Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

“The guy sounds old,” Amanda said. “We’re worried for his safety.”

“That’s not going to- ” Abruptly the door swung open. The man in the wheelchair was ancient with a cue-ball head, sunken, jaundiced eyes and ill-fitting dentures that clacked as he rotated his mandible. Small-jawed face once round, now sagging in the middle like a bell pepper. Grainy complexion, more wrinkles than smooth flesh. Stick legs, but his arms were surprisingly muscled. Probably from wheeling around.

“Mr. Modell?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

“What the fuck about?”

“May we come inside?” Amanda asked.

Modell eyed Amanda. “You can, he can’t.”

“We’re a team, sir.”

“Then go play a fucking game.” But Modell didn’t wheel back into the trailer and Amanda saw something in his eyes other than hostility.

A faint longing.

She smiled.

Modell said, “Ahh, why the fuck not, I’m bored.” He propelled the chair to the side so they could enter.

They walked into a hothouse. The temperature must have been hovering in the nineties. Three humidifiers filled the cramped, dim space with mist. The upside of the oppressive micro-climate was tables of flora- bromeliads, African violets, wild beautiful blooms Amanda didn’t recognize.

She began to sweat and glanced at Will. He took off his jacket. His shirt was sodden.

Modell ignored them and wheeled to the only surface devoid of plant life- a rickety card table that hosted bottles of pills, an ancient-looking burrito and the TV remote. Modell muted the sound but left the picture on. Some old movie in black and white.

Amanda said, “We have a few questions for you if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Modell said, clacking his teeth. “But can I stop the minions of HAG?”

“HAG?”

“Heathen Atheistic Government.”

Modell reached over to pinch off a papery old African violet bloom.

Barnes got right down to business. “Could you tell me where you were two nights ago?”

Modell squinted at the detective. “I’m always here. Does it look like I can go anywhere?”

“You moved to this trailer park recently,” Amanda said.

“You got that right, lady. I sold my house in Orange County, pocketed an absurd profit and decided to spend my days doing what I do best- communicating with atheists, reprobates and perverts. God knows there are enough of them to fill my time.”

“Communicating with letters,” said Barnes.

“Lost art,” said Modell. “All that e-mail buggery. When I was at my peak, I sent out thirty, forty a day. Now I’m down to five. The hands.” Waving gnarled digits. “Damn shame, the perverts seem to be multiplying faster than ever.”

“Which perverts have you written to lately?”

Again, Modell squinted. “What the fuck do the police care about an old man writing letters?”

Amanda said, “An old man who heads Families Under God.”

“Not anymore. I gave that up two years ago. Don’t you police people keep abreast of the times?”

“Why’d you resign?” Amanda asked.

“I started the ministry thirty years ago all by my lonesome. Built it up big.” He shook his head. “Too big. The members decided they needed a board. To do what, I don’t know, but the assholes started telling me how to run my organization. So I told them to fuck off and I quit. Damn shame, at our heyday we were a powerful force against the perverts. What they’re doing now, don’t know, don’t care. I write five letters to perverts, God’s happy. Now if you don’t tell me what you want, you can just leave. At least, you can leave. I don’t mind if the lady stays…unless you’re one of those lesbos. Then you can be the first out the door.”

“You don’t like lesbians?” Amanda asked.

“What’s to like? They’re homos and they’re perverted.”

“Did you ever write a letter to State Representative Davida Grayson?” Amanda asked.

“Aha!” Modell jabbed a finger upward. “ Now I see what this is about. The lesbo representative.” Big smile. “But that happened up north.”

“We’re from up north,” Amanda told him. “ Berkeley PD.”

“You came all the way down just to see little ol’ me ? Lady, I’m flattered !”

“You did write to her,” Barnes said.

“Fuck yeah I wrote to her. I wrote to her many times. The pervert was not only a lesbo, she was trying to cut up unborn babies for her own selfish purposes.”

Amanda said, “Stem-cell research.”

Modell seemed to levitate out of his chair. “Stem-cell research bull ! Nothing good will ever come from butchering human babies, young lady, and I certainly don’t want to pay for such shit with my tax dollar.” He sank back down. “Yeah, I wrote to that sodomite, told her what I thought of her bull and of her being a lesbo. Told her everything she needed to hear.”

“Which was?”

“Women got no business being in politics, it turns them into perverts like Grayson. I’m certainly not mourning Grayson’s demise, but if you think I had anything to do with her murder, you are seriously misguided and as stupid as she was.”

Barnes loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. Amanda gave him a tissue from her purse and both of them mopped their brows. She said, “Politicians receive negative mail all the time, sir, but your letters were especially nasty.”

“Lady, I’m a nasty, God-driven man. I don’t deny it. But last I heard you can’t arrest someone for that.”

“You can arrest someone for threatening harm.”

“I didn’t threaten harm, mister. I just told her the truth…that she was going to burn in hell for eternity, two seconds flat her flesh would look like pig cracklings and her insides would boil like soup. I told her she was so far gone even Jesus wouldn’t know what the hell to do for her. You want to arrest me for truth-telling, go ahead and give me the entertainment and the publicity and maybe I’ll start another church. Do one of those websites. ”

Amanda said, “Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts for the last couple of days?”

“Lady, I’m damn flattered that you think I have enough energy to fly up to that pinko city and pop the lesbo. Fact is, I’m eighty-four, for the last ten of those wheelchair bound and a good day for me is when I wake up and move my bowels without straining.”

“You could’ve hired someone,” Barnes said.

“I could go to the novelty shop, buy a big nose and say I was a Jew- listen, you two, just because I decided to use my First Amendment privileges and tell the perverts what I think of them doesn’t mean I have to sit hear and listen to your bull. Your bosses will be hearing from me. Get the fuck out of here before I run you over with my chair.”

Barnes started the engine and let it idle while he pulled out his cell phone. “Other than providing entertainment for the old bastard, that was a colossal waste of time.”

“Had to be done,” Amanda said.

He fooled with the phone, scowled. “Can’t get my messages. No reception in this dump.”

“Thought you liked rural living.”

“Rather have twenty rooms with a view. Let’s go back to the West Valley and see if anything’s up with Bledsoe. Unless you want to grab something first? We can eat in the car.”

“Nutrition sounds good as long as it’s not hamburgers.”

“What’s wrong with burgers?”

“Larry got a new barbecue. Turbo-powered and he’s collecting marinades.”

“Boy needs a hobby, huh?”

She shrugged. “He’ll find something.”

“I’ll find a Subway or something. It ain’t Chez Panisse but what is?”