Jonathan Kellerman - The Murder Book

"Your name came up in the course of our investigation."

Hansen showed yellow teeth again. His eyes creased in concentration. "My name came up in a murder investigation?"

"A very nasty murder."

"Something recent?"

Milo crossed his legs. "This will go more quickly if I ask the questions."

Another man might've bristled. Hansen sat in place, like an obedient child. "Yes, of course. I'm just- the King's Men was just a stupid high school thing." Slight slur in his voice. His eyes shot to the ceiling beams. A pliable man. The addition of booze made Milo 's job easier.

Milo pulled out his notepad. When he clicked his pen open, Hansen was startled but he remained in place.

"Let's start with the basics: You were a member of the King's Men."

"I'd really like to know how you… never mind, let's do this quickly," said Hansen. "Yes I was a member. For my last two years at Uni. I arrived as a junior. My father was an executive with Standard Oil, we moved around a lot, had lived on the East Coast. During my junior year, Father was transferred to L.A., and we ended up renting a house in Westwood. I was pretty disoriented. It's a disorienting time, anyway, right? I guess I was irritated at my parents for uprooting me. I'd always been obedient- an only child, overly adult. I guess when I got to Uni I figured I'd rebel, and the King's Men seemed a good way to do it."

"Why?"

"Because they were a bunch of goof-offs," said Hansen. "Rich kids who did nothing but drink and dope. They got the school to recognize them as a legitimate service club because one of their fathers owned real estate and he let the school use his empty lots for fund-raisers- car washes, bake sales, that kind of thing. But the Men weren't about service, just partying."

"A dad with real estate," said Milo. "Vance Coury."

"Yes, Vance's father."

Hansen's voice rose at the word "father," and Milo waited for him to say more. When Hansen didn't, he said, "When's the last time you saw Vance Coury?"

"High school graduation," said Hansen. "I haven't been in touch with any of them. That's why this whole thing is rather odd."

Another glance upward. Hansen had never boned up on the body language of deception.

"You haven't seen any of them since graduation?" said Milo. "Not once?"

"By the time we graduated, I was moving in another direction. They were all staying here, and I'd been accepted at Columbia. My father wanted me to go to business school, but I finally accomplished a genuine rebellion and majored in anthropology. What I was really interested in was art, but that would've caused too much tumult. As is, Father was far from amused, but Mother was supportive."

A third look at his watch, then a glance toward the stairs. Only child hoping for maternal reprieve.

Milo said, "You didn't really answer the question. Have you seen any of the other King's Men since graduation?"

Hansen's muddy irises took yet another journey upward, and his mouth began to tremble. He tried to cover it with a smile. Crossed his legs, as if imitating Milo. The result was contortive, not casual.

"I never saw Vance or the Cossacks or Brad Larner. But there was another boy, Luke Chapman- though we're talking twenty years ago, for God's sake. Luke was… what is it you want to know, exactly?"

Milo's jaw tightened. His voice turned gentle and ominous. "Luke was what?"

Hansen didn't answer.

Milo said, "You do know he's dead."

Hansen nodded. "Very sad."

"What were you going to say about him?"

"That he wasn't very bright."

"When, after graduation, did you see him?"

"Look," said Hansen. "You need to understand the context. He- Luke- was no genius. Honestly, he was dull. Despite that, I'd always thought of him as the best of them. That's why- does this have to do with Luke's drowning?"

"When did you see Chapman?"

"Just once," said Hansen.

"When?"

"My first year in grad school."

"What month?"

"Winter break. December."

"So just weeks before Chapman drowned."

Hansen blanched and brought his eyes back to the carved beams. He sank in his chair and looked small. Incompetent liar. Painting had been a better choice than the corporate thing. Milo slapped his pad shut, shot to his feet, strode to Hansen and placed his hand on the back of Hansen's chair. Hansen looked ready to faint.

"Tell us about it," said Milo.

"You're saying Luke was murdered? All those years ago… who do you suspect?"

"Tell us about the meeting with Chapman."

"I- this is-" Hansen shook his head. "I could use a drink- may I get you something, as well?"

"No, but feel free to fortify yourself."

Hansen braced himself on the arms of his chair and rose. Milo followed him across the tiled entry, across an adjoining dining room and through double doors. When the two of them returned, Hansen had both his hands wrapped around a squat, cut-crystal tumbler half-filled with whiskey. When he sat down, Milo resumed his stance behind the chair. Hansen twisted and looked up at him, drained most of the whiskey, rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"Start with where."

"Right here- in the house." Hansen emptied the glass. "Luke and I hadn't been in contact. High school was long out of my consciousness. They were stupid kids. Stupid rich kids, and the thought that I'd found them cool was laughable. I was an East Coast nerd scared witless about making yet another lifestyle switch, thrown into a whole new world. Tanned bodies, loud smiles, social castes… it was a sudden overdose of California . Luke and I had World History together. He was flunking- he was this big blond lunk who could barely read or spell. I felt sorry for him so I helped him- gave him free tutoring. He was dull, but not a bad kid. Built like a fridge, but he never went out for sports because he preferred drinking and smoking dope. That was the essence of the Kingers. They made a big point of not engaging in anything but partying and at that specific time in my life that kind of abandon seemed attractive. So when Luke invited me to join the group, I jumped at it. It was somewhere to belong. I had nothing else."

"Were you welcomed by the others?"

"Not with open arms, but they weren't bad," said Hansen. "Tested me out. I had to prove myself by drinking them under the table. That I could do, but I never really felt comfortable with them and maybe they sensed it because, toward the end, they got… distant. Also, there was the economic thing. They'd figured I was rich- there'd been a rumor circulating that Father owned an oil company. When I told them the truth, they were clearly disappointed."

Hansen passed the tumbler from hand to hand, stared at his knees. "Listen to me, going on about myself." He took a deep breath. "That's the sum total: I hung out with them for the second half of my junior year and a bit into my senior year, then it tapered off. When I got into Columbia, that put them off. They were all planning to live off their parents' money in L.A. and keep partying."

Milo said, "So you were home on break and Luke Chapman just dropped in."

"Yes, it was out of the blue," said Hansen. "I was spending my time holed up in my room drawing. Luke showed up unannounced, and Mother let him in."

Hansen hefted the empty tumbler.

"What did he want?" said Milo.

Hansen stared at him.

"What was the topic, Nicholas?"

"He looked terrible," said Hansen. "Disheveled, unwashed- smelled like a barn. I didn't know what to make of it. Then he said, 'Nick, man, you were the only one who ever helped me, and I need you to help me now.' My first thought was he'd gotten some girl pregnant, needed guidance about where to get an abortion, something like that. I said, 'What can I do for you.' And that's when he broke down- just fell apart. Rocking and moaning and saying everything was fucked up."