Obsession

CHAPTER 40

Robert Fisk didn’t ask for an attorney.

Thanking Petra for getting him the bottled water, he sat Buddha-placid.

The menacing skinhead of his mug shot had been replaced by a neat cap of dark hair. The pallid wicket framing his mouth memorialized a recently shaved mustache. Smallish mouth, delicate like the rest of him. But for the brocade of body ink extending from under his cuffs and snaking above his collar, a nondescript man.

Ramrod posture suggested a dance instructor or personal trainer. So many of those in L.A.

Picking him out on a dark street with only the mug shot as reference spoke volumes about Raul Biro’s skills. Biro sat near Petra, both of them watching Fisk across the table. Milo and I were on the other side of the glass.

Fisk drank his water, put the cup down, smiled. An instant of sharp, wolfish teeth caused Petra to inch back. Fisk might’ve sensed that he’d given something away. He shut his mouth, sat low to make himself smaller.

“Anything else I can get you, Robert?”

“No, I’m fine, Detective Connor. Thanks very much.”

“You know why you’re here.”

“Not really, Detective Connor.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Petra shuffled papers and watched him.

Fisk didn’t move.

“Does the name Lester Jordan ring a bell?”

“Of course,” said Fisk. “He was Blaise’s father. Blaise killed him.”

“And you know that because…”

“I was there, Detective Connor.”

“At the murder.”

“Blaise asked me to be there, but what happened took me by surprise.”

“Why’d Blaise ask you to be there?”

“Moral support,” said Fisk. “That’s what I assumed.”

“Why would Blaise need moral support?”

“Lester had hit him before.”

“You saw that?”

“Blaise told me. Lester was an addict. That means unpredictable.”

“How well did you know Lester?”

“I saw him a few times. Always with Blaise.”

“Father-son business transactions.”

“I had nothing to do with that part of it.”

“What part?”

“Narcotics. Never touched dope in my life. Never tasted alcohol, my parents drank, I saw what it did.”

“Clean living.”

“You can do any tests you want,” said Fisk. “My blood is clean. I don’t eat red meat or refined sugars, either. If people didn’t eat meat there’d be no global warming.”

“Really?” said Petra.

“Cows fart and mess up the atmosphere.”

Raul Biro said, “Why don’t we just give ’em Beano?”

Petra smiled. Fisk didn’t.

She said, “Let’s get back to Blaise and Lester. You were there when Blaise went to sell his father drugs.”

Long silence.

“Robert?”

“Blaise didn’t tell me.”

“You went along for protection.”

“Moral support.”

“When you went to Lester’s apartment, you just walked in through the front door with Blaise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Fisk.

“Hmm,” said Petra. “Then it’s kind of funny, your fingerprints showing up on Lester Jordan’s outer windowsill, by the side of his building.”

Fisk’s wrists rotated. His new smile was tight-lipped. “That’s weird.”

“Weird but true, Robert.” She slid the AFIS match over to him.

Fisk barely glanced at it. “I’m not picturing this sill.”

“Outside Lester Jordan’s bedroom window.”

“Whoa,” said Fisk. “That’s bizarre.”

“You didn’t enter through the window?”

Fisk gazed at the ceiling. A minute passed, then another. Petra crossed her legs. Raul Biro stared at Fisk.

Fisk said, “Let me ask you something, Detective Connor. Theoretically.”

“Sure, Robert.”

“If a window is already open and you climb in, is that breaking and entering?”

Milo muttered, “Idiot’s up for a murder bust and he’s worried about B and E.”

“Hmm, interesting question,” said Petra, turning to Raul.

Raul said, “Never thought about that.”

“That’s what happened, Robert? The window was left open?”

“Let’s just say.”

“Well,” she said, “I guess it wouldn’t be breaking and entering, because there was no breaking.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” said Robert Fisk.

“Who left the window open?”

“Blaise.”

“Why’d he do that, Robert?”

“Tactical,” said Fisk. “Like I said, he was scared of Lester, used to get beat by him.”

“And having you come in through the back window helped because…”

“Element of surprise.”

“For when…”

“If something happened.”

“Which it did,” said Petra. “Something definitely happened.”

“I didn’t know that, Detective.”

“Tell me about it, Robert.”

“I came in like Blaise asked me to, stopped and listened, made sure there was no problem.”

“Blaise had reason to think there might be a problem.”

Long silence. “Lester called Blaise to come over, said Blaise was in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Don’t know, but it made Blaise angry.” Fisk’s eyes shifted to the left. Petra didn’t push him. Any undue pressure could evoke the dreaded lawyer request. Mary Whitbread had already been released with no charges filed, an assistant D.A. opining that at most she was vulnerable for obstruction and even that was doubtful.

Petra said, “So you went in and listened. Then what?”

“It was quiet,” said Fisk. “I figure everything’s mellow. Blaise says, ‘I’m in the crapper, Robert.’ I go over, the door’s open, Blaise is standing next to Lester, Lester’s on the can, his spike and spoon and the rest of his works is on the sink, he’s fixed up, totally nodded off.”

“With stuff Blaise brought him.”

“I guess.”

“Then what?”

“Blaise laughs, that crazy bird laugh he does, gives Lester’s cheek a little slap, Lester doesn’t wake up. Blaise slaps him harder, laughs again, says, ‘I fixed him a nuclear-hit, he’s so gone, I could do anything.’”

“Anything,” said Petra.

“I didn’t figure he meant that,” said Fisk.

“What did you think he meant?”

Fisk’s eyes drifted left again. “Actually, that’s not exactly what he said.”

Petra waited.

Fisk said, “It’s kind of gross.”

“I can handle it, Robert. What did Blaise say?”

“‘I could put my dick in his mouth, he wouldn’t know.’”

“Talking about his father like that?”

“I told you it’s gross. They’re not like father and son. More like…Blaise sells him dope, hates him. Blaise hates everyone. He’s insane.”

“That comment,” said Raul. “Is he gay?”

“Dunno.”

“You’ve been hanging with the guy for months.”

“I never saw him with a man,” said Fisk. “Or a woman. Mostly, he likes to look and…I don’t want to talk disgusting in front of you, Detective Connor.”

“Appreciate that, Robert, but anything you can tell us would help.”

“What he likes is to look at stuff and touch himself. Like the only person that turns him on is himself. He did it that night.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Yes,” said Fisk. “Laughing about Lester being out of it, he starts touching himself.”

“Lester’s still alive at this point.”

“But out of it.”

“Blaise is getting a charge out of masturbating in front of his father.”

“Insane,” said Fisk.

“Then what happened?”

“Then Blaise says go into the kitchen and get me a Coke. I got a can and came back. By that time, Blaise put a rope around Lester’s neck and strangled him.”

“How long were you gone?”

“Long enough.”

“Could you be a bit more specific, Robert?”

“Hmm,” said Fisk. “Maybe a few minutes.”

“You come back and Lester’s dead.”

“Yup.”

“You check if he was dead?”

“He looked dead.”

“You didn’t try to revive him.”

“Blaise said he was dead, he looked dead, I didn’t want to touch him. Blaise laughed about it, we went out through the back window.”

“How’d you feel, walking into that, Robert?”

“Bad,” said Fisk without inflection. “Surprised, I guess.” Rapid eye drift. “Blaise never told me he was going to do that.”

“Why did Blaise murder Lester Jordan?”

“Because he hated him,” said Fisk. “Blaise hates everyone.”

“What did you do with the soda can?”

“Gave it to Blaise.”

“What did he do with it?”

“Drank it.”

“Then what?”

“Pardon?” said Fisk.

“Did he take the Coke with him?”

“I…no, I don’t think so.”

“We didn’t find any Coke in the apartment,” said Petra, lying smoothly. Jordan’s kitchen had been a jumble of take-out boxes, bottles, and cans.

“Then maybe he took it, I don’t remember,” said Fisk.

Petra wrote in her pad. “You go with Blaise for moral support because he’s worried about some kind of trouble with Lester. Blaise waits until Lester shoots up, nods off, tells you to get him a drink, and by the time you get back, Lester’s dead.”

“Yes.”

Petra looked at Raul. He shrugged. Fisk said, “That’s what happened.”

Petra said, “The problem is, Robert, we’re talking multiple homicides and you’re the guy who left prints at the scene of one of them.”

“Multiple?”

“Moses Grant.”

Fisk’s jaws knotted. “That was…not me.” He slumped, straightened.

“Why did Moses die, Robert?”

“Oh, man,” said Fisk. “Can I please have some juice? Apple’s best, but I’ll take orange if you’ve got it, pulp’s okay.”

“What we’ve got in the machines here is soda and Snapple, Robert.”

“Forget it, then.”

“Robert,” said Petra, “you want kickapoo-coconut-pago-pago juice, we can probably score it. But if you want to nourish your soul, you need to be totally honest.”

Fisk considered that for a while. “I never killed anyone. Please write down that I’m being fully cooperative.”

Talking softly as his wrists rotated and his fingers clawed the tabletop.

“You’re talking, Robert, but I’m not sure you’re communicating.” To Raul: “What do you think, Detective Biro?”

“I think he tells a good story.”

“Make a nice movie,” said Petra.

“With an all-star cast,” said Raul.

Robert Fisk said, “I’m telling the truth.”

No argument or assent from the detectives.

“Okay,” said Fisk, flashing sharp teeth. “Get me apple-guava juice and I’ll tell you everything. A PowerBar, too.”

Leaving suspects alone sometimes gives up the best information. People who forget they’re being taped, or are too stupid to know it in the first place, talk to themselves, display anxiety they were able to mask during the interrogation. Sometimes detectives leave suspects’ cell phones in the room and monitor calls. The Motorola paid for by Mary Whitbread sat on the table.

During the half hour Robert Fisk was alone, he never touched it. Closed his eyes five minutes in, and went to sleep.

Raul Biro returned from the all-night market, glanced through the glass, and said, “Zen felon.”

Petra said, “You need a conscience for insomnia.”

She and Milo and I had been reviewing Fisk’s story. Unanimous conclusion: His strength and assaultive nature said he’d strangled Lester Jordan at Blaise De Paine’s behest, probably Moses Grant, as well. All the rest was the typical criminal dance-away.

Clumsy dance; he’d given away enough to be vulnerable on a dozen felony charges.

When Petra and Raul reentered the room, Fisk sat up, took the juice and the granola bar. Thanking both detectives by name and title, he drank, munched, folded the wrapper into a neat little square.

“That do the trick, Robert?” said Petra.

“Yes, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Robert. So why’d you strangle Lester Jordan?”

“I didn’t, he did.”

“Peterson Whitbread.”

“To me he was always Blaise.”

“What does his mother call him?”

Fisk smiled. “Mostly, ‘the little shit.’”

Raul Biro said, “Papa beats him and Mama doesn’t care.”

“He’s been giving her stress since day one,” said Fisk. “That’s how I met him, she wanted me to babysit him.”

Petra said, “Mary paid you to watch over Blaise?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Hundred here, hundred there.”

“Cash?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you and Mary meet?”

Fisk rolled his shoulders. “I was working out five times a week at The Steel Mill, Santa Monica and La Cienega. Guys there were always talking about how much money they were making doing adult-genre films. Directors like guys with cut bodies.”

Stroking his own forearm.

“Adult genre,” said Petra.

Fisk nodded. “I was between teaching jobs, some guy at the gym says they’re auditioning out in the Valley, I figured why not? Mary was there.”

“Mary was auditioning also?”

“No, running the audition. With some other guys.”

Petra checked her notes. “Was the company Righteous and Raw Productions?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of teaching jobs were you in between?”

“Yoga, aerobics, tae kwon do, kendo, Javanese spear, judo, you name it. My ultimate goal is to be a fight coordinator.”

Milo said, “Idiot’s still talking in the present tense.”

Petra said, “A fight coordinator like for the movies?”

“Fights don’t just happen,” said Fisk. “You’ve got to set them up.”

“Choreography.”

“Kind of.”

“So,” said Petra, “you auditioned for Mary. Get the job?”

Color seeped up Fisk’s neck, made its way to flat, static cheeks. “I changed my mind.”

“Adult genre wasn’t for you.”

“Not really.”

Petra said, “But you hooked up with Mary.”

Fisk said, “It started off as a training thing. I got her into advanced stretching, light weights, balance and posture. Cardio she already did on her treadmill. She’s in great shape for forty-seven.”

Mary Whitbread’s stats put her at fifty-three.

Petra said, “She is a very attractive woman, Robert. So the two of you developed a sexual relationship.”

“Not really,” said Fisk.

“Robert, we found you guys in bed.”

“There was sex but it wasn’t primarily sexual.”

“What was it?”

“Intimacy. Being friendly.”

“But that did include a sexual relationship.”

“Depends on what you mean by relationship.”

Milo muttered, “This guy should run for president.”

Raul Biro said, “We’re defining it as you fucked her.”

Long pause. “That happened. Occasionally.”

Biro leaned in. “Is there some reason you’re ashamed of that, dude?”

“No, she’s…no, I’m okay with it.”

“What?” pressed Biro.

Fisk didn’t answer.

“Something go wrong in that department?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Fisk. “She’s older, that’s all.”

“Hey,” said Petra, “age is arbitrary.”

“That’s what she said.”

“You and Mary became intimate and you came to see her tonight.”

“We didn’t see each other in a while, she said she was making a vegan dinner, tempeh and tofu. I got her into vegan, sometimes we went to Real Food Daily.”

Milo said, “Ah, the pitfalls of tragic love.”

Petra said, “Mary had you hang with Blaise so…”

“He wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“It wasn’t dope Mary was worried about, was it, Robert? She was concerned about some really bad stuff. She knew about other crimes Blaise had committed.”

Silence.

“Robert, we got you the juice and the PowerBar and we even bought some extra bottles, which are right outside if you get thirsty again. But you’ve got to hold up your end. Let’s not forget: Those were your prints on Lester Jordan’s windowsill. If Blaise tells another story, that makes it your word against his and we’ve got to follow the evidence. But if we knew Blaise had a history of violence, that would change things.”

“Let me ask you,” said Fisk. “Again, theoretically.”

“Sure.”

“Knowing about something isn’t a crime, right?”

“Not if you had nothing to do with the crime.”

“That fingerprint, Detective Connor, it could happen any kind of way. Maybe I walked by there another time and touched it. Maybe Blaise got one of my prints and stuck it there. Or someone made a mistake, that happens, right?”

Petra smiled. “Anything’s possible, Robert. But even flawed evidence is better than none.”

Fisk said, “I can tell you more important stuff than what happened to Lester. But all I know is what Blaise said. I was never there.”

“What kind of important stuff?”

“Mary knew, too. You’re right, that’s why she hired me.”

Milo said, “Intimacy goes the way of all bullshit.”

Petra said, “Anything you can say to help us-and yourself-would be appreciated, Robert.”

Fisk sucked in his breath. Stared at the empty wax cup he’d drained five times. “I’m thirsty again.”

Petra sat back, crossed her legs.

“Detective Connor, all I know is what Mary told me. She said Blaise killed some guys over dope, they tried to cheat him because he was young, fifteen, sixteen. They figured he’d be too scared to fight back, so he shot them.”

“Names?”

“She said one was Lester’s friend and Lester didn’t like that, woulda slapped Blaise around but he got scared Blaise would shoot him, too.”

“Bunch of anonymous dope guys,” said Raul.

“Don’t know any names. She said he also killed some girls,” said Fisk. “Two girls, used to live on top of them. Mary knew Blaise did it, probably with some guy he used to run with, but she couldn’t prove it.”

“Yet another anonymous guy,” said Petra.

“Some tweaker,” said Fisk. “Sold smack for Blaise and Blaise gave him speed.”

“Why’d Mary figure the two of them were involved?”

“The guy showed up in a van one night, late, packed stuff with Blaise.”

“Stuff,” said Petra.

“Garbage bags. Mary thought maybe bodies, she was scared,” said Fisk.

“But she never told anyone except you.”

“Scared,” Fisk repeated.

“Where’s this pal of Blaise’s?”

“Dead, O.D.’d. Right on their street, Mary figured he came by to score from Blaise, shot up and dropped.”

Raul said, “Another anonymous addict bites the dust.”

Fisk squirmed in his chair. “Don’t you want to hear about those girls?”

Petra said, “Sure, why not.”

“Actresses,” said Fisk. “Adult genre.”

“Why did Blaise kill them?”

“Because he’s insane.”

Petra scrawled in her pad. “No-name dope guys, no-name porn actresses, no-name tweaker. Quite a list.” She looked up. “Anything else?”

“That’s all I know-heard about.”

“How many years ago did these girls supposedly get killed?”

“Way before I met Mary. Ten, fifteen years, I don’t know.”

“Mary never told anyone.”

“She’s scared of him,” said Fisk. “He used to look at those girls and yank himself. She caught him, out in the garage. Instead of apologizing, he tells her she doesn’t stop bugging his privacy, he’ll hurt her.”

“He threatens his mommy-your intimate friend,” said Petra. “You hang with him anyway?”

“With me, he’s respectful.”

Milo said, “This guy’s brain-dead.”

Petra said, “Must’ve been fun hanging with someone like that.”

“No, ma’am, it wasn’t.”

“Blaise ever talk to you directly about any of these alleged murders?”

“Never,” said Fisk, too quickly. “He bragged about other stuff. Being a big-time music producer.”

Petra said, “Mary knew he’d murdered two girls a long time ago, waits years later to hire you to watch over him? Why would she do that unless she knew about other murders he’d done in the interim?”

Fisk didn’t answer.

“Robert, what else has Blaise De Paine done?”

“Never seen or heard anything. I swear.”

“Okay, let’s talk about Moses Grant.”

“Can I have more juice?”

“First tell us about Grant.”

“The night Blaise killed Lester, Mosey drove, he was waiting on the street, in the car. Blaise had him park it around the corner.”

“The Hummer.”

Nod. “Blaise gets back in, brags to Mosey about what he just did. Mosey thinks Blaise is kidding. Blaise screams at him, I’m serious, asshole. Mosey looks at me like, No way, right? I don’t answer. Mosey’s hands start shaking, he starts driving, goes through a stop sign, we almost crash into another car. Blaise is screaming, Pay attention, asshole. Mosey makes himself calm down but he’s different after that.”

“How so?”

“Watching out the side of his eye, not eating so much, not sleeping great.”

“Despite that, he kept hanging with you and Blaise.”

“He thought Blaise was going to hook him up with Puffy, Dr. Dre, Russell Simmons.”

“Blaise has those kinds of connections?”

“Mosey believed he did.”

“Blaise was stringing Mosey along,” said Petra.

Nod. “So Mosey’d drive and do stuff for Blaise and Blaise didn’t have to pay him. Blaise liked having a big black guy being his slave, Get my shirts from the laundry, dude, buy me this, buy me that, dude. Everyone thought Moses was a bodyguard but he’s soft.”

“You were the muscle.”

“I was looking after Blaise for Mary.”

Milo said, “Did a great job, Bozo.”

Biro said, “Blaise wanted an entourage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who were the other members?”

“That’s it.”

“You and Moses.”

Nod.

“Why’d Blaise reduce his entourage by killing Mosey?”

“Mosey kept saying he was cool with it but you could tell he was lying.”

“Blaise figured he might talk about Lester,” said Petra.

“Guy was soft,” said Fisk.

“Why’d Blaise kill Lester?”

“Lester called Blaise, said you guys were looking into the girls, other old stuff Blaise did, Blaise should get out of town. Blaise said fuck that, there’s an easier way.”

I said, “He just admitted knowing Blaise intended to murder Lester.”

Milo’s grin lit up the observation room. “Thank you, Lord, for stupid criminals.”

Petra said, “So that’s Blaise’s pattern. He kills people to keep them quiet.”

“Yes.” Loud and definite.

“What about the girls?”

“That,” said Fisk, “he just hated them. I guess.”

“He never talked about it?”

“No, Mary told me.”

“Okay. Robert, this is good, we appreciate your cooperation. Let’s get back for a sec to Mosey Grant. How and where did he die?”

“Where was this building we were crashing in, used to be a car mechanics or something, then it was a club, then it got empty. How, I didn’t see. Blaise sent me out to buy food, I went to the Grand Central Market-that big place, where the Mexicans sell stuff cheap?” Quick glance at Biro.

Biro said, “You get any of those hand-folded tamales?”

“I bought junk and crap for the two of them, fresh vegetables for me,” said Fisk. “I like those edamame beans. I get back, Mosey’s lying there, Blaise is fooling with his ProTools, doing a mix like nothing happened. I say what’s up, Blaise says he slipped roofies in Moses’ milk. Moses drank a lot of milk, liked butter, cheese, anything dairy. All the high fat, that’s why he looked like that.”

Shaping a convex abdomen and frowning.

Petra said, “How’d Blaise kill Moses?”

“Shot him.”

“With what?”

“This.22 he carries around. He’s got other stuff, but he carries that.”

“What other stuff?”

“Shotgun,.44, bunch of knives. The.22 fits in his pocket.”

“What make?”

“Cheap gun, Czechoslovakian or Romanian or something. He calls it his best friend, he got it on the street when he started dealing dope at thirteen. That’s what he killed those dope guys with.”

“Those nameless guys.”

“He just called them dope-fiend dead guys.”

“So you come back from the market and find Mosey dead. That would be the second time you walked into one of Blaise’s nasty scenes, but you stuck with him.”

“I was pretty frustrated,” said Fisk. “That’s what I was doing at Mary’s tonight. Came to tell her I had enough.”

“Instead you ended up getting intimate.”

“It’s what happens with us,” said Fisk. “We’ve got chemistry.”

“So your plan was to…”

“Turn Blaise in to you. You want him, go to 13466 Hillside View up in Mount Washington, it’s this house he’s been crashing in.”

“He?”

“He found it. I was going to leave tomorrow.”

Petra copied down the address, exited the room.

Milo was already on his phone, dialing SWAT. As he called in for a raiding party, Petra returned to Fisk, stayed on her feet, looking down at him. “Mary own that house?”

“No, it belongs to some deejay, got a karaoke machine, Blaise knows him from clubs.”

“Name?”

“The mail says Perry Moore.”

“Where is he?”

“Away,” said Fisk. “Playing on some cruise ship, Blaise said.”

“Does Mr. Moore know you’ve been staying at his house?”

Eye shift. “According to Blaise.”

“Blaise have a key?”

“He said he lost it.”

“How’d you gain entry?”

Fisk shifted in his chair. “He broke a window.”

“After he broke, you entered.”

“He said it was okay.” Fisk clicked his teeth together. Began rocking a leg.

“Something bothering you, Robert?”

“Still thirsty,” said Fisk. “Can I have that juice, now? Also an attorney?”