Compulsion (9 page)

“With Sean.”

“Yes.”

“True love,” said Milo.

“American love.”

“How did Katrina feel about the change in plans?”

“She didn’t yell.”

“But not happy.”

“I was unhappy, too. She was more unhappy.”

“How did she express being unhappy?”

“Pardon?”

“What did she say, Rianna?”

“Nothing. She turn her back, walk away.”

“Where’d she walk?”

“Into the action.”

“The dance floor.”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice her dancing with someone in particular?”

“I didn’t see.”

“At any time that night did she concentrate on one guy?”

“I didn’t see, no.”

“No one, the whole night?”

“Lots of people,” said Rianna. “I was busy.”

“With Matt.”

“With Matt here and here and here and here.” Grimacing and slapping her neck, shoulder, breast, rear.

Milo said, “Pesky guy, Matt.”

“Pesty, yes. Mr. Surfer-dude.”
Meester sorfer-doood.

“What time did you and Beth tell Katrina you were going with Sean and Matt?”

“Honest answer? I don’t know.”

“Take a guess.”

“Maybe one thirty, two. They want to get out of there.”

“Beth and Sean.”

“American love,” she said.

“What can you tell us about Katrina – the kind of person she is.”

“Kat, we call her Kat. After the big damage, never Katrina.”

“She doesn’t like being associated with a hurricane.”

“All the damage?” said Rianna Ijanovic. “It’s like being… a bad, wild-animal name.”

“Katrina’s not a wild girl.”

“An animal? No.”

“Is she wild in another way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she like to party?”

“Very much.”

“What else does she like?”

“Clothes.”

“Sounds like she found the perfect job.”

“Pardon?”

“ La Femme Boutique.”

“Too expensive,” said Rianna. “Even with employee discount. She make fun of the fat ladies in the big sizes.”

“Katrina doesn’t like the customers.”

“Old, fat, rich,” she singsonged. “Maybe remind her of Mother?”

“You ever meet her mother?”

“Never.”

“She’s skinny.”

“Okay.”

“Does Katrina have a thing about money?”

Confusion in the black eyes.

Milo said, “Is money really important to her?”

“Not to you?” said Rianna.

“I mean especially important. More than most people. Like, would she be impressed by a man with money?”

Rianna’s smiled spread slowly. “She should be impressed with losers?”

“Did she ever date anyone rich?”

“All the time I know her she never date anyone.”

“How long is that?”

“Two, three months.”

“How come no social life?”

“She says she never meet the right guys.”

“What about cars?”

“What about?”

“Did she have a special interest in cars?”

“Special… no. In the beginning she like her Mustang. Paid for by the rich stepdaddy.”

“She have something to say about him?”

Head shake. “Rich.”

“Why’d she stop liking the Mustang?”

Shrug. “Maybe she tired of it.”

“Katrina bores easily?”

“She move around – from thing to thing. Like a butterfly. ADD, you know? She say she have ADD in school. Lots of ADD in America, no? Lady customers talk to me about kids jumping like kangaroos. Everyone seeing psychiatrist.”

“Does Kat have a psychiatrist?”

“Don’t know – you ask these questions because her mother hire you to find her?”

“We work for the city, Rianna.”

“The city wants to find Kat?”

“If she’s been hurt.”

“I think not.”

“Why not?”

“ADD. Always like this.” Black irises zipped from side to side, bobbed up and down. “Jumping.”

“Restless,” said Milo.

“Not happy,” said Rianna Ijanovic. “Sometimes when she drinks, she talks about moving somewhere.”

“She drink a lot?”

“She like to drink.”

“Where does she talk about moving?”

“She never say, just somewhere. Not a happy girl. I don’t like being with her all the time. She… sometimes you can catch unhappy – like a cold, yes? She is Beth’s friend, I hang out.”

“Could we have Beth’s cell phone number, please?”

Rianna recited the digits. “Can I go back to work? I need this job.”

“Sure,” said Milo. “Thanks for your time. Here’s my card. If you hear from Kat, please let me know.”

“Yes. But I will not hear.”

“Why not?”

“If she call anyone, she call Beth.”

We walked her back to the front of the store. Before we reached the door, Milo said, “Did Kat ever talk about someone who owned really expensive cars – like a Ferrari, a Rolls-Royce – a Bentley.”

“She talk about a Bentley, but not a rich guy.”

“Who?”

“Some guy she used to date. Big loser, dirty hands.”

“A mechanic.”

“Greased-monkey she call him.” Rianna Ijanovic laughed.

“What’s funny?” said Milo.

“Greasy little
monkey.
” Her hands climbed the air in front of her. “It sound funny.”

“What’s this grease-monkey’s name?”

“Maybe… Clyde? I don’t know for sure.”

“Clyde what?”

“Clyde Greased-monkey.” Laughing louder, she swung the door open and hurried back to the world of cover-up.

I drove out of the Barneys lot and Milo worked the phone. “Clyde the Bentley boy, shouldn’t be a feat of detection.”

He started with the main dealership on the Westside. O’Malley Premium Motors was on the east end of Beverly Hills but the service facility was on Pico, in Santa Monica.

Minutes from the Light My Fire.

Milo called, asked for Clyde, said, “Yeah, that’s him – is he in? Thanks. No, not necessary.”

Click.

“Not Clyde,
Clive.
Probably a chips and ale and darts kinda guy. And tinkering with high-priced British metal as we speak.”

O’Malley Premium Motors Service and Maintenance was a gray wedge of front office glued onto a taller brick garage. A few nondescript cars were parked in the employee lot, soaking up sun and pollution. Off to the left in a covered
Customers Only!
area sat a few million bucks’ worth of status symbol.

Milo said, “Pull in next to that blue Rolls.”

“Don’t I need to be preapproved?”

He slapped the Seville’s vinyl dash. “How many miles on this masterpiece?”

“Sixty thou on the second engine.”

“Endurance beats flash anytime, son. You are officially a classic.”

The waiting area was a sliver of space facing an empty coffeemaker. No chairs, no reading material, no one waiting. Behind a glass partition, a black woman wearing reading glasses moved columns of numbers around a computer screen.

Milo rapped on the glass. The partition slid open. “How can I help you?”

He introduced himself and asked for Clive.

“Clive Hatfield? Why?”

“We’d just like to talk to him.”

She pushed a button on an intercom. “Clive to front desk. Front desk for Clive.”

Milo said, “Not too many customers today.”

“We call them clients,” she said. “They rarely come here.”

“Pickup and delivery?”

“Those people expect it. We used to do it free. Now we charge a hundred dollars a trip and no one complains.”

“The age of lowered expectations.”

“Pardon?”

“The cost of gas, huh?”

“That’s what the bosses say.”

“Who does the pickup and delivery?”

“The same guys who detail the cars.”

“Not the mechanics?”

“With what they get paid? I don’t think so.”

“Skilled job.”

“That’s what they say.”

“How long’s Clive been working here?”

She edged closer to the glass. “You suspect him of something?”

“Not at all.”

“Routine questions,” she said. “Like on TV.”

“You got it.”

“If you say so.” She returned to her computer.

We waited five minutes before Milo asked her to page Hatfield again.

She said, “Maybe he’s doing something noisy and didn’t hear.”

“We can go back and look for him.”

“No, that’s okay.” She repeated the page. Before the announcement faded, the door opened behind us and a reedy voice said, “I heard you the first time, Esther.”

Definite accent, but not chips and ale. Maybe Sweet Home Alabama.

Esther muttered, “He’s all yours.”

Clive Hatfield wiped blackened hands on a rag not much cleaner than his skin. Early thirties, tall and bowlegged in gray pin-striped coveralls, he had long, lank brown hair tinted brass at the tips, bushy sideburns, a tiny crushed nose. Squinty eyes looked us over while he worked at the grease. As some of the grime relented, I noticed a pallid band of flesh circling his left ring finger.

“Yeah?”

Esther said, “These are the police, here to see you.”

“The police – what the… this is for real?”

Milo said, “Let’s talk outside.” Hatfield hesitated, then followed.

We passed near a bright red Continental GT coupe that Hatfield regarded with distaste.

Milo said, “Kind of garish.”

Shrug. “It’s their money. Where are y’all taking me?”

“Here,” said Milo, stopping at the Seville.

Hatfield’s face tightened as he checked out my car. “This is a cop drive? What, some sort of undercover thing?” He ran a finger along the top of the Seville’s hood, left a gray trail. “GM used a Chevy Two chassis on these, gussied it up and quadrupled the price.”

Milo said, “I hear the Bentley Continental’s an Audi with interior decorating.”

Hatfield stashed the rag in a rear pocket. “You’re into wheels? What do y’all drive when you’re not working?”

“Porsche 928.”

“Not bad for what it was. But give me a Carrera any day.”

“Clive, we’re here about Katrina Shonsky.”

Hatfield brushed hair from his eyes. Grazed his nubby nose in the process, left a greasy dot on the tip. “What about her?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“What, she’s in trouble?”

“If you could just answer the question.”

“The last time… so she did get herself in trouble, figures.” Hatfield pulled a hard pack of Salems from a side pocket, blew smoke toward the scoop-mouth of a black Aston Martin. “The last time was when she got all dramatic and kicked my ass out of her crib… I’d have to say… three months ago.”

“Lovers’ spat?”

“There was never no love,” said Hatfield, smiling. “Only you-know-what.”

“Physical relationship.”

“Just physical, no relationship,” said Hatfield. “I picked her up in a bar, we went out a few times. The girl knows how to put on an act. In bed, I mean. Goes all crazy like she’s gonna explode. I finally figured out she was faking and told her so. That’s when she kicked me out.”

“Which bar?”

“Which bar…” Hatfield scratched his head.

“Doesn’t seem like a real tough question, Clive.”

“Me and her went to a bunch a them, can’t remember right off. I live in North Hollywood, she’s in Van Nuys, but she wanted to drink in Sherman Oaks, Studio City, said it was upscale… the first time I’d have to say was at… nope, not a bar-bar, the first time was a restaurant, this French-type place… Chez Maurice. I was eating a steak and she was at the bar and when I went to the bathroom I saw her ass on the stool and moseyed back. Good-looking girl, the light shined on her hair, making it look all goldy. Small but a great bod. We talked real easy, she went along real easy and just like that we’re at her place. A few days later I called her and we started hanging out. But nothing serious.”

“How long did you date her?”

“How long… I’d have to say two and a half, three months. Then it got you-know-what.”

“What?”

“Complicated,” said Hatfield. “Lotsa drama, like with all girls. So what’d she do to get herself in trouble?”

“Why would she do anything?”

“The girl has no discipline.”

“About what?”

“She drinks too much – crazy Long Island Teas, taste like iced piss. Sometimes she smokes too much you-know-what. Sometimes she packs her nose with too much you-know-what. For me it’s one beer, maybe two. I don’t get next to that shit.”

“Drama and dope,” said Milo.

“Y’all would be surprised how many of them are like that.” He smoked, waited for a comment that never arrived. “I keep it real. Used to do some racing back in Pass Christian. Gotta keep the reflexes sharp.”

“Where’s Pass Christian?”

“Mississippi.”

“NASCAR?”

“Some Pro Street, some Dixie Sportsman. I can drive in my sleep.”

“Katrina overindulges,” said Milo. “So maybe her reflexes aren’t that great.”

“For her,” said Hatfield, “it’s all about fun. I’m working extra shifts to make my child support and she wants steak and lobster. She thought I was a hillbilly, we never really got along. She’s a shitty driver. One time I let her drive my Vette, she nearly stripped the gears, after that no way was she getting near it. When I told her, she got pissed off. What, she get into a smashup in that Mustang of hers and hurt someone?”

“Did she ever visit you here?”

Hatfield removed the filthy rag and passed it from one hand to another. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“How many times?”

“Maybe… twice. Yeah, twice, the second time she got me in trouble, marching back into the service bay like she owns it, asking for me. No one goes back there except us specialists.”

“Like an operating room,” said Milo.

“What?”

“You guys are like doctors working on patients, bosses want to keep it under control.”

“You got that, I
am
like a doctor,” said Hatfield, holding up blackened hands. “Some of the other guys are more like butchers.” Crooked smile. “If the clients knew what went on back there.”

“So Katrina dropped in twice.”

“Dropped in is exactly right, I never invited her, she just dropped in. The second time she brought me lunch. Some sort of vegan shit, noodles, whatever. I told her forget it.”

“By then the relationship was fading.”

“There
was
no relationship. Too much drama.”

I said, “But for two, three months you put up with it.”

“That was ’cause of all the you-know-what. And no way there was ever gonna
be
any relationship because I was married.” Massaging the band of pale skin.

I said, “Did your divorce have anything to do with Kat?”

Hatfield laughed. “Hell, no. It had to do with we got married when we were seventeen, had four kids in four years, and got sick as shit of each other. She took ’em all and went back to Columbus.”

“She know about Kat?”

“None a her business.” He grinned and rubbed a knuckle. “It ain’t like Kat was the one and only.”

Milo said, “You’re a player.”

“I work hard, she got nothing to complain,” said Hatfield. “Support her and the kids and bust my ass to do it. If I want a little play, no one’s gonna tell me different.”

“Did you ever meet any of Kat’s friends?”

“Nope, and she never met any of mine. It was all-”

“You-know-what.”

“’Zactly.” Hatfield dropped his cigarette to the asphalt, ground it out slowly. “You ain’t gonna tell me what she did?”

“She’s missing.”

“Missing? So what? She was always missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d booty-call her and she’d be nowhere. Few days later, she’d booty-call me, brag about how she was in Mexico, Hawaii, whatever. Brag about how she met some rich guy and he paid her bills while she was there, she’s eating lobster and snow crab and filet mignon and not paying a dime for any of it. When she got like that, I knew it was gonna be trouble.”

“How so?”

“She’d be
expecting
shit. Y’all really think something happened to her?”

“She’s been gone over a week.”

“Big deal. She just gets up and goes.”

I said, “Do you ever get to drive the cars?”

“Huh – yeah, all the time, for testing.”

“Short spins around the block?”

“Depends on the problem. If the client’s claiming there’s a brake squeak after he drives it for ten minutes, you got to drive it for ten minutes. Why, y’all want a ride?”

“Did Kat ever ask for a ride?”

Hatfield scratched his head. “Why would she do that?”

I said, “Goes with lobster and filet mignon.”

He didn’t answer.

I said, “Did she nag you?”

“Why you asking this?”

“She told her friend you drove her around in one of the Bentleys.”

Smooth lie; sometimes I surprise myself. Milo turned his head, so Hatfield couldn’t see his lips turn up.

Hatfield’s squinty eyes showed a little white. “She said that?”

“She sure did.”

“Who says she’s telling the truth?”

I said, “A girl starts nagging, it can be a pain.”

No answer.

Milo said, “Clive?”

Hatfield said, “Why would I admit to that?”

Milo said, “Clive, we couldn’t care less about your bosses, we’re just trying to get a feel for the type of girl Kat is.”

“The type of girl? She’s pushy, is what she is. Yeah, she kept nagging on me, pushing that bod against me, telling me what she’d do if I gave her just a little ride pretty please.” Raising his voice to an alto whine. “There was one I had to test anyway, so I took her along.”

Milo said, “What kind of car was it?”

“Rolls Phantom.”

“Not an Arnage?”

“I know the difference, man.”

“Was that first time she dropped in or the second?”

“The first time,” said Hatfield. “That’s why she came
back
the second time.”

“Figuring you’d do it again.”

“Figuring she owns the place now. Walking straight back and saying where’s Clive. Running straight into the service manager.”

“The first time she waited out in front?”

“Paged me. Like y’all did. I was busy, took my time getting out. She got pissed. We’re alone for a second, she’s nagging on me.”

I said, “Ever take her for a spin in a Bentley?”

“No, just the Roller.”

“Who owned it?”

“They don’t tell us that.”

“She enjoy the ride?”

“Sure,” said Hatfield. “She’s all about the green, hooking up with a rich guy, showing up her mother. ’Cause she hates her mother. That’s her word, not mine. Stupid.”

“What is?”

“Thinking someone’s smart because a their drive. Let me tell you what it is: Rich assholes spend all that money to show off and then they get scared and never take the shit outta their garage. It’s like I got money and I’m shoving it all up in your face but
uh-oh
now I’m chickenshit someone’s gonna notice me and take everything away from my chickenshit self.”

Milo laughed.

Hatfield said, “You bet it’s funny.” He lit up another cigarette. “Y’all find Kat, tell her she can call me if she wants, I’ll even pretend she ain’t faking it. Been married most of my life so I know about faking.”

He moved to leave but Milo held him back, asked the kind of loose, follow-up questions designed to relax. Hatfield got a bit more amiable, told a filthy joke about a woman, a raccoon, and an exhaust pipe. But he had nothing more to say about Kat Shonsky. When Milo asked him where he’d been the night she disappeared, he said, “Usually, I couldn’t tell y’all shit about where I am. But lucky for me, this one I know. I was back in Columbus. My older daughter had a birthday.”

“When’d you arrive and leave?”

“Y’all don’t believe me?”

“Routine question,” said Milo. “Help us clear it up and we’re outta your hair.”

“Awright, awright… when’d I arrive… hmm… got to be the Thursday before y’all say she went partying. Stayed in Columbus for four days and drove to Biloxi to visit my mother. She’s in a nursing home, when I’m there I take her to the casino, wheel her chair in front of a machine till she loses all her quarters. Two days after that, I came back here. I’d say check my time card but I don’t want no trouble with the bosses so don’t screw me, okay? I’m being straight with you.”