people? Never talk to them.”

We took Maisonette back to Hollywood station.

He said, “What are the charges?”

Milo said, “Offhand I can think of trespassing, attempted burglary, resisting arrest. Give me some time and I’ll come up with more.”

“Small stuff. I’ll cope.”

“No need to if you talk to us.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Why not?”

“Nothing ever is.”

Maisonette ended up in the same room Tasha had marked with a floral bouquet of perfume and lotions. He exuded the sour, unwashed reek that had filled the Seville on the drive over.

He sniffed, frowned, as if aware of his own odor for the first time.

Milo offered him something to drink.

Maisonette said, “I’ll take a steak. Filet mignon, medium rare inside, charred crisp on the outside, with some nice fried onions. Caesar salad to start, extra dressing. Red wine. I prefer California over French – Pinot Noir.”

“Cooperate, Bradley, I can get you caviar.”

“Hate that stuff. Tastes like bad pussy.”

“Turn either down often?”

Maisonette smiled.

“Why were you trying to break into Wilson Good’s crib?”

“No one was breaking in anywhere.”

Under bright light, Maisonette’s skin was sallow, scored, sun-spotted. Red-rimmed eyes drooped. Thirty-one years old, but he could’ve been his father’s age. Crude tattoos brocading his arms did nothing to hide tortured veins and knotted track-smudges.

Milo said, “What were you doing there?”

“Trying to see Will.”

“Why?”

“He called me.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

“You have a phone?”

“I stand corrected,” said Maisonette. “He sent his girlfriend to Fourth Street and she invited me. Said Will and I needed to talk.”

“About what?”

“She didn’t say.”

“You went over anyway.”

“A week later.”

Milo said, “She didn’t have to spell it out. You knew.”

Maisonette’s eyes contemplated resistance.

He said, “What the hell.” Gave a slow, weary nod.

“What was the topic?” said Milo.

“Twan,” said Maisonette. “There’s nothing else between Will and me.”

“Good wanted to talk about Antoine Beverly.”

“Just the opposite. The girlfriend said Will wanted to discuss not talking. He’d explain when I got there.”

“Who’s this girlfriend?”

“White girl, freckles, calls herself Andy.”

I said, “That’s his wife.”

Maisonette grinned. “You believe everything you hear?”

“Why would she lie about that?” said Milo.

“Will’s been stringing her along for ten years. Coaches at a church school, has to look all respectable, so he tells the priests he’s married. But they never filed paper.”

“Ten years, huh?”

“Will’s one of those guys,” said Maisonette. “Commitment-shy.”

“The two of you have been in regular contact,” said Milo.

“Not regular, intermittent.”

“When was the last time?”

“While back, I don’t keep a calendar.”

“Years? Months?”

“Maybe a year,” said Maisonette. “The topic was I needed a loan to get me on my feet.”

“Will come through?”

“Sure did.”

“Good friend.”

“We go back.”

Milo said, “Let’s push things up to the present. Andrea the fake-wife came by to tell you Will would pay you not to talk about Twan.”

“I didn’t want to anyway,” said Maisonette. “Talk. Called him, got no answer. Fine with me.”

“Why was Will suddenly worried about you talking?”

Maisonette smiled. “Why ask questions you know the answer to?”

“I could use your answer.”

“Because things were stirring up.”

“Antoine’s case was reopened.”

Nod.

“After Andrea’s visit, you rabbited.”

Maisonette flashed a who-me look.

Milo said, “Bradley, I’m not as stupid as I look, been on Fourth Street plenty of times. Junkies said you were in the air.”

Smooth lie; not a trace of tell.

Maisonette shrugged. “I wandered around a little. You didn’t work hard enough.”

“Well,” said Milo, “at least you’re here and we’re having a great time. So what about Antoine worries Will?”

Maisonette scratched the crook of one ravaged arm. “You’re not going to charge me, correct? Once you get hold of Will, he’ll tell you straight-out I was invited to visit anytime, therefore no trespass and, for sure, no attempt 459.”

Milo laughed. “You climbed his fence.”

“Rang his bell first. I thought he was home.”

“No one answers the bell, he’s home?”

“Will can get like that.”

“Like what?”

“Depressed, goes to bed for days, doesn’t want to talk or see anyone. Last few years, he’s been better, taking meds. Likes his job, doesn’t want to rock any boats. But before – when we were in college – he’d miss a lot of classes, borrow my notes.”

“You went to college together.”

“Cal State Long Beach,” said Maisonette. “One year, I studied electrical engineering. Will did a Mickey Mouse major.” Flexing his hands. “P.E.”

I said, “Will has a long history of depression.”

“Ancient history.”

“Did it start before Antoine’s death, or after?”

Maisonette’s eyes rose to the ceiling.

Milo said, “Is that a tough question, Bradley?”

Maisonette slid around in his chair. “I’ll take some food now. And a Coke, real sugar, no Diet.”

“Answer the question first.”

Maisonette rubbed his palms together. Jammed his hands into his hair and yanked hard enough to shimmy his eyebrows.

I said, “Before or after?”

“After.”

“Antoine stayed on Will’s mind. Made dealing with life tough.”

“You sound like a shrink.”

“Happens sometimes. How did Antoine affect you?”

“Me? I’m cool.”

“Not Will.”

Maisonette hugged himself. “Cold in here, would you please turn down the A.C.?”

Milo said, “What preyed on Will? He did something to Twan? You and he did something together?”

Maisonette’s head turned slowly. His eyes filled with tears. “You think that ?”

“Mr. Maisonette, I’ve got a sixteen-year-old homicide all stirred up, like you said, and two supposed friends of the victim rabbiting.”

“Supposed? Here are the facts: We were best friends. Best. I didn’t do anything to Antoine, Will didn’t do anything to Antoine.”