Compulsion

CHAPTER 19

No cars behind the mesh gate at Wilson Good’s house. No answer to the bell ring.

A call to St. Xavier confirmed that Coach Good was still out sick.

I said, “Maybe he went to the doctor.”

Milo took in the sliver of view between the house and its northern neighbor. “Guy made a nice life for himself… okay, back to the gristmill.”

Sean Binchy waved the Bentley key.

His presence in Milo’s office meant no room to move and rapid oxygen depletion.

Milo said, “Heubel give it up easily?”

“Had to work on him a little, Loot. I figured telling him about Shonsky might do the trick but he got pretty freaked out, like ‘Don’t tell me stuff like that.’ He didn’t like the idea of the car being messed with but I got him to see it was important.”

“Where’s the car?”

“Across the street in the lot,” said Sean. “Couple of uniforms saw me drive in, had all sorts of fun. It’s an experience. Everyone stares.”

I said, “I’m sure it caught Kat Shonsky’s eye.”

Binchy said, “A lot of girls would trust someone with wheels like that.”

Milo said, “Okay, Sean, you get to be stared at all the way to the motor lab. I’ll call and set up the paperwork.”

Binchy grinned and rotated an imaginary steering wheel. “Anything else, Loot?”

“That’s enough for the time being.”

“Guess I opened a can of worms, huh? Calling you in the first place.”

“It was obviously a can that needed to be opened, Sean.”

“When you put it that way,” said Binchy. “Weird, huh?”

“Without weird, life would be boring, Sean.”

“Speaking of which, if I could possibly get in a position where I could return to Homicide, do you think that would be a good idea?”

“I think you should make yourself happy.”

“So… you’re not opposed to it.”

“Why would I be?”

Binchy nodded and left.

“Maybe he’s got a future,” I said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Opening worm cans all by himself.”

I drove home, walked Blanche, ate pizza with Robin, checked my e-mail.

Lots of urgent communication: six bogus stock tips, an offer to lengthen my penis, ads for two different kinds of organic Viagra, and Jason Blasco at DarkVisions.net wanting to know if I’d learned anything more about the Bright-Tranh murders and informing me he’d found pictures of one of the heads Jeffrey Dahmer had kept in his fridge (“totally real don’t ask me where i recieved it”).

At the bottom was a message from Sheriff George Cardenas:

Dr. Delaware, doesn’t look as if Ansell Bright ever owned property in California under that name or “Dale.” His last known car registration was the year his parents died and his address was their home in San Francisco. I’ll try to send you a jpg of his DMV photo tomorrow. The house was sold for $980,000 shortly after Mrs. Bright died and has changed hands twice. I managed to find the person who bought it the first time. The transaction was handled by agents and the buyer never met Ansell. He did confirm that Ansell was the seller, so we can assume Ansell got a nice chunk of money. Maybe he moved out of state to get more bang for his buck.

I haven’t been able to access Social Security records without a warrant but maybe LAPD has more clout. The only other thing I could think of is what Mrs. Wembley said about Leonora telling her Ansell fed the homeless. I looked up various groups in San Francisco, talked to a few people but no one remembers Ansell or Dale Bright.

Best,

George Cardenas

Nine hundred eighty thousand was a serious motive. Well over a million if Ansell Bright’s parents had left stocks, bonds, cash, or other real estate.

Tony Mancusi was set to become a millionaire as soon as his mother’s will cleared.

That level of incentive, paying a hit man would be a terrific investment, if you put aside petty distractions like human decency.

How did Kat Shonsky’s murder fit?

I worked that every way I could think of, concluded it didn’t. If the same killer had gotten her, the motive had to be personal.

Young woman with hostile tendencies confronts a cross-dresser with a much darker secret than choice of wardrobe.

That brought me back to Tony Mancusi’s effeminate mannerisms. Donald Bragen’s description of Bright as “fluttering” over the phone.

Dale, an androgynous name.

A contract killer with a thing for chic French dresses meeting likeminded individuals and drumming up business?

Overtones…

If Tony led a secret life, surveillance of his apartment might eventually bear fruit. Finding Dale nine years after his sister’s murder would be a lot tougher.

I got back on the computer, searched for soup kitchens and missions in L.A.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d printed three pages. Nice to know the city wasn’t all about ego and tax brackets. I made a few calls. Most offices were closed until morning. The people I spoke to had never heard of Ansell or Dale Bright.

Just as I was about to pack it in, a new e-mail arrived.

Dr. Delaware, George again. I got back from a false raccoon call at Mavis’s and that made me think about animal shelters. Leonora said Dale was cruel to animals but faked like he wasn’t so wouldn’t that be a perfect split personality thing? Anyway, I did find a group where he volunteered. Paws and Claws, the person in charge at the Berkeley branch remembers Bright because she used to work with him back when she was a volunteer. She said one day he just stopped coming in and when she called him the number was d.c.’d. She recalls this clearly as nine years ago, right after Easter, because someone dropped off abandoned bunnies and Bright took good care of them, then a few days later he went awol. That makes it a month before Leonora and Vicki Tranh were killed, so maybe he left to plan the crime. Or Mavis is wrong and he’s just a normal guy who got tired of cleaning up animal crap. If you’re interested, the informant’s name is Shantee Moloney. Her number is 415…

Shantee Moloney said, “Whoa. That Mayberry cop said you might be calling but that was fast.”

I said, “I appreciate your talking to me.”

“I’ve gotta be honest, I’m not a big police person, when I was a student at Cal, law enforcement was tear gas and billy clubs. But I guess if Dale did something that bad – you really think he did? ’Cause part of me says that’s impossible. Dale was so devoted and nonviolent.”

“But,” I said.

“But what?”

“Part of you…”

“Oh,” said Shantee Moloney. “It was just strange the way he dropped out of sight without telling anyone.”

“What was Dale like?”

“Devoted. Like I said. He said he was a vegan, didn’t even wear leather.”

“He said?”

“I really have no basis for doubting him.”

“But you doubt him anyway.”

“What are you, a mind reader?”

“Just a mere mortal trying to get some facts,” I said. “Did Dale do something that made you wonder about his credibility?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m not sure it’s even true.”

I waited.

Shantee Moloney said, “I’m not a gossip.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s petty and what’s important.”

Dead air.

“Ms. Moloney-”

“Okay, okay. After Dale stopped coming in, I mentioned to another volunteer that I’d tried to call him, got a disconnected number, was worried if he was okay. This other person said, ‘Oh, he’s fine, just saw him over at the Tadich Grill a couple of nights ago.’ That’s an old restaurant in San Francisco. I said, ‘Well that’s good, at least I know he’s okay. But I’m still wondering why he suddenly stopped coming to the shelter.’ And this other person laughs and says, ‘Looked to me like Dale had a sudden conversion.’ I say, ‘What you mean?’ And he tells me Dale was in a booth by himself eating a ginormous meal – huge platter of oysters, crab cocktail, then a honkin’ shoulder of lamb. That floored me. I’m a vegetarian but I eat eggs and dairy. Dale claimed to be total vegan, used to go on about the ethical and health virtues of eliminating all animal matter. And now he’s stuffing his face with flesh?”

“Faking it,” I said.

“I guess he fooled me. If it’s true. One thing he didn’t fake was his dedication to the strays. No one could’ve cared for those animals with more tenderness.”

“Bunnies.”

“Someone’s stupid idea of an Easter gift. I’m talking newborns, like big as your thumb. Dale stayed up all night nursing them with an eyedropper. When I left, he was still there.”

“Why would the other volunteer make up that story?”

“Let’s just say he and Dale weren’t chummy.”

“Could I have this person’s name, please?”

“Brian Leary, but that won’t help you, he’s gone. AIDS, six years ago.”

“Is there anyone else at the shelter who’d remember Dale?”

“No,” she said. “It was just the three of us working the midnight shift. I’m a freelance embroiderer, my hours are flexible, and Brian was a nurse at UCSF, did the three to eleven and didn’t need much sleep, so he’d come in after work.”

“What about Dale?”

“Dale spent more time at the shelter than anyone. He never mentioned any job at all. I got the feeling there was family money.”

“Why’s that?”

“The way he dressed – wrinkled clothes but good quality? The way he carried himself? I’m pretty tuned in to class distinctions.”

“What was the problem between him and Brian?”

“I really couldn’t tell you. Brian mostly worked with the cats, he loved cats. Dale and I did anything else that needed to be done.”

“Brian never said why he didn’t like Dale?”

“No, I guess it was just bad chemistry. I was in the middle – I thought they were both good guys.”

“Brian just happened to be at the Tadich Grill that night?”

“Was he stalking Dale? Not at all. Brian was out on a date, some doctor he’d been seeing.”

“Do you recall a name?”

“You’re kidding,” she said. “First of all, Brian never gave me a name. Second of all, this was almost a decade ago.”

I said, “Can’t fault a guy for trying.”

“I really can’t imagine Dale doing anything criminal. Anyway, gotta go-”

“How’d Dale come to work at the shelter?”

“Walked in one night and volunteered. I was up to my elbows in abandoned puppies and it was a blessing. He got right to work, cleaning, feeding, checking for fleas. He was great.”

“Can you describe him for me?”

“Big,” said Shantee Moloney.

“Tall or heavy?”

“Both. At least six feet, probably taller. He wasn’t really fat, more like… padded.”

“What about his hair color?”

“Light – dirty blond, but it was dyed. He wore it long – shaggy, over his forehead. But it always looked clean and shiny. Real shiny. That’s what I meant about carrying himself well. He wore hemp shoes and belt. But there was always a… I guess what I’m saying is he managed to look polished.”

“Did he ever talk about his family?”

“Nope.”

“No personal details at all?”

“The other cop asked the same thing and that made me realize Dale’s family never came up. I’d call Dale a private person. But not cold. Just the opposite, friendly. And businesslike – really into doing the job efficiently.”

“Any other physical details you can remember?”

“His beard was darker than his hair – medium brown.”

First mention of facial hair. “Full beard or goatee?”

“It totally covered his face. Reminded me of that guy used to be on TV, that mountain man – Grizzly whatever – Adams. But Dale was no mountain man.”

“Too polished.”

She laughed. “You could say that.”

“Gay?”

“A lot of us are. So where’d Dale end up?”

“That was going to be my next question.”

“I’m supposed to know?” she said.

“Did he ever talk about traveling?”

“He did say he liked the great cities.”

“Which ones?”

“Paris, Rome, London, New York. Maybe Madrid, I don’t recall. The only reason I remember the conversation is he and Brian kind of got into it. Brian saying if you really loved animals you couldn’t love cities, cities destroyed habitat, and Dale launched into this lecture about the cats of Rome and how they adapted and thrived. Then Brian said the whole urban thing was a cliché – April in Paris, et cetera – and Dale said some clichés persisted because they were valid, the great cities were called that because they were, and if Brian thought San Francisco was sophisticated, he was naive. It just kind of went on that way for a while, then they returned to work.”

“Did Dale mention any other places he liked?”

“Not that I remember.”

“No Grizzly Adams,” I said.

“His nails were always clean and manicured and he wore after-shave. Couldn’t tell you the brand, but it was something nice and citrus-ey.”

“Anything more?”

“That’s not enough? After all these years, I thought I was being pretty darn encyclopedic.”

“You are. That’s why I keep turning pages. So Dale was good with all the animals.”

“Better than good,” said Shantee Moloney. “Tender. Especially the little ones. Not just babies, anything small – he really had a thing for puppies and toy dogs. Nastiest little critter, he could calm it down. I got a sense he’d had experience with the teeny ones.”