Compulsion

CHAPTER 7

The meeting with Antoine Beverly’s parents was set for noon the following day.

When I got to Milo’s office, a note on the door said A: Rm. 6.

Largest room, at the end of the corridor. An Interview in Progress: Do Not Disturb sign dangled from the doorknob.

I knocked once and went in.

A middle-aged black couple sat across the table from Milo. A wallet-sized photo of a boy was placed in front of the woman and after she appraised me, her attention returned to the image.

The man next to her wore a stiff brown suit, a white shirt, and a gold tie secured by a silver clip. An American flag pin rode his lapel. His gray hair was tight; in front it faded to skin. Under a white thread of a mustache, his smile was obligatory.

The woman had on a charcoal pantsuit. High waved hair was one shade darker than her clothes. She drew away from the photo with reluctance and placed her hands flat on the table.

Milo said, “Mr. and Mrs. Beverly, this is our psychologist, Dr. Delaware. Doctor, Gordon and Sharna Beverly.”

Gordon Beverly half stood and sat back down. His wife said, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

The pressing of cool dry flesh. I sat next to Milo.

He said, “Mr. and Mrs. Beverly brought me this picture of Antoine.”

I studied the picture, maybe longer than I needed to. Smiling, clear-eyed boy with a space between his incisors. Short hair, blue shirt, plaid tie.

“Doctor, I was just explaining that you were involved because of the complexities.”

Sharna Beverly said, “We could use a psychiatrist because if it wasn’t that maniac in Texas, it was some kind of maniac. I knew it from the beginning, kept telling those other detectives.” A silver-nailed finger touched the edge of the photo. “It’s been so long. No one did anything.”

“They tried,” said her husband. “But there were no leads.”

Sharna Beverly’s stare said he’d blasphemed. She turned to me. “I’m here to tell you what Antoine was like, so you’ll understand he didn’t run away.”

Milo said, “No one suspects that, ma’am.”

“They sure did sixteen years ago. Kept telling me he’d run away, run away. Antoine liked his practical jokes but he was a good boy. Our other boys went to college and that was Antoine’s plan. He especially looked up to his biggest brother, Brent. Brent has a degree in sound engineering and works on motion pictures. Gordon Junior is an accountant at the Water and Power.”

Gordon Beverly said, “Antoine wanted to be a doctor.”

“You probably heard this a million times,” said his wife, “but not knowing is the worst. Doctor, be honest with me. Knowing what you know about maniacs, what chance is there this devil in Texas is telling the truth?”

I said, “I wish I could give you a solid answer, Mrs. Beverly. But there’s no way to know. His story’s certainly worth pursuing. Every angle is.”

“There you go,” she said. “Every angle. That’s what I told those detectives sixteen years ago. They said there was nothing more to do.”

I glanced at the picture. A boy frozen in time.

Sharna Beverly said, “They should’ve had the courtesy to answer our phone calls.”

Gordon said, “They answered them at first, then they stopped.”

“They stopped pretty quickly.” Daring her husband to argue.

Milo said, “I’m really sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, Lieutenant. Let’s do something now.”

Milo said, “Getting back to what we were talking about, ma’am, how exactly did Antoine get that magazine job?”

“Magazine subscriptions,” said Gordon Beverly. “Nice white neighborhood, supposed to be safe.”

His wife said, “He’s not asking what, he’s asking how. Antoine found out at school. Someone put a flyer up on the bulletin board just before summer break. Antoine loved to work.”

“Antoine had ambitions,” said her husband. “Talked about being a surgical doctor. He liked anything scientific.”

Sharna Beverly said, “The flyer made it sound like easy money, magazines selling themselves, just jumping into people’s hands. I told Antoine that was foolish but he couldn’t be convinced. He copied down the number and went to a meeting on a Saturday. Took two friends, all of them agreed to do it. They got sent to Culver City, which in those days was all white. They worked five days steady and Antoine sold the most subscriptions. The following Monday is when Antoine never came home.”

I said, “Did Antoine or the other boys have any unpleasant experiences on the job?”

Sharna said, “Antoine said a couple of people called him nasty names and slammed the door in his face.”

Gordon said, “The N word. Other things along those lines.”

“Why they sent those boys into a white neighborhood,” said Sharna, “I’ll never understand. People in Crenshaw read magazines, too.”

“Supposed to be safer,” said her husband.

“Apparently it wasn’t,” she snapped.

He touched her elbow. She shifted away from contact. Ran a hand over the snapshot. “They threw those children in with strangers.”

Milo said, “Did the detectives sixteen years ago canvass the neighborhood where Antoine delivered?”

“They claimed they talked to everyone,” said Sharna. “If they didn’t, are they going to admit it?”

She folded her arms across her chest.

Milo said, “What was the name of the company that hired Antoine?”

Sharna said, “Youth In Action. They closed down after Antoine disappeared. At least in L.A.”

“Because of Antoine’s disappearance?”

“After Antoine, the schools wouldn’t let them advertise. I went to the library, used a computer to look them up, couldn’t find any mention of them. Did that yesterday, when I found out we were coming here. The only person I remember was a Mr. Zint, called to tell me how sorry he was. Sounded to me like he was worried we were going to sue him. Didn’t know anything helpful.”

I said, “Antoine worked with two friends.”

“Will and Bradley,” she said. “Wilson Good and Bradley Maisonette. Friends since kindergarten. They helped carry the coffin and cried like babies. Said Antoine was selling the most.” Reluctant smile. “Antoine had a way of talking you into anything.”

Milo wrote down the names.

Sharna Beverly picked up the photo and held it to her breast. Her fingers covered the top of Antoine’s face. His eternal smile made my eyes ache.

I said, “Did Brad or Will report anything unusual those five days?”

She said, “No, and I asked them. The van dropped them off one by one in Culver City. Antoine got off first and was supposed to be picked up last. When the time came, he wasn’t there. The van waited an hour, then drove around looking for Antoine. Then Mr. Zint took Bradley and Will back to the school, which is where he always picked them up. Then he called the police. Bradley and Will were shook up, Bradley especially. He already lived through a drive-by.”

Gordon said, “Not in our neighborhood. Visiting a cousin in Compton.”

Sharna said, “It was me, I’d go straight to Texas, put hot pokers on that devil, run one of those electrocuting lie detectors they use on the al-Qaidas at Guantánamo. That’d clear it up soon enough.”

She glared at her husband.

He fingered his flag pin.

“Lieutenant,” she said, “do you have any feeling about that story that devil’s telling?”

Milo said, “I wish I did, Mrs. Beverly. The sad truth is these lowlifes lie as easily as they breathe and they’ll do anything to get out of dying.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“This is gonna sound frustrating, ma’am, but I’m really starting at the beginning. Seeing as Bradley Masionette and Will Good were close to Antoine and the last people to see him, let’s start with them. Any idea where I can locate them?”

“It’s not in the file?”

“The file, ma’am, is rather incomplete.”

“Hmm. Well, Will coaches football at a Catholic school, don’t know which one.”

Gordon Beverly said, “St. Xavier.”

She stared at him.

“It was in the Sentinel, Shar. Few years back, he was coaching down in Riverside, moved here. I called him up, asked if he remembered anything more about Antoine. He said no.”

“Well, look at that,” she said. “What else don’t you tell me about?”

“No sense telling when there’s nothing to tell.”

Sharna Beverly said, “Bradley Maisonette did not turn out well. From what I hear, he’s spent most of his life in prison. Never did have a good family life.”

Gordon said, “We’re a tight-knit family. Antoine comes home all excited about all the big money he’s going to make, I was happy for him.”

Sharna said, “Magazines sell themselves, people love magazines more than life itself. I told him, ‘Antoine, what sounds too good to be true, is.’ I told him I needed to meet the people involved, make sure they weren’t taking advantage. Antoine threw a fit, jumping up and down, begging, pleading, ‘Trust me, Mom. Don’t embarrass me, Mom, no one else’s parents are putting their noses in.’ I said, ‘Everyone else is stupid so I should be?’ Antoine begs some more, turns on that smile of his.” Sidelong peek at the photo. She folded her lips inward.

“I told Antoine, ‘That’s the trouble today, no one gets involved.’ But the boy kept working at me, saying if I showed up Will and Brad and everyone else would be dissing him all summer. Then he brings out his report card, half A’s, half B’s, perfect in Conduct. Claiming that proved he was smart, could be trusted.”

She slumped. “So I gave in. Biggest mistake I ever made and I’ve been paying for it for sixteen years.”

Gordon said, “Honey, I keep telling you, there’s no reason to-”

Her eyes blazed. “You keep telling me and you keep telling me.” She got up, walked to the door, took care to close it silently.

Projecting more rage than if she’d slammed it.

Gordon Beverly said, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sir,” said Milo.

“She’s a good wife and mother. She didn’t deserve what she got.”

“What both of you got.”

Gordon Beverly’s face trembled. “Maybe it’s worse for a mother.”

“Well, that was fun,” said Milo, when we were alone in his office. “Now I got little fishhooks sticking into my heart and decent people tugging on them. Time to check out this Youth In Action, on the off chance they’re still in business and Mrs. B. missed it.”

She hadn’t. He got to work locating Antoine’s friends.

Wilson Good’s name pulled up several references to varsity football games at St. Xavier Preparatory High in South L.A. In addition to coaching, Good was head of the Physical Education Department.

Bradley Maisonette’s criminal record was extensive. Over a dozen narcotics convictions, plus the predictable larcenies that fed a life of addiction.

Maisonette’s last parole was eleven months ago. His downtown address was a government-financed SRO. Milo phoned his probation officer, got voice mail, left a message.

Pulling a panatela out of a shirt pocket, he peeled off the plastic and wet the tip but kept the cigar in his hand. “Something else you think I should do?”

“Why doesn’t Texas just send Jackson out here and dare him to point out the graves?”

“Because he’s a serious escape risk – tried four times, nearly succeeded once and injured a guard in the process. No way are they gonna let him out of their custody until some local department comes up with serious corroboration. So far, three of Jackson’s claims have turned out to be bogus – crimes he didn’t know were already solved. Bastard probably scans the Internet searching for open horrors he can cop to. Unfortunately, he can’t be written off yet because the stakes are high. If I could find Antoine’s damn file it might lead me somewhere.”

“Where are the detectives who worked it originally?”

“One’s dead, the other’s living somewhere in Idaho. At least that’s where his pension check goes. But he hasn’t answered my calls. Meanwhile, there’s Ella Mancusi, with a body barely cold. Why do I think I’m gonna break the Beverlys’ hearts?”

He placed the beginnings of Antoine’s new murder book in a drawer. Changed his mind and laid it next to his computer. “I’ve started surveillance on Tony Mancusi, got three brand-new uniforms who think they like plainclothes. Still no violent crime reports the night the Bentley got boosted and Mr. Heubel had the car washed and detailed the day Sean scraped it, so the chance of finding anything new is sub-nil. I’m putting that at the bottom of the drawer.”

“Any luck getting Ella some media exposure?”

“You know the Times – maybe yes, maybe no. Public Affairs say there should be something on the six o’clock news tonight.”

His phone rang. He listened, wrote something down, clicked off. “That was a message from one of Ella’s allegedly noninvolved cousins, wants to talk to me. He’s close, works at a lamp store on Olympic and Barrington. Maybe the gods are smiling.”

Brilliant Crystal and Lighting was a thousand square feet of glare.

Aaron Hochswelder met us at the door and announced that he owned the place, had sent his employees on a coffee break. He walked us to the rear of his showroom. Heat from scores of chandeliers seared the back of my neck. Blinding light evoked a near-death experience.

Hochswelder was in his sixties but still dark-haired, tall and gaunt with a horse-face and fox-eyes. He wore a green short-sleeved shirt, pleated khakis, spit-shined oxfords.

He said, “Thanks for coming quickly. I could be out of line here but I felt I should talk to you. I still can’t believe what happened to Ella.”

Milo said, “She was your cousin.”

“First cousin. Her father was my father’s older brother. She used to babysit me.” His attention was snagged by an unlit bulb in a Venetian chandelier. He reached up, twisted, brought forth a twinkle. “You have any idea who did it?”

“Not yet. Anything you can tell us would be helpful, sir.”

Aaron Hochswelder chewed his cheek. “I’m not really sure I should be saying this but have you met her son, Tony?”

“We have.”

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“His… personality.”

“He seems to be down on his luck.”

“That assumes he ever had any luck.”

“Tough life?” said Milo.

“Self-imposed.” Hochswelder’s bony forearms tightened. “I don’t want to stir anything up, but…”

“Something about Tony bothers you?”

“It’s hard to talk about family this way but you might want to look at him.”

“As the killer?”

“It’s a painful thought. I’m not saying he’d actually do anything like that…”

“But,” said Milo.

“He might know someone bad? I’m not saying he does. It’s just… this is really tough. I feel like a turncoat.” Hochswelder inhaled through his nose, breathed out through his mouth. “All I’m saying is Tony is the only one I can think of. In the family.”

“Tony told us there wasn’t much family, period.”

“Because he chooses to have nothing to do with anyone.”

“Who’s anyone?”

“Me and my wife and our kids, my brother Len and his wife and their kids. My brother’s a dentist, lives in Palos Verdes. None of the kids are close to Tony. Which, frankly, was okay.”

“Bad influence?”

Hochswelder cracked his knuckles. “I don’t want you to think I’ve got some kind of vendetta against Tony. It’s just… he called me this morning to tell me about his mother. That’s how I found out. First time I’ve heard from him in years. He said he had no energy to call anyone else, I should do it. Shunting responsibility. He also hinted that he wanted me to take care of the funeral. Financially and otherwise.”

“What was his demeanor when he called?”

“Not crying or weeping. More like… off.”

“Off, how?”

“Off in space.”

“Does Tony have a drug history?”

“He did as a kid,” said Hochswelder. “According to my kids. I also think – the family thinks – he might be gay, so there’s all sorts of issues here.”

“Why does the family think that?”

“He never dated any girls we ever heard about, never got married. And sometimes he – he’s not a sissy but he can get – I don’t know how to say it – all of a sudden he’ll do something pansyish, you know? A mannerism? We used to talk about it. How one second Tony would do one of those things – throw his hair, bat his eyelashes. And then bam he’d be just like a normal person.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“That would have to be Thanksgiving four years ago. My brother had a family get-together and Tony showed up with Ella. He looked like he didn’t wash his clothes regularly. Put on quite a bit of weight. Maybe he ate before because he didn’t eat much at Len’s table. He got up before dessert, went to the bathroom, came back announcing he’d called a cab, was going to wait outside. Ella was so embarrassed. We all pretended it never happened, just went on normally with the meal.”

“Any reason he left early?”

“That’s the thing, there was no conflict or anything. Boom, he just gets up and announces. Like he was mad at something, but for the life of me nothing happened to make him mad.”

“Tony have a temper?” said Milo.

Hochswelder scratched a temple. “Not really, I couldn’t say that, no. Just the opposite, he’s always been kind of quiet. No one understands him.”

“Being effeminate and all that.”

“That and just being strange – like getting up before dessert, no warning, and leaving. Like always keeping to himself. His father was like that, too, but Tony Senior would at least go to family gatherings and pretend to be social. Though, frankly, most of the time he’d sit outside and smoke – big smoker, that’s what caused his heart attack. He worked for a milk company, they delivered to the studios and Tony got Tony Junior a job at one of them. Paramount, I think. Basically a janitor job, moving stuff around, but those people pay well, lots of union pressure. Tony Junior would’ve been set up financially but he claimed he hurt his back and quit and since then he’s been doing nothing.”

“Claimed?”

“I’m sure he’s got some pain. We all do.”

“Let’s talk about his drug use.”

“All I know is what the kids said.”

“Your kids?”

“Mine and my brother Len’s. Not that Tony was a big topic of conversation, it just came up. We talk about everything in our family.”

“What did Tony’s cousins say he used?”

“It was never specific. More like Tony was stoned all the time, that’s why he bombed out in school. Which was hard for Ella, I’m sure. Education was important to her.”

“She ever mention being disappointed?”

“Ella wasn’t one to share her feelings. But everyone had a sense Tony was a big disappointment to her. Also, I think he gambles. In fact, I know he does. My boy Arnold saw him at one of the Indian casinos near Palm Springs. Arnold and his family were vacationing and he and Rita – Arnold’s wife – were playing the slots, just fooling around, they’re not gamblers. When they went to get the kids at the day care the casino has, Arnold spotted Tony at the blackjack table. Arnold was going to say hi, even though he and Tony weren’t close, just to be friendly. But then Tony played a hand and lost all his money and stomped away from the table cursing. Arnold didn’t think it was a good time to be social.”

“Do you have any other examples of Tony’s gambling?”

“No, but Arnold said from the way Tony was sitting – all hunched over, hiding his cards – it looked like he was used to it.”

“Drugs and gambling,” said Milo. “Anything else?”

“And gay,” Hoschswelder reminded him. “But I’m not accusing, just passing the information along. Don’t want you to think I’ve got something against Tony. I don’t, I feel sorry for him. Frankly, Tony Senior couldn’t have been easy to live with. That one had a bad temper, the Italian hot blood. But with what happened to Ella… I just thought I should talk to you.”

Milo said, “Let’s be theoretical, Mr. Hochswelder, and assume Tony does have some connection to Ella’s murder. What motive would you say he’d have?”

“Oh, no, Lieutenant, I couldn’t go that far.”

“Theoretically,” said Milo. “Just between us, right now, with nothing on the record.”

Hochswelder gnawed his upper lip. “Knowing Ella, she probably left everything to Tony. No reason she shouldn’t, he was her only child. Though, in my opinion, giving money to someone who doesn’t work is like flushing it down the toilet.”

“You don’t buy Tony’s injury.”

“Who knows?” said Hochswelder. “It’s between him and God.”

“How would you describe Tony’s relationship with his mother?”

“Like I said, Ella didn’t talk about her personal life.”

“Ever see any animosity between them?”

“No, I can’t say that. Except for that time at Thanksgiving.”

“Ella got mad at him?”

“They both looked tense when they arrived. Ella wore kind of a frozen smile, like she was pretending to be happy.”

“What about Tony?”

“Off in his own world.”

“Any idea what would’ve made them tense?”

“None whatsoever.”

Milo said, “Let’s switch gears for a second. Who were Ella’s friends?”

“I never saw that she had any,” said Hochswelder. “She and Tony Senior tended to keep to themselves. Every year we invited her to Christmas, told her to bring Tony Junior. Every year she showed up with a nice fruit basket. He never showed up. Frankly, we wondered if she even told him.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“She knew he was antisocial. And after that scene at Thanksgiving four years ago, maybe she was embarrassed.”

“Leaving before dessert.”

Hochswelder adjusted a bulb. “Trust me, Lieutenant, our desserts are worth sticking around for. My wife bakes and so does my brother’s wife. That year we had six kinds of pies, as well as bread pudding and compote. From the way Tony looked at the spread the girls put out, you’d think we were trying to serve him garbage.”