Deception

CHAPTER

12

Enrico Hauer smiled dreamily, as if aroused from a pleasant nap. “How bizarre.”

Windsor Prep’s head of social studies had arrived ten minutes late, giving Milo time to call James Winterthorn’s mother and inquire about the science teacher’s whereabouts. Martha Winterthorn, Esq., played lawyer for a while, finally filled in the time frame. Her account left an hour or so unaccounted for and mothers were dubious guarantors, but Milo hung up saying, “At this point, you see any reason to bust the poor bastard’s life wide open?”

“Not yet.”

Bell ring number two.

The man we found striding into the empty living room was thirty-five to forty, tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, and handsome in a mirror-junkie way: thick, black, pomaded hair worn shoulder-length, perfectly arched eyebrows, glossed and buffed fingernails. He wore a body-conscious chocolate turtleneck, black slacks, two-tone brown-and-black clogs. His gold watch was thin, his pinkie ring bulky. As we got closer, the aroma of a lemony cologne thickened.

He took in the house’s interior. “Nice. When can we open escrow?” Mellow baritone, the barest hint of Latin accent.

Neither Milo nor I laughed.

Enrico Hauer said, “I’m joking because I’m upset and disoriented. Being called to face the police is Kafkaesque.”

Milo said, “One of those days, huh?” and guided Hauer to the back of the house. Seated in the chair James Winterthorn had occupied, Hauer slipped his hand between buttock and metal. “Already warm. This is the hot seat?”

“It’s good to have a sense of humor, Mr. Hauer.”

“Rico. As a defense mechanism it’s less damaging than others.”

“What have you been told about this meeting?”

“Dr. Helfgott’s secretary informed me Elise Freeman was dead and that the police wanted to talk to some of the faculty.”

“How well did you know Elise?”

“Not well at all.”

“It’s been suggested that you and Elise Freeman had an affair.”

“An affair? How silly.”

“Never happened, huh?”

“By silly I meant that word. Affair. As if formal invitations were printed. We had sex.” Hauer shook his head. “That’s why I’m here? For having sex.”

“For having sex with a dead woman.”

Hauer laughed. “I am not a necrophiliac.”

“Correction,” said Milo. “A woman who ended up dead.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that, but here are the facts: Elise and I had purely physical sex many times. Surely you guys don’t see that as strange. A woman I can see objecting. The blending of emotion and physicality. But we are different, no?”

“You teach psychology, right?”

“I love it,” said Rico Hauer. “One day I may pursue a Ph.D.”

“What other subjects do you teach?”

“Social justice. That’s a two-semester course spanning the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries. As well as an honors seminar in urban studies and a super-honors mini-course in poverty and social adjustment.”

“Super-honors?”

Hauer winked. “Kids who are really motivated get rewarded with extra homework and long papers.”

Milo said, “Sounds like you’ve got a busy schedule.”

“One who loves his work is never busy, only engaged.”

“Ah… that apply to sex with Elise?”

“Oh, yes, Lieutenant. We were both definitely engaged—engrossed, really.”

“How often did you and Elise get mutually engrossed?”

“As often as we could—no, forgive me, I’m being flippant again because this really has unnerved me.”

“Being here.”

“Being here to discuss Elise’s death. Which I’m assuming was unpleasant and irregular, otherwise why would I be here, forgive the teleology—the circular logic.”

Milo handed over his card.

Hauer said, “I hope she didn’t suffer, Elise did not like to suffer.”

“She told you that?”

“Oh, yes, explicitly. ‘I’m not into pain, Rico.’”

“How did the topic of pain come up, Mr. Hauer?”

Hauer crossed long legs. White silk socks thin enough to suggest chestnut ankles contrasted with the black pants. “You’re probably assuming paraphilia—pain in a sexual context. But not so, Lieutenant, the conversation was postcoital. Elise did what many women do in that situation. Began talking about herself.” Conspiratorial grin.

Milo remained impassive. Hauer turned to me for empathy. I pretended to be a DMV clerk.

He said, “What I’m trying to get across is, Elise began talking about her childhood. A very unpleasant childhood, as it turned out.”

“How so, Mr. Hauer?”

“A father who withheld love. In my view, it had turned Elise needy and vulnerable. That particular night, her point was that she’d escaped an unsatisfying family situation and had no desire to repeat it. Hence, ‘I’m not into pain, Rico.’ To my mind it sounded like anxious denial—trying to convince herself that she was strong. On the other hand, not repeating history would be a positive step, so I didn’t debate her.”

Hauer turned serious. “She yearned for gentleness. In fact, I’d say that was the unifying concept of her sexually. That’s why I find it so unnerving that someone has harmed her. Was it violent?”

“We’re keeping the details to ourselves for now.”

“Yes,” said Hauer. “That makes sense.”

Milo said, “You always treated her gently.”

“I’m a guy who loves to make women happy, Lieutenant. The pleasure of others increases my own.”

“So if a woman wanted it rough, you’d oblige.”

“Within bounds, but that wasn’t Elise. Quite the opposite, she was more tickle than tussle.”

Milo flipped pages in his pad. Hauer looked out to the garden, smiled serenely.

“You like working at Prep?”

“For the time being.”

“Thinking of leaving?”

“Not imminently,” said Hauer, “but I do like to keep life well seasoned. A few years ago I rode my motorcycle from San Diego into Central America. Shortly after that, I managed to enter Myanmar—Burma—on a cargo ship. That is a place Americans are advised against visiting. I managed quite nicely for two weeks. I’ve lived on the isle of Gibraltar, observing the monkeys. I’ve studied flamenco guitar in Andalusia—as a historian, not a musician.”

“So one day you might just pick up and take another adventure.”

“Life is adventure.”

I said, “Where are you from?”

“A place where Italians speak Spanish and think they’re Germans.” Smile. “Argentina. But America suits me better. The land of endless opportunity.”

“Like a Ph.D. in psychology.”

“Or a position at a think tank, or ten more years teaching bright, nervous kids.” A big hand waved. “Whatever life brings.”

“What aspect of psychology would you study?”

“I would become a master psychotherapist.”

“Isn’t the Ph.D. a research degree?” I said. “Least that’s what my cousin the psychologist says.”

“I would research becoming a master psychotherapist. My secondary topic would be psychotherapeutic valences as they enhance affective gestalt.”

Gibberish; I nodded as if it were profound.

Rico Hauer said, “Dreadful, dreadful, poor Elise.” Touching his chest, he blinked. All the emotional depth of a sheet of vinyl.

Milo told him about the DVD.

Hauer didn’t move a muscle. Seconds ticked. A full minute of mute immobility.

Milo said, “That’s a serious charge, sir. No reaction?”

“What reaction would you like? Denial? Fine, I deny. Shock and surprise? Fine, I am appalled. If I believe you.”

“You think we’re lying?”

“I think,” said Hauer, “that the police use deception because the courts have granted legitimacy to that tactic. In fact, I cover that issue in my urban studies class, pose it to my students as a serious moral dilemma.”

“No dilemma here, Mr. Hauer. Elise really did make that claim, took the time to record it on a DVD.”

“Poor Elise. To engage in such delusions. Then again, she had her own moral issues.”

“Such as?”

“Lack of fidelity.”

“To who?”

“Some poor devil who believed she had special feelings for him.”

“A boyfriend?”

“He may have thought so.” Hauer smiled. “Elise enjoyed playing with his head. Used me as a vehicle for her mean little games.”

“How so, Mr. Hauer?”

“She liked to phone him while we were having sex.” Hauer’s eyes brightened. “There you go, perhaps he found out. Jealousy’s an excellent motive.”

“Does the poor devil have a name?”

“Sal. Elise enjoyed making small talk with him as she wiggled in interesting ways. Sometimes she’d cover the phone and moan. Sometimes she’d hold a photograph of herself and him while she and I tangoed. So to speak.”

“What kind of photograph?”

“Nothing erotic,” said Hauer. “The two of them at a casino, this Sal had won some money. A bald little man. I attribute her hostility to him as a yearning for mastery after a childhood filled with affective helplessness.”

“She kept that picture in her living room,” said Milo. “That mean you tangoed at her house?”

“Of course. Where else, Lieutenant?”

“Your place?”

Hauer grinned. “My wife would object.”

Avoiding the bait, Milo took him over the same ground. Hauer grew bored. A guy hooked on novelty.

The request for an alibi elicited a yawn and the explanation that he’d been with his wife, a Spanish teacher at a girls’ school in Hancock Park.

“Feel free to ask her, Lieutenant.”

“You don’t care.”

“Claudia will pretend to be resentful but she has her own diversions.”

“Open marriage?”

“There is no such thing,” said Hauer. “Let’s just say Claudia and I are more forgiving than most people. I would, of course, resent your telling her about Elise’s accusation, as it is patently false and defamatory.”

“Defamatory,” said Milo. “That’s kind of legalistic.”

“I studied law in Buenos Aires, Lieutenant. Decided not to live my life as an attack dog.” Smoothing his hair. “Doesn’t it bother you, dealing with the worst in people?”

“I manage to cope, Mr. Hauer.”

“Good for you. Now, what else can I help you with?”

Milo’s wave was dismissive.

Hauer sat there.

Milo got up and rapped the back of Hauer’s chair with a knuckle.

Hauer flinched.

“Out, Rico.”

♦

We watched him speed off in a yellow Mazda Miata convertible. Ten minutes remained until Pat Skaggs’s appointment. Milo lit a cigar and we idled on the sidewalk.

Three puffs and two smoke rings later, he said, “Elise was a busy girl.”

I said, “Esteemed educators molding young minds.”

“It’s like Hauer and Winterthorn own a testosterone time share but Winterthorn never gets to use it. Wimp or stud, cast your ballot for prime suspect.”

“I’ll withhold judgment until Mr. Skaggs tells his story.”

“Who knew the faculty lounge was such a hotbed of naughty? What do you think of Elise’s accusations now?”

“Same answer.”

“C’mon, stretch your theoretical wings.”

“Both men ’fessed up to sex with her, but consent’s a rapist’s favorite excuse because it can neutralize DNA. It’s possible as soon as Hauer and Winterthorn were summoned, they conspired to hedge with partial truth. But I really don’t know.”

He cursed. “In a normal situation, I’da popped in on them, there’d be no chance to collude. What about their personalities?”

“Winterthorn’s an excitable boy. My guess is nothing much shocks Hauer.”

“Unflappable sociopath?”

“He’s got the pretentiousness.”

“Mr. Amateur Psychologist.”

“Mile wide, inch deep,” I said. “One day he can get his own talk show. Or run for office.”

He laughed. Smoked, pulled out his cell, and punched in Claudia Hauer’s number. The resulting conversation was brief, pleasant, ambiguous.

“Mrs. Rico verifies Señor Smooth was with her all night, which is worth about as much as Mommy Winterthorn vouching for Junior trouble.”

I said, “Whatever Hauer’s character flaws, if what he told us about Elise’s childhood is true, it is a nice fit with her binge-drinking and promiscuity. Also with choosing a guy like Sal Fidella, then degrading him. I’d be interested in talking to her relatives. Someone’s going to have to deal with the body, eventually.”

“In a normal situation,” he said, “I’d have already put Sean or Moe on a back-trace for nearest kin.” He flicked ashes. “Prank-calling the poor fool while she romped with El Gaucho was pretty damn cold.”

“Interesting word choice, Big Guy.”

He lowered the cigar. “Gonna show me some inkblots now?”

“Got ’em back at the office. I’m serious. You’ve got good instincts, maybe you just hit on something.”

“Elise freezes Sal out emotionally so he gets back at her with dry ice?”

“She staged her games,” I said, “he devised one of his own. He had a key to her house and his alibi’s no better than Winterthorn’s or Hauer’s.”

“And what looks like a whodunit is just another stupid domestic. Talk about multiple orgasms for His Splendiferousness. Yeah, Sal needs to be looked at harder but so do our esteemed educators. Neither of them wasted time casting suspicion on someone else. For Winterthorn it was Hauer, Hauer aimed us back at Sal.”

“Get on the love train,” I said. “Reminds me of something one of my professors said when I was considering a teaching career. ‘Backbiting is the mother’s milk of academia, son, because so little is at stake.’”

“I had a graduate advisor tell me basically the same thing,” he said. “Dr. Carter, chairman of my master’s committee. That was a coupla days before he put a move on me.” He checked his Timex. “Be interesting to see who Mr. Skaggs dumps on.”

Just as Milo stubbed out his cigar, a small white car approached from the north, belching exhaust. Slowing, it parked across the street. Nissan Sentra, dusty windows, multiple dings.

The woman who got out was young, tall, sturdily built, with long dark wavy hair, a full face, gold-rimmed specs. Her gray pantsuit fit loosely, as did the yellow blouse underneath. A big brown leather purse arced wildly as she jogged across the street.

“Police?”

“And you are…”

“Pat Skaggs. They say you want to talk to me about Elise.”