Jonathan Kellerman - Bones

Marc tortured his hair.

“Now, Marcus!”

“It’s nothing. I’m sure-”

“Shut up and talk, Marcus!”

“Fine. She didn’t want you to know because the scene she was in really wasn’t her thing. She was just playing music.”

“What are you talking about!”

“Mom, she swore me to secrecy, I had no reason to violate-”

“Now you do,” said Milo.

“Okay, but it really boils down to nothing. Like I said, she was playing in clubs. And that led to parties.” Turning to his mother. “Some were situations she didn’t want you to find out about because she knew you’d freak out.”

“What kind of situations?”

No answer.

Emily Green-Bass grabbed her son’s wrist and put her face close to his. “Like I’m some kind of fossil, Marc? Like I’m out of touch with reality? I like rock music. Your sister’s dead ! These people need to know!”

Marc licked his lips. “I’m not talking about the music, Mom. These were… specialty parties… swinger parties, okay? Freaks wanting background.”

Emily Green-Bass let go of his sleeve. “My God.”

“You wanted to know, Mom, now you know. Selena was broke, totally busted, so she checked out the classifieds in the freebie papers, found an ad for a keyboardist to play a private party. She had her Korg, her Pro Tools, all that stuff you got her for her eighteenth.”

Milo said, “All that stuff comes with a computer, right?”

“And a cord and plug,” said Marc. “Of course it comes with a computer.”

“There was no computer in her apartment.”

“Everything else was there?”

“Appeared to be.”

“That’s bizarre.”

Chris Green said, “Someone did this for a Mac?”

Marc Green said, “Or they wanted her data.”

Milo said, “What kind of data would that be, Marc?”

“I don’t know, I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“Those parties… maybe she took notes or something about what she saw and someone wanted to maintain their privacy.”

“Freaks,” said Emily Green-Bass. “Oh, Lord.”

Milo said, “Tell us about the parties, Marc.”

“All Selena said was freak parties at private homes. We didn’t get into details. Tell the truth, I didn’t want to know.”

Emily said, “The whole truth, Marcus.”

“That is the whole truth.”

“You keep saying that, dammit, then you drop in new tidbits! You were always a tease, Marcus.”

Marc gritted his teeth. “What I know is Selena played music for people having open sex in private houses. What I know is she said they wanted live music while they were fucking because they were fucking exhibitionists and fucking in front of a live fucking musician was a fucking part of the fucking high.”

“Don’t be vulgar… my God, Lieutenant, what if someone got her to do… more than music?”

“She never came close to implying that, Mom. Never. She was playing music, that’s all. Got paid well, was real happy.”

Milo said, “She quote you a figure?”

“No, and I didn’t ask.” Marc swung his chain, fingered keys. “Now that we’ve micro-analyzed Selena and violated her privacy, can you guys go and do some detecting?”

Chris said, “Chill, bro.”

Marc slumped.

Milo said, “When exactly did she tell you about these parties?”

“When I saw her the second time.”

“Six months ago.”

“She knew I was the only one in the family who wouldn’t judge her. Basically, she was laughing at it. Naked old people fucking and sucking and she’s playing Air Supply. Then she got the teaching job and that was even better.”

“How’d she find that?”

“She didn’t say.”

Emily said, “Maybe one of those perverts went crazy.”

“We’ll definitely check it out, ma’am,” said Milo. “She did tell you about her job with the Vander boy.”

“She said she had a full-time job teaching a musical genius. She e-mailed me and I answered right away. I asked her to call and she did. But only once. We had one conversation. She sounded happy.” Sniffling. “I thought she’d call again. I told her I was proud of her, asked her to come home, at least for a visit. She said she’d think about it, but she never followed through.”

Milo said, “She saved a hard copy of your e-mail, ma’am. It obviously meant a lot to her.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to the brothers. “You guys have no idea how she met the Vanders?”

Chris shook his head.

Marc said, “In music, generally it’s word of mouth-oh. You’re thinking they were freaks, heard her play at one of those screwathons and hired her? Makes sense.”

“Why’s that?”

“The filthy rich do what they want.”

Emily said, “Oh, my God.”

Milo said, “Jumping to conclusions is a real bad idea. All we know about the Vanders is that they hired Selena to teach piano. But this is exactly what we need-any possible links to people in Selena’s life. So if anyone has any other ideas, please express them.”

Marc said, “The whole rich-asshole thing makes total sense. Selena meets them at a freak show and they decide to co-opt her for-”

“Didn’t you hear him?” said his brother. “It’s way premature to-”

Marc wheeled on him. “Like you’ve had something to offer? Fuck off.”

Chris’s complexion deepened to sugar-beet. “Fuck you.”

“Stop it!” said Emily Green-Bass. “I can’t stand this, it’s like everything’s rotting.”

We watched mother and sons drive away in three separate rental cars.

Milo said, “Nothing like togetherness. Sounds like Selena was alienated from all of ’em.”

I said, “People come to L.A. to lose themselves.”

“You referring to me or you or everyone?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Back in his office, I said, “Private gigs at swinger parties could explain the sex toys. Selena started off supplying the soundtrack, evolved into a different type of entertainment.”

“Nice-looking girl, the whole Little Miss Chaste thing could appeal to a libertine.” Smiling. “Last time I heard that word was from Sister Mary Patrick the Cruel.” He fished a panatela from a desk drawer, unwrapped it, twirled. “What do you think of Angry Brother?”

“He’s the only one who had any kind of relationship with Selena, but a hot temper can lead all sorts of places.”

He ran a records check on Marc. “Clean. So maybe we should trust his instincts and the Vanders were shelling fifty grand a year for more than piano lessons.”

“With a kid who’s a prodigy, you’d think the family would hire a famous teacher, not a starving musician who’d dropped out of formal training. On the other hand, what better cover for Selena being on call?”

“Tickle the ivories, tickle Daddy and Mommy.”

“That would account for Travis Huck’s overactive sweat glands. Same for the stone wall Reed bumped up against when he tried to talk to the Vanders’ accountants. And the Vanders just happen to be traveling when Selena shows up dead.”

“Lifestyles of the rich and lustful,” he said. “Marc Green might be one of those peevish class-warfare guys, but that doesn’t make him wrong.”

He rubbed his face. “That house, end of the road, gated, no neighbors in sight. Ideal setup for interesting soirees. Selena told Marc she dug the money. What if she got bonuses for nonmusical gigs, then she saw something that made her want out.”

“Or she threatened someone literally.”

“Blackmail?”

“Big secrets, big money.”

“Yeah, that’s the recipe.”