A Kiss Gone Bad

6

‘Do you think he suffered?’ Velvet mopped her eyes.

‘It was probably over in an instant.’ Whit believed in mercy, and it was the likely truth.

She rolled down the window a couple of inches, and the cool of the wind slammed into her face. ‘That little cop. Salazar. She any good?’

‘She has an excellent reputation.’

‘Here in Mayberry-by-the-fucking-Bay? How many murders do you have here a year? One?’

‘None last year. I think one the year before that.’

Velvet wadded up her tissue. ‘Oh, great, so she lives and breathes homicide. I feel so much better now.’ She stared at him. ‘So exactly what role do you play in this aside from chauffeur?’

‘When there’s a suspicious death, I examine the scene, meet with the people who knew the deceased, talk with the investigators, decide to order an autopsy or not, conduct the inquest, work with the ME in Nueces County if needed, rule on cause of death.’

Velvet’s eyes widened. ‘So never mind the cop. All you gotta do is rule it’s murder and she has to investigate.’

‘I have to make decisions based on the evidence. I got to be judicial,’ he said.

She regarded his tropical shirt and ratty shorts. ‘Yeah, when I picture judicial, I’m seeing you. What are you, twelve?’

He didn’t know what to say to her; his inexperience gnawed at him. He cleared his throat. ‘I promise you I’ll be fair, and I’ll listen to what you have to say about Pete’s… state of mind.’

‘When will the autopsy be done?’

‘In the next couple of days. I’ll get a verbal report from the ME first, but we won’t have a complete report for a few weeks. And before you keep casting aspersions against me and Claudia, you ought to know that I grew up with Pete. I knew him and his brother.’ And I sleep with his ex-Wife, so clearly I’m an interested party.

‘Pete never mentioned you.’

‘He was more friends with my older brothers. But if someone killed Pete, we’re not gonna let him or her get away with it.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be politically sound to let a Hubble be murdered and let the killer slip free,’ she said bitterly. ‘No, I guess you have to investigate to the balls when it’s a state senator’s son.’

‘I know you’re upset,’ Whit said, ‘and I’m real sorry for your loss, but is there some reason you’re cranking on me?’

‘I thought judges were all supposed to be big poker players. You don’t got a poker face. I can tell by the way you look at me you think Pete and I are trash.’

‘I don’t have a negative opinion of you.’ He paused. ‘I want to help you.’

She unfolded and refolded her tissue. ‘Who found the body?’

‘A young woman. We think she’s a runaway, although she’s apparently a few days past eighteen, so I guess you turn into a vagrant then. Um, I saw a video camera set up in the bedroom.’ She could draw her own conclusions, Whit supposed.

‘That’s not how you make a movie,’ she snapped. ‘You got at least two cameras, not just one, you got better lights than you’d have on that boat, you got a makeup girl. No way was Pete making a movie with that little-ass camera. He was professional.’

‘But moving on to a new career?’

‘Porn had worn him out. It’s hard work, you know. He wanted to come home to research and write this script. And he wanted me to direct it once it was done.’

‘So he gave you a chance to make a real movie?’

Her stare was acidic. ‘Excuse me. Have you seen my movies? They are real movies, butthead. I’m the Spielberg of porn. I have plots and characterization and depth and everything.’

Whit suspected it was the everything part that raked in the profits. ‘But this film about his brother had no adult-movie elements,’ he said. ‘Right?’

‘Of course not. I wanted to try a different kind of project. You know, that’s allowed if you’re creative. Shakespeare wrote comedies and tragedies. It’s only small minds that jam you into one freaking hole forever.’ She turned back to the window. ‘So where are you dumping me after I give this statement?’

‘I suppose Pete’s mother isn’t an option,’ Whit ventured.

‘She’d cut my throat in my sleep and bathe in the blood.’

‘You’re sure you don’t have any friends in town?’ Whit asked.

‘I don’t want any friends here, thank you kindly.’

‘Then I guess we’ll get you to a motel. You got several choices: the Excellent, which isn’t, the Port Leo Inn, the Gulf Breeze. A bunch of B and Bs. There’s also a Best Western and a Marriott Suites, too.’

‘I can’t believe Pete is dead and I have to stay at a Best Western.’ She managed a sniffle and a slight smile, friendlier than just a moment ago. ‘Any room at your inn? I’m awful quiet and I don’t take up much space.’

‘You don’t want to stay with me. I’m a dork who lives with his dad,’ he said.

‘But at the Best Western I’ll be alone. I don’t do alone real well. I need a Plan B.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You got a phone in here?’

‘Yeah, a cell phone. Here.’ Whit dug among the tapes and CDs in the storage unit between the seats and handed her the phone. He clicked on the interior light so she could see to dial. Another bit of brightness caught his eye. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a pair of headlights jouncing, rapidly gaining on them.

Velvet dialed and waited. ‘Anson? Oh, good, you’re in town. Huh? Oh, okay. This is Velvet. Let me talk to Junior.’ A pause. ‘Junior, listen. I got real bad news. Pete’s dead.’ A longer pause. ‘I’m not kidding. He was shot. I’m okay. I’m holding up. I cried for a bit and now I am getting ready to cry some more. Then I’m gonna kick me some police ass if they keep saying he killed himself.’

Whit ran through his mental Rolodex of Port Leo, trying to place an Anson or a Junior. Velvet had mentioned a Junior Deloache as the boat’s owner.

‘I’m not leaving town till we know what happened. Judge Mosley says there’s gonna be an inquest. What? I gotta go to the police station. Pete was on your boat and it’s a crime scene and I’m booted. So I need a place to crash. Can I stay at your condo?’ She listened and hung her head slightly. ‘No, I don’t know when you get your stupid boat back. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, sure, I understand. Sure. I’ll just grab me a hotel room. Yeah, thanks for the generosity.’ She clicked off the phone. ‘Those bags.’

Whit glanced in the rearview mirror. The headlights behind grew larger.

‘No luck?’ he asked.

‘I hate that greasy little Junior Deloache. He’s this piggy-eyed stain, thinks he’s a stud. Yeah, with a dick stretcher and a case of Viagra, maybe.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t get into their condo. They’re in Houston but are coming down tomorrow, so I guess I’ll hotel it.’

‘I thought you called a local number.’

‘It’s call-forwarding.’ She blinked at the bright headlights that dazzled behind them. The lights began to flash from dim to bright and dim again. ‘Somebody’s in a tear-ass hurry.’

Whit glanced back in the mirror. ‘He can go around me if he wants.’ The car stayed uncomfortably close. Then the lights flashed, dim, bright, dim.

‘He wants you to pull over.’ Velvet handed Whit the phone in the headlights’ glare.

‘No, thanks.’ Whit floored the accelerator. He pulled away from the car, and the pursuer dropped back dramatically to a more reasonable speed.

‘Asshole,’ Velvet commented. Whit checked the rearview mirror several seconds later and found the car was nearly gone.

‘My office is right across from the police station,’ Whit said. ‘I can give you a ride to the hotel after you give your statement.’

Velvet misunderstood his charity. ‘Look, I don’t do thank-you fucks just because someone shows common human decency.’

‘I can promise you I wasn’t asking for one.’

‘Why? You think I stink? Do you know how many guys have hit on me since I got here?’

‘Probably lots,’ Whit said.

Velvet hunkered down in her seat. ‘Lots is half right,’ she finally pronounced. ‘Tons is closer.’

Whit turned onto Main Street and pulled up in front of the Encina County courthouse. It was a sprawling, grand oddity, shaped by the Moorish architecture popular on the coast a century ago, three stories of heavy Texas granite, designed to survive storm surge and hurricane. The Port Leo Police Department stood across the street, a cracker-box of boring plain brick. They crossed the empty street together. The wind rustled in the drooping palms, and the clouds had dipped low, pregnant with rain.

‘They aren’t going to arrest me, are they?’ Velvet asked suddenly, stopping halfway across the street.

‘Did you kill him?’ Whit asked.

‘No. God, no.’

‘Then don’t worry. Tell them what they need to know. These are good people. They’re not going to hang you out to dry. I promise you that.’

She crossed her arms, bowed her head, and the tears came in shudders, and she bleated Pete Hubble’s name. Whit didn’t dwell on niceties or politics. He took her into his arms and let her cry against his shoulder, like old friends consoling each other in the terrible reality of sudden grief. He couldn’t stand there like a wooden post while a woman sobbed. She got his tropical-print shoulder wet and snotty, and when the shaking stopped Whit steered her into the brightly lit doorway of the police station.