Faye Kellerman - Blood Games

“Not that I could tell. I mean he didn’t start hanging with the bohemians.”

“Who are the bohemians?”

“Ah, you know the type—artsy-fartsy, weird dress, and soooooo intellectual. They give you this crap about how formal education is worthless and the real education is on the streets. Which means they’re stupid. I mean, give me an effing break! Anyone who goes to B and W is a spoiled brat. I mean all those so-called tough guys wouldn’t last a day on the streets.”

“Who are the tough guys?” When Joey waved him off, Decker said, “Did you ask Greg why he started videotaping?”

“He said it was fun … that it took the tedium out of high school.” Joey didn’t speak for a moment. “I don’t know why, but I got the feeling that maybe the hobby had to do with a girl.”

“Did you ask Greg about it?”

“I did. He denied it, said if he had a girlfriend I’d be the first to know so he could lord it over me.”

“Girls can lead you in all sorts of directions,” Decker said. “Is your theory a guess or are you thinking of someone specific?”

“I’ve gone through the roster of possibilities in my head. I can’t come up with anyone.”

“What about your sister?” Decker said.

“My sister?” He made a face. “You mean Tina?”

“His mother once picked him up from your house. She said there were girls there and when she asked Gregory about it, he said they were friends of your sister.”

“Tina’s like a kid.” When Decker didn’t say anything, Joey said, “Nah … impossible. And even if they did flirt—which I never saw—she certainly wouldn’t be the reason why Greg did what he did. She couldn’t possibly inspire that much passion.”

“What about her friends?”

“I can’t see it.” Joey shook his head. “If you want me to ask her, I will.”

Decker thought a moment. He really didn’t have any good reason to start questioning a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He focused in on Joey’s eyes. “So again, what do you think is the reason behind the suicide?”

“I dunno, Lieutenant, and that’s a fact.”

“Do you think Greg could have gotten into drugs?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you guys light up together?”

Joey turned bright red. “Occasionally on weekends, and nothing heavy. Maybe a joint between, like, four of us.”

Decker nodded. “Could Greg have gotten in deeper?”

“Greg never acted like he was out of control with anything.” He regarded Decker’s face. “Don’t you test the blood for drugs in an autopsy?”

“Absolutely, but it takes a couple of weeks. Let’s go back to Greg and the possibility of a girl. I’m curious as to why you’d throw that out as a possibility.”

His eyes were doing a dance. “He smelled better.” A sip of water. “You know how it is when it gets a little chilly and the heat’s cranked up. A bunch of dudes get together and eat and hang out and sometimes …” He turned red again. “You know you watch some stuff that you can’t watch when your parents are around. It gets a little rank.”

“I get it,” Decker told him.

“Greg had always carried some extra pounds. He sweated a lot. The past month or so, I think he started showering more often.” He averted his eyes. “And when a dude starts showering that often, it means to me that there’s some girl involved. Plus …” A long pause. “How do I say this without sounding like a perv? We watched stuff. I think Greg finally discovered he had a dick, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Understood. Was Greg addicted to porno?”

“We’re all addicted to porno. We’re teenaged boys.”

Decker thought a moment. “Could he have been filming material that he shouldn’t have been filming? Maybe secretly filming the girls’ gym lockers?”

Joey gave him a wide-eyed look. “If he did, he never showed anything to me.”

“How do you think Greg might have reacted if he got caught doing something like that?”

“Well, for starts, the school would have kicked him out.”

Decker nodded, thinking: What would have happened if a quiet, bookish kid had been caught secretly filming a popular girl in the nude? What kind of number could she have done on him: embarrassed him, humiliated him, blackmailed him, or worst of all, threatened to go to the principal? And if the kid would have been faced with torment and expulsion … who knew what he might have done.

Joey’s mind was still on the question. “I think he would have showed me something like that. Not that it’s nice, but it’s the way dudes are.”

“Did you ever see what was on Gregory’s camera?”

“Sometimes he’d show us a playback, but I don’t have any idea of the totality.”

“Does his mother have the video camera?”

“I would think so.”

“Okay, Joey. This gives me a little bit of a start.”

The boy nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you doing this?” Joey looked pained. “I mean if Greg was doing something bad, why dig it up?”

“That is a very good point. Originally, his mom asked me to help her understand her son’s motives for doing something so terrible. But if it is something distasteful, I’m going to be doing some serious editing.”

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea. Not that I think he was doing something bad.”

Decker regarded the kid’s face. He looked sincere. “Do you think your pals would mind if I talked to them?”

“Nah, they wouldn’t mind. I don’t know what they’d tell you. I probably knew Greg better than any of them.”

Decker gave him a pad of paper and a pen. “Could you write down names and phone numbers for me?”

“Sure.”

While he was writing, Decker was figuring out his next move. Get the camera, get the kid’s computer, and look around the room. Joey was right about one thing. How much did Wendy Hesse want to know? After Joey handed him back the pad, Decker said, “I do have one other important question. Do you have any idea where Greg could have gotten hold of a gun?”

“Not that specific gun, no.” Joey exhaled. “But I can tell you this much. It isn’t hard to get weapons at B and W. You can get guns, you can get booze, you can get dope, you can get porn, and you can get good grades and test scores.”

“That easy, huh?” Decker said.

“That easy,” Joey answered. “All you have to do is pay for it.”

DURING THE FINAL duet—“Gran Dio, morir si giovane”—Gabe’s eyes wandered to Yasmine, whose face was buried in her hands. Her eyes were visible through splayed fingers, tears streaming down. The entire time he had been concentrating on pitch, voice timbre, sound mixture, and volume. But the little girl next to him was sobbing because Violetta was about to succumb to tuberculosis.

So who was really getting the most out of the afternoon?

As she blinked, a new batch of tears poured out of her eyes. In a protective motion, Gabe put his arm around her shoulder and she simply melted, fat saline drops soaking his shirt. When Violetta finally died and the curtain came down, she sat up, took a tissue from her bag, and wiped her face. Curtain calls took another five minutes, and then the house lights went up.

It was five-thirty by the time they actually made it out of the building. The sky held the afterglow of a dazzling sunset—pinks, oranges, and purples. The ground was wet, and the air was chilly.

Yasmine hugged her body. Her voice was still shaky. “How do we get a taxi?”

“We don’t.” Gabe checked his watch. “By the time we call it in and the guy gets here, it’s easier to take the bus.”