Killer

CHAPTER 23

Connor Sykes didn’t look like a pornographer.

Then again, what does a smut-maven look like?

For the past twenty years he’d operated under several corporate headings, producing, packaging, marketing, and peddling adult videos and downloads. His advertised specialty was “natural, pillow-bodied women,” which seemed to mean buxom bodies untouched by surgeons or tattoo artists. Several of his series trumpeted “the romantic approach.” That seemed to mean buxom bodies untouched by bindings, ball gags, and rough handling.

His business attire this morning was that of any successful Silicon Valley magnate: narrow-lapel navy suit, open-necked blue shirt, expensively unpretentious shoes, digital wristwatch. He had neatly trimmed graying hair, bland features, the kind of face that abounds in business-class lounges. If you squinted you could find traces of resemblance to his sisters: squarish head, slightly generous chin. Photographed as a trio, the Sykes sibs would come across more similar than when captured in pairs. As if Connor was the unifying genetic factor tying Connie to Ree.

If he was traumatized by his sister’s death, he wasn’t showing it, sitting motionless in the interview room as Milo handed him bad coffee. He tasted, put the cup down. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to text my wife. Our boys have a recital tonight and I’m not sure I’ll make it.”

“Of course, sir.”

Sykes produced his phone, tapped briefly, slipped it back in his pocket.

Milo said, “Music recital?”

“Jared plays the viola and Tyler plays the cello. I’m biased but everyone says they’re gifted.” Weak smile. “If they’ve got talent it’s not from me. Mariko — my wife — was a concert pianist in Japan.”

“Ah.”

“I try to be there for all their events.”

“Well,” said Milo, “we’ll do our best to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Appreciate that, Lieutenant. But it occurred to me on the flight over that if I’m going to have to deal with Connie’s remains, it’ll take time.”

“No need to do that today, Mr. Sykes.”

“Oh? Is she still being … what’s the proper term, processed?”

“The coroner’s done but there’s always paperwork and that can be handled over the phone or online.”

“So I might be able to get back by five?”

“Sure.”

Sykes extricated his phone. “Would you mind if I contact the jet company to arrange my flight?”

“No prob, sir.”

Another text.

Connor Sykes said, “Appreciate it, Lieutenant. Now, why exactly am I here, if it’s not to handle … the process?”

“In a murder investigation, information’s our weapon. So anything you can do to arm us would be helpful.”

Sykes considered that, fingering a lapel and gazing at the ceiling before resuming eye contact. “That makes sense. Unfortunately, I have no idea who’d want to murder Connie.”

Even tone.

Milo was careful not to react. But I noticed the tightening around his eyes. Connor Sykes, eyes back on the ceiling, didn’t. “Mr. Sykes, are you surprised your sister was killed?”

Connor Sykes’s left eyebrow arced. Puzzlement, not resentment. “Of course I am.”

Milo kept silent.

Sykes’s face tightened. Working out a tough math problem. “You think I’m being strangely unemotional. I’m sure you’re right, it’s an issue I have. Expressing emotions. The problem is, I’m unaware of it. Internally, I feel totally dismayed at losing my sister. But showing it doesn’t come naturally. My wife’s convinced I’m somewhere on the Asperger continuum. Maybe she’s right, she knows me better than anyone. I don’t feel asocial. For the most part, I find people acceptable. So forgive my strange reaction.”

“There’s no correct reaction, Mr. Sykes. You just seemed unsurprised.”

“Well, I am surprised. I’m extremely surprised. But I don’t see how I can help you. Connie and I weren’t close. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“At least twenty years.”

“Twenty years.”

Connor Sykes said, “Not even a Christmas card. Sent or received. Our family’s never been much for formalities.”

“What about Cherie?”

“Cherie I saw more recently.”

“How recently?”

“Hmm … around … ten years ago. She showed up and asked for money.”

“Did you give it to her?”

Connor Sykes shrugged. “I had ample funds, she didn’t, she’s my sister.”

“What did she need money for?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“She just showed up.”

“At my house,” said Connor Sykes. “Eight in the morning, Mariko and the boys and I were having breakfast. We invited her in. She looked bedraggled. As if she’d been traveling hard.”

“Was she alone?”

“She was. She asked for a couple of thousand to tide her over. I gave her five. She hugged me and kissed me, said she’d be in touch. Of course, she didn’t follow through.”

I said, “Of course. You didn’t expect her to.”

Connor Sykes stared past me. “Ree isn’t known for her reliability.”

“She’s a free spirit.”

“Always has been.”

I said, “The three of you are quite different from one another.”

“That’s what Mariko says. She jokes that it’s almost as if our births were random events. I’d never thought about that but now that I’m a parent, I see what she means. My boys have traits in common — they’re individuals, of course, but there’s something that says these boys are brothers.”

“As opposed to you and your sibs,” I said.

“Yes. So what kind of family produced that?” He shrugged. “Can’t see how that could be relevant to what happened to Connie but I’m happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.”

“Tell us a bit about growing up with Connie and Ree.”

Connor blinked three times and shot me a helpless look. “That’s such an open-ended request, I don’t know where to begin.”

I said, “Start with your parents.”

He smiled. Comforted by structure. “Charles and Corinne Sykes met in high school, in Kansas City. That’s where we were born — Connie and I. I don’t remember it because we moved to California when I was young. Long Beach. That’s where Ree was born.”

“Why the move?”

“Mother suffered from asthma and chest colds, her doctors said a warm, dry climate might help. Unfortunately, it didn’t, she suffered constantly, died when she was sixty of pulmonary problems. I imagine her smoking and excessive drinking didn’t help.”

Connor Sykes cocked his head like an eager spaniel. “Odd, no? That she’d smoke when her respiratory system had never been strong?”

Placing his hands in his lap, he grew silent. “People are unpredictable … does that help? I really don’t know what you’re after.”

I said, “Tell us about your parents’ unique qualities.”

“Unique,” he said, flatly. “I suppose Father could be termed a ladies’ man. Do I mean extramarital affairs? Yes, I do. But he never mistreated Mother, nor any of us. Though I suppose the mere fact of infidelity could be thought of as … not appropriate.”

I said, “Did he drink, as well?”

“He did.”

“How did that affect him?”

“Affect? Well … he’d turn a bit grouchy. Sometimes he’d shout.”

“And your mother?”

“Mother …” As if the concept was baffling. “What can I say about Mother … she worked as a bookkeeper, got along fine with people but really didn’t like them. I know that because she always said so. People were generally stupid. So if I am Aspergian, she might very well be the source.”

“How did drinking affect her?”

“She fell asleep.”

“A loner.”

“Not in the sense of being shy or retiring,” said Sykes. “She was an assertive person. She simply preferred to be by herself. But I never felt neglected. In fact, I look back on my childhood as being rather pleasant.”

He faced me, hands on the table, shoulders relaxed. “Whether or not my sisters feel the same way, I can’t say.”

Three sibs, three stories. Not much communication along the way.

I said, “You never discussed your childhood with your sisters.”

Connor Sykes said, “Our family was oriented toward doing, not talking.”

I said, “From what we’ve been told, Connie wasn’t the most social person.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true — you know, now that you mention it, there are certain parallels between Mother and Connie.” He tapped his lips with a fingertip. “Yes, definitely. If anyone was like Mother it was Connie. I never really thought about that.”

“And Ree?”

“Ree?” said Sykes. “Nothing at all similar between Ree and Mother.”

“She liked people?”

“Hmm — well, yes, Ree has always been a friendly person. Lots of friends. So in that sense I suppose there are parallels to our father. He could be quite gregarious when he chose.”

“How did your sisters get along?”

“They didn’t have much to do with one—” He stopped short. His right hand began to clench, thought better of it and splayed slowly. “These questions, you’re not seriously thinking Ree had anything to do … No, that’s impossible.” His eyes passed from Milo to me, back to Milo. “Isn’t it?”

Milo said, “We don’t suspect Ree of anything but due to the conflict she and Connie—”

“What conflict?”

“The court case.”

Connor Sykes blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.”

Milo summed up. The man across the table seemed to deflate with each sentence. “Why would Connie do that?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

“Me? Of course I can’t. Connie actually sued Ree? For her child? How old of a child are we talking about?”

“Sixteen months.”

“Ree had a baby,” said Connor Sykes, wide-eyed. “I had no idea. How bizarre that must seem to you. But it’s what I’ve always been accustomed to.”

I said, “Everyone in the family doing their own thing.”

“Now that I’m a father I see that it can be different. My wife’s extremely close to her sister. My sons are friends as well as siblings. But to think Connie would sue Ree … to learn that Ree had a child. You’ve shocked me, Lieutenant. I’m reeling.”

His posture implied defeat but his tone was that of a man picking up his laundry. “Still, you can’t seriously believe Ree would ever hurt Connie. She’s gentle, always has been. I think of her as a flower child born too late. That time when she showed up asking for money, she actually had flowers in her hair, wore homemade clothing, peace sign earrings. It reminded me of a couple of pictures I did — retro hippie themes, love-ins, et cetera. I looked at old magazine photos to get my costumes authentic.”

“What was Ree’s mood that day?”

“Mood,” he said, taking time to decode. “Happy — goofy. The way she always is. She’s the only one in the family like that.”

Suddenly he sat taller. “Connie actually took Ree to court … was the case disposed?”

I said, “Ree won.”

“Meaning Connie lost. That would’ve been tough for Connie. She was always competitive. If there was a contest at school — science fair, essays, spelling bee — she devoted herself to grabbing first place.”

“Did she win often?”

“Oh, yes, she was brilliant. Clearly the smartest person in the family. She skipped a grade, sailed into medical school, graduated at the top of — if you evaluated her, Doctor, you probably know all this.”

I said, “How did Ree do in school?”

“C’s, D’s, a few F’s. She isn’t stupid, it’s just that she was all about … fun. But never at the expense of others, she always saw the best in others. I refuse to consider she’d ever harm Connie — do you have evidence she was involved?”

Milo said, “We’d like to talk to her but she’s moved out of her apartment, left no forwarding.”

“I see,” said Connor Sykes. He removed a pair of black-framed reading glasses from his jacket, passed them from hand to hand. “That doesn’t look good for her, does it?”

“Any idea where she might be, Mr. Sykes?”

“No.”

“No hints at all?”

Head shake. “Sorry.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

Connor Sykes seemed to take the question seriously. “No.”

“Well, sir, on the odd chance that Ree does contact you—”

“That would be odd, Lieutenant. But yes, if she does I’ll tell her she’s made the wrong impression by leaving and needs to get in touch with you. Now, in terms of Connie, maybe I will have time to process and get back for the recital.”