True Detectives

CHAPTER 46

On a beautiful sunny Monday, Moe Reed and Aaron Fox drove north on Pacific Coast Highway. Aaron was at the wheel of his Porsche. Both brothers wore sunglasses and short-sleeved shirts, Aaron's a three-hundred-dollar white Malo, Moe's a navy no-name polo.

At first glance, they were a pair of good-looking young men, out for a day of fun.

The Porsche had a tiny, barely functional backseat if they needed it.

They parked in the visitors’ lot of Pepperdine University, presented a warrant to the administration office, went to find Rory Stoltz.

Confronting the boy as he left a business management seminar, they escorted him away from his classmates onto the vast, perfectly green meadow of lawn that separated the campus from PCH.

Rory's blond hair was gelled and side-parted neatly, not spiked, the way he wore it when working for Mason Book. His shirt was an impeccable pale green buttondown, perfectly pressed by his mother. Same for straight-leg khakis.

Tall, lean, tan. Aaron thought: Ralph Lauren ad in the flesh.

Except for the face, which was ready to crumble. “You can't-”

“We just did,” said Moe.

Rory's face turned stupid-stoic, an obstinate kid digging himself deeper. He began picking at blades of grass.

“Here's what we know,” said Moe. “You do regular dope pickups for Mason Book and Ax Dement.”

Well-groomed fingers crushed grass, turned green at the tips. The kid had a manicure, for God's sake.

Not as good as mine, thought Aaron.

Moe said, “You've also been observed faking a dope pickup.”

The kid hung his head. His hands fluttered.

Moe said, “Not only do you pimp drugs for Book and Ax, but you rip them off when they ask for prescription dope. You put together your own stash at a discount price beforehand and quote them a higher price. They give you money and send you to score, you drive around for a while, do nothing, come back and hand over the goods, telling them you had to work hard to find it, and pocket the profit. Sometimes Mason Book tips you extra for your effort.”

Aaron said, “Those kinds of smarts, who needs a class in business management? How long did you think you could keep that up without someone finding out?”

“We found out really easily,” said Moe. “You were observed. And guess what, we just tossed your bedroom and found all that Xanax and Ritalin and Valium you've been stockpiling. We're figuring you buy wholesale from your fellow students.”

Rory shook his head.

“College is going to love you for setting off a big-time scandal. Forget your degree, we've got enough to put you away for years.”

The boy looked up.

“Years,” Moe repeated.

“I never bought, people gave me extra and I saved it.”

“Don't insult our intelligence, Rory.”

Silence.

“The thing is,” Moe went on, “we might not care about any of this.”

“Huh-pardon?”

“Your buddy Ax has been arrested for murder. He's desperate to save his own skin, can't talk fast enough. Meaning anyone even remotely associated with him is going to get sucked into some serious ugly. We're assuming you don't want to be one of those people.”

“Murder? I-I- didn't…”

Moe placed his hand on Rory's shoulder, felt the boy's muscles shrink in fear.

Useful move, it was going to become part of his repertoire.

“Rory, you need to tell us about Caitlin. Now. Even if you killed her. 'Cause we'll find out and make it even worse for you.”

“Kill her-no, no way I-” Gaping. “No, I never did that. I swear, no, never-”

The inevitable tears.

“Then what happened to her, Rory?”

More head shakes.

“Save your own ass, Rory.” Moe smiled. “Who knows? Maybe one day you will be a big-time agent.” To Aaron: “He could do it, right?”

Aaron said, “He's already got the moral qualifications.”

Rory's tan had splotched with pink. Blue eyes were filmed by shock and salt water. “Oh, God…”

Moe bore down. “What happened to Caitlin, Rory?”

A beat. Two.

Three. “I promised.”

“Now you're breaking your promise.”

Rory looked past-through them-at the highway. Blue infinity.

All that pretty paint and chrome speeding to pretty places. The ocean a soft teal blanket, ruffled by an unseen hand.

“You can't quote me,” he said.

Entitled little prick.

Moe said, “We can do anything we damn well please. Speak before I throw your ass in jail.”

“Okay, okay,” said Rory. “But you need to understand: I did my best. No matter what you say.”