Compulsion

CHAPTER 10

O’Malley Premium Motors Service and Maintenance was a gray wedge of front office glued onto a taller brick garage. A few nondescript cars were parked in the employee lot, soaking up sun and pollution. Off to the left in a covered Customers Only! area sat a few million bucks’ worth of status symbol.

Milo said, “Pull in next to that blue Rolls.”

“Don’t I need to be preapproved?”

He slapped the Seville’s vinyl dash. “How many miles on this masterpiece?”

“Sixty thou on the second engine.”

“Endurance beats flash anytime, son. You are officially a classic.”

The waiting area was a sliver of space facing an empty coffeemaker. No chairs, no reading material, no one waiting. Behind a glass partition, a black woman wearing reading glasses moved columns of numbers around a computer screen.

Milo rapped on the glass. The partition slid open. “How can I help you?”

He introduced himself and asked for Clive.

“Clive Hatfield? Why?”

“We’d just like to talk to him.”

She pushed a button on an intercom. “Clive to front desk. Front desk for Clive.”

Milo said, “Not too many customers today.”

“We call them clients,” she said. “They rarely come here.”

“Pickup and delivery?”

“Those people expect it. We used to do it free. Now we charge a hundred dollars a trip and no one complains.”

“The age of lowered expectations.”

“Pardon?”

“The cost of gas, huh?”

“That’s what the bosses say.”

“Who does the pickup and delivery?”

“The same guys who detail the cars.”

“Not the mechanics?”

“With what they get paid? I don’t think so.”

“Skilled job.”

“That’s what they say.”

“How long’s Clive been working here?”

She edged closer to the glass. “You suspect him of something?”

“Not at all.”

“Routine questions,” she said. “Like on TV.”

“You got it.”

“If you say so.” She returned to her computer.

We waited five minutes before Milo asked her to page Hatfield again.

She said, “Maybe he’s doing something noisy and didn’t hear.”

“We can go back and look for him.”

“No, that’s okay.” She repeated the page. Before the announcement faded, the door opened behind us and a reedy voice said, “I heard you the first time, Esther.”

Definite accent, but not chips and ale. Maybe Sweet Home Alabama.

Esther muttered, “He’s all yours.”

Clive Hatfield wiped blackened hands on a rag not much cleaner than his skin. Early thirties, tall and bowlegged in gray pin-striped coveralls, he had long, lank brown hair tinted brass at the tips, bushy sideburns, a tiny crushed nose. Squinty eyes looked us over while he worked at the grease. As some of the grime relented, I noticed a pallid band of flesh circling his left ring finger.

“Yeah?”

Esther said, “These are the police, here to see you.”

“The police – what the… this is for real?”

Milo said, “Let’s talk outside.” Hatfield hesitated, then followed.

We passed near a bright red Continental GT coupe that Hatfield regarded with distaste.

Milo said, “Kind of garish.”

Shrug. “It’s their money. Where are y’all taking me?”

“Here,” said Milo, stopping at the Seville.

Hatfield’s face tightened as he checked out my car. “This is a cop drive? What, some sort of undercover thing?” He ran a finger along the top of the Seville’s hood, left a gray trail. “GM used a Chevy Two chassis on these, gussied it up and quadrupled the price.”

Milo said, “I hear the Bentley Continental’s an Audi with interior decorating.”

Hatfield stashed the rag in a rear pocket. “You’re into wheels? What do y’all drive when you’re not working?”

“Porsche 928.”

“Not bad for what it was. But give me a Carrera any day.”

“Clive, we’re here about Katrina Shonsky.”

Hatfield brushed hair from his eyes. Grazed his nubby nose in the process, left a greasy dot on the tip. “What about her?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“What, she’s in trouble?”

“If you could just answer the question.”

“The last time… so she did get herself in trouble, figures.” Hatfield pulled a hard pack of Salems from a side pocket, blew smoke toward the scoop-mouth of a black Aston Martin. “The last time was when she got all dramatic and kicked my ass out of her crib… I’d have to say… three months ago.”

“Lovers’ spat?”

“There was never no love,” said Hatfield, smiling. “Only you-know-what.”

“Physical relationship.”

“Just physical, no relationship,” said Hatfield. “I picked her up in a bar, we went out a few times. The girl knows how to put on an act. In bed, I mean. Goes all crazy like she’s gonna explode. I finally figured out she was faking and told her so. That’s when she kicked me out.”

“Which bar?”

“Which bar…” Hatfield scratched his head.

“Doesn’t seem like a real tough question, Clive.”

“Me and her went to a bunch a them, can’t remember right off. I live in North Hollywood, she’s in Van Nuys, but she wanted to drink in Sherman Oaks, Studio City, said it was upscale… the first time I’d have to say was at… nope, not a bar-bar, the first time was a restaurant, this French-type place… Chez Maurice. I was eating a steak and she was at the bar and when I went to the bathroom I saw her ass on the stool and moseyed back. Good-looking girl, the light shined on her hair, making it look all goldy. Small but a great bod. We talked real easy, she went along real easy and just like that we’re at her place. A few days later I called her and we started hanging out. But nothing serious.”

“How long did you date her?”

“How long… I’d have to say two and a half, three months. Then it got you-know-what.”

“What?”

“Complicated,” said Hatfield. “Lotsa drama, like with all girls. So what’d she do to get herself in trouble?”

“Why would she do anything?”

“The girl has no discipline.”

“About what?”

“She drinks too much – crazy Long Island Teas, taste like iced piss. Sometimes she smokes too much you-know-what. Sometimes she packs her nose with too much you-know-what. For me it’s one beer, maybe two. I don’t get next to that shit.”

“Drama and dope,” said Milo.

“Y’all would be surprised how many of them are like that.” He smoked, waited for a comment that never arrived. “I keep it real. Used to do some racing back in Pass Christian. Gotta keep the reflexes sharp.”

“Where’s Pass Christian?”

“Mississippi.”

“NASCAR?”

“Some Pro Street, some Dixie Sportsman. I can drive in my sleep.”

“Katrina overindulges,” said Milo. “So maybe her reflexes aren’t that great.”

“For her,” said Hatfield, “it’s all about fun. I’m working extra shifts to make my child support and she wants steak and lobster. She thought I was a hillbilly, we never really got along. She’s a shitty driver. One time I let her drive my Vette, she nearly stripped the gears, after that no way was she getting near it. When I told her, she got pissed off. What, she get into a smashup in that Mustang of hers and hurt someone?”

“Did she ever visit you here?”

Hatfield removed the filthy rag and passed it from one hand to another. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“How many times?”

“Maybe… twice. Yeah, twice, the second time she got me in trouble, marching back into the service bay like she owns it, asking for me. No one goes back there except us specialists.”

“Like an operating room,” said Milo.

“What?”

“You guys are like doctors working on patients, bosses want to keep it under control.”

“You got that, I am like a doctor,” said Hatfield, holding up blackened hands. “Some of the other guys are more like butchers.” Crooked smile. “If the clients knew what went on back there.”

“So Katrina dropped in twice.”

“Dropped in is exactly right, I never invited her, she just dropped in. The second time she brought me lunch. Some sort of vegan shit, noodles, whatever. I told her forget it.”

“By then the relationship was fading.”

“There was no relationship. Too much drama.”

I said, “But for two, three months you put up with it.”

“That was ’cause of all the you-know-what. And no way there was ever gonna be any relationship because I was married.” Massaging the band of pale skin.

I said, “Did your divorce have anything to do with Kat?”

Hatfield laughed. “Hell, no. It had to do with we got married when we were seventeen, had four kids in four years, and got sick as shit of each other. She took ’em all and went back to Columbus.”

“She know about Kat?”

“None a her business.” He grinned and rubbed a knuckle. “It ain’t like Kat was the one and only.”

Milo said, “You’re a player.”

“I work hard, she got nothing to complain,” said Hatfield. “Support her and the kids and bust my ass to do it. If I want a little play, no one’s gonna tell me different.”

“Did you ever meet any of Kat’s friends?”

“Nope, and she never met any of mine. It was all-”

“You-know-what.”

“’Zactly.” Hatfield dropped his cigarette to the asphalt, ground it out slowly. “You ain’t gonna tell me what she did?”

“She’s missing.”

“Missing? So what? She was always missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d booty-call her and she’d be nowhere. Few days later, she’d booty-call me, brag about how she was in Mexico, Hawaii, whatever. Brag about how she met some rich guy and he paid her bills while she was there, she’s eating lobster and snow crab and filet mignon and not paying a dime for any of it. When she got like that, I knew it was gonna be trouble.”

“How so?”

“She’d be expecting shit. Y’all really think something happened to her?”

“She’s been gone over a week.”

“Big deal. She just gets up and goes.”

I said, “Do you ever get to drive the cars?”

“Huh – yeah, all the time, for testing.”

“Short spins around the block?”

“Depends on the problem. If the client’s claiming there’s a brake squeak after he drives it for ten minutes, you got to drive it for ten minutes. Why, y’all want a ride?”

“Did Kat ever ask for a ride?”

Hatfield scratched his head. “Why would she do that?”

I said, “Goes with lobster and filet mignon.”

He didn’t answer.

I said, “Did she nag you?”

“Why you asking this?”

“She told her friend you drove her around in one of the Bentleys.”

Smooth lie; sometimes I surprise myself. Milo turned his head, so Hatfield couldn’t see his lips turn up.

Hatfield’s squinty eyes showed a little white. “She said that?”

“She sure did.”

“Who says she’s telling the truth?”

I said, “A girl starts nagging, it can be a pain.”

No answer.

Milo said, “Clive?”

Hatfield said, “Why would I admit to that?”

Milo said, “Clive, we couldn’t care less about your bosses, we’re just trying to get a feel for the type of girl Kat is.”

“The type of girl? She’s pushy, is what she is. Yeah, she kept nagging on me, pushing that bod against me, telling me what she’d do if I gave her just a little ride pretty please.” Raising his voice to an alto whine. “There was one I had to test anyway, so I took her along.”

Milo said, “What kind of car was it?”

“Rolls Phantom.”

“Not an Arnage?”

“I know the difference, man.”

“Was that first time she dropped in or the second?”

“The first time,” said Hatfield. “That’s why she came back the second time.”

“Figuring you’d do it again.”

“Figuring she owns the place now. Walking straight back and saying where’s Clive. Running straight into the service manager.”

“The first time she waited out in front?”

“Paged me. Like y’all did. I was busy, took my time getting out. She got pissed. We’re alone for a second, she’s nagging on me.”

I said, “Ever take her for a spin in a Bentley?”

“No, just the Roller.”

“Who owned it?”

“They don’t tell us that.”

“She enjoy the ride?”

“Sure,” said Hatfield. “She’s all about the green, hooking up with a rich guy, showing up her mother. ’Cause she hates her mother. That’s her word, not mine. Stupid.”

“What is?”

“Thinking someone’s smart because a their drive. Let me tell you what it is: Rich assholes spend all that money to show off and then they get scared and never take the shit outta their garage. It’s like I got money and I’m shoving it all up in your face but uh-oh now I’m chickenshit someone’s gonna notice me and take everything away from my chickenshit self.”

Milo laughed.

Hatfield said, “You bet it’s funny.” He lit up another cigarette. “Y’all find Kat, tell her she can call me if she wants, I’ll even pretend she ain’t faking it. Been married most of my life so I know about faking.”

He moved to leave but Milo held him back, asked the kind of loose, follow-up questions designed to relax. Hatfield got a bit more amiable, told a filthy joke about a woman, a raccoon, and an exhaust pipe. But he had nothing more to say about Kat Shonsky. When Milo asked him where he’d been the night she disappeared, he said, “Usually, I couldn’t tell y’all shit about where I am. But lucky for me, this one I know. I was back in Columbus. My older daughter had a birthday.”

“When’d you arrive and leave?”

“Y’all don’t believe me?”

“Routine question,” said Milo. “Help us clear it up and we’re outta your hair.”

“Awright, awright… when’d I arrive… hmm… got to be the Thursday before y’all say she went partying. Stayed in Columbus for four days and drove to Biloxi to visit my mother. She’s in a nursing home, when I’m there I take her to the casino, wheel her chair in front of a machine till she loses all her quarters. Two days after that, I came back here. I’d say check my time card but I don’t want no trouble with the bosses so don’t screw me, okay? I’m being straight with you.”

“Fair enough. Did you happen to hold on to your airline tickets?”

“Why would I?”

“What’s your ex’s name and phone number?”

“Y’all are serious?”

“Dead serious, Clive.”

“Oh, man.”

“Do you send cars back with three wheels?”

Hatfield smoothed back his hair, favored us with a gap-toothed grin. “Sure, ask her, she got no reason to lie. Then y’all can tell her how good I’m looking.”

“Will do, Clive.”

“Make her squirm,” said Hatfield. “Tell her y’all saw me with some actress.”

“Name and number, Clive.”

“Brittany Louise Hatfield. Hold the phone far away from your ear, that girl can get loud.”

Milo copied down the information and watched him go. We returned to the front office and showed a picture of Kat Shonsky to Esther.

She studied it for a while. “Can’t swear to it but she could be one of them who comes by to see him.” Holding the photo closer. “Not bad. Better than some of the others.”

“Clive’s popular?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” she said. “They bring him lunch. Guy must have something going on but I don’t see it.”

I said, “Doesn’t appear to be charm.”

“Clean hands, either.”

I said, “This kind of work, be hard to stay clean.”

“Exactly, that’s why I’m dating a teacher.”

Milo said, “Clive ever ask you out?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She returned the photo. “You think he did something to her?”

Milo said, “You see him as capable of that?”

“To me, he’s an oaf with a sour personality but he’s never lost his temper or done anything aggressive. But I guess anyone’s capable of anything. So you do suspect him.”

“We’re nowhere near that, ma’am. It would be best to keep this conversation under the hat.”

She removed her glasses. “I wasn’t planning on spreading rumors.”

“Of course not. So, Clive-”

“Clive’s fine,” she said. “Everyone here is fine. I’m really busy.”

The glass partition slid shut.