False Prophet (48 page)

“Whose words?”

“What Mike Ness said to Eubie Jeffers.
You got my
sister involved,
you fuckhead
! Margie, don’t you
see
it? That implies that Eubie roped Kelley into doing the dirty work. But the way Kelley tells it, she roped Eubie. We got a contradiction here.”

The room went quiet. Decker stood and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Let’s play it like this, Margie. Mike screamed at Eubie: You got my sister involved. Then Eubie answered back something like: I couldn’t do it myself, Mike. That means Mike asked Eubie for help. Then Eubie asked Kelley to help him.”

“Why would Eubie help Mike?”

Decker thought a moment, then said, “Simple. Mike covered for Eubie the night of Lilah’s rape. I see Ness as the middleman between Davida and Eubie. Who knows? Ness might have checked out the murder scene first before sending Eubie over. Maybe Ness even removed the guns. He left the hard part — the removal of the bodies — to Eubie.” He paused. “Why did Kelley Ness insist that she masterminded the plot and take the heat for Mike?”

“Well, she could be protecting Mike,” Marge said. “Of course, that contradicts your theory of Mike as the protective older brother.”

Decker said, “So then the question is: Why did Mike
allow
his sister to take the heat?”

Marge said, “It seems to me, if Mike Ness was willing to let his sister take the heat for him, she must be protecting him against something big. Now I find this annual under a floorboard….” She paused. “Maybe we should stop looking for dirt on Kelley and start hunting for info about Mike. Something Davida had on
him
!”

“Okay,” Decker said. “He’s two years older than Kelley. That would have made him a senior.”

“I skimmed the seniors,” Marge said. “He wasn’t there at first glance. You give it a whirl.”

Decker checked and didn’t find his picture in the graduating roster. He leafed through the list until he came to the final page — Wendy Wyster, Jackie Zallero, Mark Zipp….

Then a column of names; seniors whose pictures were not shown. Decker ran the tip of his finger down the column. “Here he is, Marge. Michael—” He stopped himself, then stared at the name. “Holy shit, that’s
Michelle
Ness.”

Marge peered at the page. “Must be a misprint.”

Decker turned back to Denise’s inscription to Kelley.

I know this has been the most trying of trying times for you and for
Mitchy,
too
.

Mitchy
.

And then things began to click: The pretty face, the surprisingly bony frame, the defined muscles without the bulk, even the ballet lessons. Who in heartland America gave their
son
ballet lessons?

“Marge, I don’t think that’s a misprint. I think Mike Ness is or was a girl.”

“What!”

“He’s pretty. You said it yourself—”

“Yeah, but Pete—”

“Androgynous looking—”

“Pete—”

“Not physically prepossessing—”

“He’s slight, but most smaller-than-average men look slight to me.”

“He moves with grace—”

“He had ballet lessons.”

“A boy taking ballet?”

“It happens sometimes. That’s why we have Nureyevs and Baryshnikovs. Pete, the guy may be small but he’s very masculine. The way he talks, the way he
swaggers
.”

“You’re right, Marge. He isn’t effeminate. But that still doesn’t negate his size.”

“He isn’t
that
small.”

“It ain’t the height or even the muscles. Hell, he could take steroids and build up some biceps. It’s his
frame
. He’s
bony
.”

Marge thought about the first time she’d questioned Kelley about the sexual harassment suit against Mike Ness.
If you knew my brother, you’d know how inane the suit is
. Then she felt her eyes widen.

“Oh, my God!”

“What is it?”

“The hairs, Peter! The ones used to match against the semen found on Lilah’s sheets. Buck found a bag of
female
hairs. He thought I fucked up.
I
thought I fucked up. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I just gave him
Mike’s
hair and it was really
Michelle’s
hair!
That
would explain the female banding. You can change your dick, but you can’t change your DNA.” Marge shook her head in amazement. “You can’t make up stuff as weird as this.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Decker picked up the phone, asked the operator the area code for Fountainville, then dialed local information, asking for the number of the hall of records. He hung up and punched in the number.

“Quarter to five,” Decker said. “Think someone’s still there?”

“Should be. But we’re talking civil servants.”

“Like us.”

Marge socked him. Unlike Rina, his partner could do damage if she wanted to. A moment later the voice cut through the line. Decker said a silent thank you and identified himself. After being put on hold, being transferred from one department to another, he finally found a person who could help him. Miss Jones.

“Do you have the birth date of this Michelle Ness, Sergeant?”

“Just a sec.” He turned to Marge. “Look through my stuff. Scott Oliver gave me a copy of Mike Ness’s blank yellow sheet. To pull it, he must have had Ness’s birth date. See if it’s on the sheet.”

Marge scavenged through Decker’s illegible notes and found the computer printout. “It’s here. Six-one-sixty-five.”

Decker gave the numbers to Miss Jones. She told him to hold for a moment.

“No guarantees he was born in Fountainville, Pete.”

“It’s a start.”

“You know, Pete, if Mike was a Michelle, it would make sense for Kelley to protect him even for a low-grade felony. Imagine him going to jail. Wherever they put him, she’d
know
he was going to have mucho problems.”

“Absolutely.”

Marge smiled. “He is a nice-looking guy.”

“Pretty.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty.”

“Sergeant?” Miss Jones said.

Decker returned his attention to the phone. “Yes?”

“Sergeant, I don’t have anything for a Michelle Ness. But we do have a Michael Ness born six-one-sixty-five. Would you like a copy of his birth certificate?”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Sergeant?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Miss Jones, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Is it possible for you to look at the birth certificate?”

“You mean right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“It’ll take me a moment. It’s on microfiche.”

“I’ll hold,” Decker said.

Marge said, “You look like you just sucked on lemons.”

“No Michelle Ness,” Decker said, “only Michael.”

Marge returned the sour look. “Well, that shoots that theory to hell. Damn, it would have been nice to discover something we could
use
to get to
Davida
. Why are you still on the phone?”

“I’m having her look up the birth certificate. I want her to tell me if it has the word
male
on it under sex.”

“Thorough,” Marge said.

“Always,” Decker said.

Miss Jones came back on the line. “I have a Xerox copy of Mr. Ness’s birth certificate. Would you like me to fax it to you?”

“In a moment. I need you to tell me one thing. Under sex of the baby, what does it say?”

“Sex?” She sounded confused. “It says
male… M
, actually.”

Decker sighed. “You’re sure?”

She laughed. “Of course I’m sure.”

“The name on the birth certificate is Michael Ness?” Decker tried again.

“Yes, Michael Ness… Michael Steven Ness.”

“Okay, thank you for your help, Miss Jones. I’m going to give you a fax number now.” He recited the station house’s number, thanked her again, and hung up.

“Mikey’s a boy,” Decker said. “It was probably a simple misprint. Should we call it a day, Detective?”

“Pete, how’d Kingston Merritt break into Lilah’s inner safe?”

Decker said, “I know. Let’s ask
Davida
.”

They both laughed. Then the room fell silent for a moment until they both heard a key being inserted into the front door. Decker held his fingers to his lips. A moment later the door opened cautiously, then all the way. Mike Ness tiptoed inside, then stopped short, his eyes focused upon their faces.

Marge said, “
Surprise!
We’re
still
here!”

“I’ll come back later,” Ness said.

Decker held up the yearbook. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Ness turned white.

Decker laid the
album on the coffee table, watched Ness settle his gaze on the yearbook. He said, “How’s it going, Mike?”

The blue eyes snapped up and focused on Decker’s face.

Marge said, “Come in and take a load off.”

Ness shut the door quietly. He was dressed in cutoff jeans, a pea-green muscle shirt, and Nikes. His legs were exposed and exhibited a fair amount of black hair. Long hair under his armpits as well. He took a gulp from a thermos, then wiped his wet mouth with his arm.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Ness said, “Davida’s lawyer already sprung Eubie and my sister on their own recognizance last night. Kell and Eubie were back at work this morning. That must mean you don’t have anything substantial on them.”

Decker waited.

Ness said, “As far as Davida goes…” He let out a soft laugh. “You think you have Freddy, don’t you? Forget it, Sergeant. His balls are in Davida’s pocket. She’ll coo him… and woo him… he’ll come around. You wasted your time.”

Marge said, “Everyone’s a critic.”

Ness said, “My sister’s an A student without a record. If you can’t make murder stick — and you won’t be able to because she didn’t kill anybody — what are we talking about? Two-year probation for obstruction of justice and evidence tampering… something like that.”

“Are you asking my opinion?” Decker said.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Decker said, “I can’t answer for the legal system. Is there something on your mind, Mike?”

Ness’s eyes went to the yearbook. “You need that thing?”

“It’s evidence,” Decker said.

“For what?”

Decker wasn’t sure, but he didn’t answer.

Ness looked down. “Look, Detective… all that book can do is further fuck up my already fucked-up life. Right now, you don’t have a case. You may never
get
a case. But if you give me the annual, then maybe I’ll give you a little lesson in theory.”

Decker remained silent.

“You know, fill in a couple of blanks,” Ness said. “Just as long as you know it’s just my
opinion
. I don’t care what you threaten me with, I’ll never go against Davida.”

“Why are you protecting her?” Marge said.

“It’s not because of any loyalty or anything like that.” Slowly, Ness walked over to the bar and poured himself a finger’s worth of Chivas. “But you just can’t go against Davida and come out a winner. If you can’t beat ’em, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

“You have something on your mind, Mike?” Marge said.

“Not particularly.” Ness sipped Scotch. “Look, you don’t have anything against me. And you won’t get anything against me as long as I stay mum about Davida. You want some information — rather, I should say, some of my words of wisdom, fine. If not… I’m out of here. As far as that goes” — he pointed to the album — “I can’t force you not to show it to Lilah, but it would be nice if you didn’t. It would probably cost me and Kelley our jobs. Lilah’s kinda squeamish.”

Decker picked up the yearbook and leafed through it. “Michelle Ness, huh?”

Ness paled but didn’t answer. Decker felt his brain buzz. What was the big secret? Was he cross-dressed as a kid? Did his parents mutilate his genitals? Decker placed the album in his lap. “Mike, you want to make some conversation, it’s your choice.”

“Just as long as you know we’re only talking in hypothetical terms. So what pearls would you like to fish from my wondrous brain?”

Marge said, “How’d Kingston Merritt get into Lilah’s inner safe?”

“I’d say someone hid a high-tech camera inside Lilah’s closet and taped her opening her safe.”

“Your little
video
camera,” Marge said.

“So
that’s
why they call you a
detective
!”

“Can we dispense with cute remarks?” Decker said.

Ness blew out a mouthful of air. “I’m sorry. I get obnoxious when I’m nervous. I wouldn’t think it was that camera exactly. But it was something similar — a basic hand-held camcorder which was modified — the motor quieted and hooked up to the ceiling fan in Lilah’s closet. You know, so every time she’d close the closet door and turn on the light, the fan and the camera would kick in automatically. The fan noise blocked out the sound of the running motor.”

“How long did it take you to tape the combinations?” Decker asked.

“Me, I couldn’t tell you ’cause I don’t do illegal things. But it might take a person an average of seven months — about twenty different shots and angles. Even then it would be hard to read the tapes real clearly. It might even take another month of fiddling with the dial before the person would finally hit the right combination. But that person would be real smart afterward and destroy all the tapes.”

“Why didn’t you just take the memoirs when you finally got the safe opened?” Marge asked.

“I never said I opened the safe—”

“Mike.”

“I just suggested how an inner safe might be opened.”

“So why wouldn’t that person just take the contents of the safe after he had opened it?”

“You’d probably have to ask the Queen Bee on that one. She had real specific ways of how she wanted it handled. You know — one getting the combination, another distracting the victim by taking her out to dinner, and still another doing the actual theft. Miss Q-Bee would want as many people involved as possible. The more dirt she had on people, the better. Then she could use them and abuse them.”

“What was the payoff?” Marge asked.

“Different strokes for different folks. For a doctor doing funny things with fetuses, it would be lots of money — much more than he could ever hope to get by doing Paps. For the weaker son, it would be
approval
from Mama and maybe a few spare bucks to keep him happy. With people like lowly little me, it would be blackmail. Maybe I wouldn’t want certain things about my past made public to my boss — ruin my job and my sister’s.”