Hello, Darkness (19 page)

“Maddie Robinson was last seen on the shore of Lake Travis, where a large group of young people were celebrating the start of summer break. She and the roommate got separated. The roommate went home alone, assuming that Maddie had found a partner for the night. This was nothing unusual. But when Maddie hadn’t come home twenty-four hours later, she notified the police.

“I wasn’t assigned the case, so it didn’t spring immediately to my mind. The trail got cold for the CIB detectives who were investigating, and the case got turned over to the other unit.” Summary complete, he took a deep breath.

“So this happened roughly around the time spring semester ended?”

“Late last May. The body was found June twentieth. Do you have recorded calls from that far back?”

“In my files. Shall I bring you duplicates?”

“ASAP. Please.”

“Stan?”

He jumped when Paris walked into her office and caught him seated behind her desk. He recovered quickly and greeted her with a glum, “Hey.”

She tossed her handbag onto the pile of printed material on her desk. “You’re in my seat.”

Before coming into her office, she had gone to the storage room and retrieved several CDs containing recorded call-ins that she’d had transferred off the Vox Pro. She’d left them with an engineer and asked him to duplicate their contents onto audiocassettes.

“Cassettes? That’s working backward, isn’t it?” he’d grumbled.

Without wanting to explain that the CIB was still working with audiocassettes, she simply said, “Thanks,” and left before he had an opportunity to refuse her odd request.

“What are you doing in my office?” she asked Stan now as she replaced him in her chair. As he’d done the night before, he cleared a corner of her desk and perched there, uninvited.

“Because I don’t rate an office, and this was the most private place to wait.”

“For what?”

“My uncle Wilkins. He’s in a conference with the GM.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

“Why, what’d you do?”

He took exception. “How come everybody automatically assumes that I screwed up?”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Then why is your uncle Wilkins having a conference about you with our GM?”

“Because of that goddamn phone call.”

“Valentino’s phone call?”

“It churned up some stuff. My uncle flew out here in the company jet early this morning, called and woke me up, ordered me to meet him here, and he meant immediately. So I break my neck to get here, and he’s already behind closed doors. I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“What ‘stuff’?”

Rather than answer her question, he asked one of his own.

“Do I do a good job around here, Paris?”

She shook her head with amusement and dismay. “Stan, you don’t do any job around here.”

“I’m here every single weeknight until two o’clock in the freaking morning.”

“You’re here in body. You occupy space. But you don’t do any work.”

“Because nothing ever goes wrong with any of the machines.”

“If it did, would you know how to correct it?”

“Maybe. I’m good with gadgets,” he said petulantly.

“‘Gadgets’ isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe millions of dollars’ worth of electronics. Do you even understand radio technology, Stan?”

“Do
you?
”

“I don’t have the title of engineer.”

He was a spoiled brat, prone to whining. On any given night she felt like throttling him for his incompetence and casual approach to his job. Ineptitude was forgivable, but indifference wasn’t. Not in her book, anyway.

Every time she spoke into her microphone, she was aware that hundreds of thousands of people were listening to her. She was touching them with her voice, in their cars and where they lived. She became a partner in whatever they were doing at the time.

To her the listening audience wasn’t just a six-digit number on which to base an advertising rate. Each number represented an individual who was giving her his time and to whom she owed the best programming she could provide.

Stan had never considered the human factor of their audience. Or if he had, it hadn’t been translated into work. He’d never shown any initiative. He put in his time, counting the minutes until sign-off, and then rushed out to do whatever it was that he did.

But in spite of all that, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He wasn’t here by choice. His future had been dictated the second he was born into the Crenshaw family. His uncle was a childless bachelor. Stan was an only child. When his father died, he became the heir apparent to the media empire, like it or not.

No one in the corporation seemed willing to accept or admit that he was uninterested and ill-equipped to assume control when his uncle Wilkins stepped down, which probably wouldn’t be until he was pronounced dead.

“I’m learning the business from the bottom up,” he told Paris sulkily. “I need to know a little about every aspect of it so I’ll be ready when it’s time for me to take over. At least that’s what Uncle Wilkins thinks.”

“What stuff did Valentino’s call churn up?”

His mouth twisted into a scornful frown. “It’s nothing.”

“It was enough to get your uncle Wilkins in a spin.”

He heaved a huge sigh. “Before I was assigned—read ‘banished’—to this swell radio station, I was working at our TV station in Jacksonville, Florida. Compared to this dump, it was paradise. I had a fling with one of the female employees.”

“Then you’re not gay?”

He reacted as if he’d been jabbed in the spine with a hot poker. “Gay? Who says I’m gay?”

“There’s been speculation.”

“Gay? Jesus! I hate these stupid rednecks around here. If you don’t drive a dual-axle pickup, drink Bud from a bottle, and dress like the Sundance Kid, you’re queer.”

“What about the woman in Florida?”

He picked up a paper clip and began reshaping it. “We got carried away in the office. Next thing I know, she’s crying sexual harassment.”

“Which was untrue?”

“Yes, Paris, it was untrue,” he said, enunciating each word.

“The charge was as bogus as her thirty-six-C cups. I didn’t coerce her into having sex with me. In fact, she was on top.”

“More information than I needed, Stan.”

“Anyhow, she filed suit. Uncle Wilkins settled out of court, but it cost him a bundle. He got pissed at
me,
not her. Can you believe that? Said, ‘How stupid do you have to be to take your dick out at work?’ I asked him if he’d ever heard of Bill Clinton. A remark he didn’t appreciate, especially since all our newspapers had endorsed him for president.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here, serving time.” He tossed the now-misshapen paper clip into the wastebasket. It made a soft ping when it struck the metal bottom. “And that’s why he hopped the company jet and flew here this morning.”

Paris could guess the rest. “After you told him about being questioned by the police, Wilkins thought he should come to Austin and make certain this unfortunate episode in Florida didn’t rear its ugly head.”

“He called it damage control.”

“Spoken like a true corporate godfather.”

She now had the picture. Stan had been foisted onto 101.3 as punishment for mixing business with pleasure. Uncle Wilkins had omitted telling management about the incident with the company employee, but felt he should explain it now before the Austin PD uncovered it and suspicion was cast on his nephew.

“Was that the only incident, Stan?”

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her from his lofty angle. “What do you mean?”

“The question was simple enough. Yes or no?”

The starch went out of him then. “That was the only time, and, believe me, I learned my lesson. I’ll never touch another employee.”

“As an owner, that could make you vulnerable to litigation.”

“I wish somebody had warned me about that before I went to Jacksonville.”

Paris passed up telling him he shouldn’t have had to be warned. That was a policy he should have adopted without being told. She also refrained from calling him a creep for doing it under any circumstances.

He looked across at her with a wounded expression. “Everybody thinks I’m gay?”

How like Stan to prioritize the least important point. “You dress too well.”

The electrician who’d duplicated the recordings stepped in to tell her that the cassettes were ready and that he’d left them for her at the lobby desk.

“More cassettes?” Stan said.

“This may not be the first time Valentino heralded a murder by calling me.”

“What happened last night after you and Malloy raced out of here? I gather you didn’t catch Valentino.”

“No, unfortunately.” She told him about the pay phone at the Wal-Mart store. “Patrol cars were there within minutes, but no one was around.”

“I heard about the missing girl on the news this morning. Front page of the paper, too.”

She nodded, recalling the quote from Judge Kemp. Janey’s parents were holding fast to their belief that her absence was by choice, which, to Paris’s mind, was a monumental mistake. On the other hand, she hoped they were right.

She stood up and gathered her handbag, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you tonight, Stan.”

“Who’s Dean Malloy?”

The question came from out of the blue and caught her off guard. “I told you. Staff psychologist for the APD.”

“Who moonlights as a bodyguard?” He gave her a sardonic look. “When I dropped off those cassettes at your house last night, the cop told me that Malloy was inside with you.”

“I’m missing your point.”

“Deliberately, I think. Who is Malloy to
you,
Paris?”

If she didn’t tell him, he might go digging on his own and learn more than she preferred him to know. “He and I knew each other in Houston years ago.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m guessing you knew each other pretty well.”

“Not pretty well, Stan,
very
well. He was Jack’s best friend.”

Closing the conversation with that, she stepped around him and moved toward the door. But at the threshold, she paused and turned back. “What do you know about Marvin?”

“Only that he’s a jerk.”

“Is he into computers, the Internet?”

He snuffled. “Like I would know. I haven’t exchanged more than a few grunts with him. Why the sudden interest?”

She hesitated, not knowing if Marvin’s apparent flight was information that Curtis would want to be shared. “No reason. See you tonight.”

Paris and Sergeant Curtis sequestered themselves in a small interrogation room and sat across from each other at a scarred table. On it were the portable recorder he had used the day before and the cassette tapes she had brought from the radio station.

They began their search for Valentino’s calls by listening to tapes recorded up to a week before Maddie Robinson’s disappearance. Yesterday she and Dean had agreed that Valentino was altering his voice. The affectation made it distinctive and instantly recognizable, thereby allowing her to fast-forward past voices obviously not his.

Curtis left briefly to get them fresh coffees. When he returned, Paris told him excitedly, “I think I’ve found it. We don’t have a date-and-time stamp like we would on the Vox Pro, but it’s on a cassette of recordings made about that time. He was especially morose that night, but I aired this call anyway. His statements provoked follow-up calls that kept my phone lines busy for hours.”

Curtis resumed his seat. “You made him a celebrity for the evening.”

“Unwittingly, I assure you. Ready?” She started the tape.

Women are unfaithful, Paris. Why is that? You’re a woman. When you’ve got a man practically eating out of your hand, why would you want another? Isn’t quality better than quantity?

I’m sorry you’re unhappy tonight, Valentino.

I’m not unhappy, I’m angry.

Not every woman is unfaithful.

That’s been my experience.

You just haven’t found the right woman yet. Would you like to hear a special song tonight?

Like what?

Barbra Streisand sings a wonderful rendition of “Cry Me a River.” It’s a cliché, but what goes around comes around.

Play the song, Paris. But even if she gets dumped the way she dumped me, it won’t be the retribution she should receive.

Paris stopped the cassette and looked across at Curtis, who was thoughtfully twirling his ring around his finger again. He said, “I guess the retribution he felt she deserved was to choke her to death and bury her body in a goddamn cow pasture. Excuse my French.”

Paris lowered her head into her hands and massaged her temples. “I never would have gathered from what he said that he was plotting to kill her.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re not a mind reader.”

“I didn’t detect a real threat in what he said.”

“No one would have. And anyway, we’re still guessing. Valentino may have no connection whatsoever to Maddie Robinson.”

She lowered her hands and looked at him. “But you think they’re connected, don’t you?”

Before he could answer, John Rondeau pushed open the door. He smiled brightly at Paris. “Good morning.”

“Hi, John.”

He seemed pleased that she remembered his name. “Making progress?”

“We think so.”

“So am I.” He looked at Curtis. “Can I see you outside for a minute?”

Curtis got up. “Back in a sec.”

“I’ll see if I can find any other calls from Valentino.”

The detective left with the younger man and was gone much longer than a sec. By the time he returned, she had scored again. “This call is on the same cassette, which means they couldn’t have come in more than a few days apart.

“He’s a totally different Valentino. Very upbeat. He claims that the unfaithful lover is ‘out of his life’ and he stresses the word ‘forever.’ You’ll hear on the tape the difference in his mood.” Sensing that Curtis was only half-listening and seemed distracted, she paused to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe. I hate to think this might be bad, but…” He ran his hand around the back of his thick neck as though it had suddenly begun to ache. “I suppose you know that Malloy has a son.”

“Gavin.”

“You know him?”

“I knew him as a little boy. I haven’t seen him since he was ten.” Curtis’s anxiety was evident. She felt a stab of fear for Dean.

“Why, Sergeant? What about Gavin? What’s happened?”

Chapter Eighteen

“G
avin?”

“Yeah?”

Dean pushed open his son’s bedroom door and went in. “Boot up your computer.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Gavin was lying on his bed watching ESPN. He should have something more constructive to do than watch a replay of a soccer game between two European teams. Why wasn’t he up and dressed, doing something rather than lazing in bed?

Because I haven’t made him,
Dean thought.

He had a lazy son because he’d been a lazy parent. Trying to make Gavin get off his butt hadn’t been worth the quarrels that invariably followed. Lately, to avoid a hassle, he’d let a lot of things go. He shouldn’t have. He wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest with Gavin. He wasn’t his buddy, his pastor, or his therapist. He was his father. It was past time for him to start exercising stricter parental authority.

He snatched the remote control from Gavin’s hand and switched off the television set. “Boot up your computer,” he repeated.

Gavin sat up. “What for?”

“I think you know.”

“No I don’t.”

The disrespectful tone and insolent expression stoked Dean’s temper. He felt it smoldering like a nugget of coal inside his chest. But he wouldn’t yield to it. He would not.

He said tightly, “We can go straight to the police station, where they’re waiting to interrogate you about Janey Kemp’s disappearance, or you can boot up your goddamn computer so at least I’ll know what we’re up against when I get you down there. Either way, your days of jerking me around are over.”

He had stayed home this morning to organize and type his notes on a suspect he had interviewed several days ago. The detective overseeing that case was growing impatient with the delay.

He knew that if he went to his office, he couldn’t have concentrated on anything except Paris and the case in which she was involved. He couldn’t have kept himself out of the CIB, where he knew she and Curtis would be listening to her tapes.

So he’d called Ms. Lester, told her he would be working at home, and forced himself to tackle the overdue report. He had just finished it when Robert Curtis called and gave him what could be life-altering news.

“The police want to question me?” Gavin asked. “How come?”

Dean had been clinging to a thread of hope that John Rondeau had made a grave error, but Gavin’s worried expression was a dead giveaway that the information was correct.

“You lied to me, Gavin. You’re an active member of the Sex Club. You’ve exchanged numerous email letters with Janey Kemp, and, based on what you two wrote back and forth, you know her a hell of a lot better than you led me to believe. Do you dispute any of this?”

Gavin was now seated on the edge of his mattress, his head hanging between hunched shoulders. “No.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“The night she disappeared.”

“What time?”

“Early. Eight or so. It was still light.”

“Where?”

“At the lake. She’s always there.”

“Had you arranged to meet her there that night?”

“No. She’d been giving me the leper treatment for the last few weeks.”

“Why?”

“She’s like that. Gets you to like her and then, you know, you’re history. I heard she’s been seeing this other guy.”

“What’s his name?”

“Don’t know. Nobody does. Rumor is he’s older.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin whined, becoming impatient with all the questions. “Thirty-something, maybe.”

“So what happened the other night?”

“I went up to her and we started talking.”

“You were mad at her.” Gavin looked up at him, silently asking how he knew that. “In your last email to her, you called her a bitch. And worse.”

Gavin swallowed hard and dropped his head again. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Well, that’s not how the police are going to see it. Especially since she’s been missing since that night.”

“I don’t know what happened to her. Swear to God I don’t. Don’t you believe me?”

Dean desperately wanted to, but he resisted the urge to go easy on him. Now wasn’t the time to turn soft. Gavin needed him to be tough, not Mr. Nice Guy. “We’ll get to the part about believing you later. Boot up your computer. I need to see how bad it is.”

Reluctantly Gavin moved to his desk. Dean noticed that he typed in a user name and a password to get in, which would’ve been unnecessary if he had nothing to hide.

The home page of the Sex Club had been designed by amateurs. It was the cyberspace-age version of rest room wall graffiti. Dean motioned Gavin aside. He sat down in the desk chair and reached for the mouse.

“Dad,” Gavin groaned.

But Dean ignored him and went straight to the message board. Curtis had given him the names Gavin and Janey had used: blade and pussinboots, respectively. For ten minutes, he scrolled through the messages, stopping to read the ones written by his son and the judge’s daughter. It was difficult reading.

The last message Gavin had emailed her was crude, insulting, and, now, incriminating. Sick at heart, Dean closed the website and turned off the computer. For several moments he stared into the blank monitor screen, trying to link the writer of what he’d just read with the little boy he had taught to use a baseball glove, the kid with the gap-toothed smile and sprinkling of freckles across his nose, the youngster whose biggest problem used to be foot odor.

Dean couldn’t afford the time to indulge in his personal despair now. He must save it for later. More imperative was clearing his son of all suspicion.

“This is one time you had better come clean with me, Gavin. I want to help you, and I will. But if you lie to me, I’ll be hamstrung and unable to help you. So no matter how bad it is, is there anything else I should know?”

“Like what?”

“Anything about Janey and you. Did you actually ever have sex with her?” He nodded toward the computer. “Or was this only talk?”

Gavin looked away. “We did it once.”

“When?”

“Month ago, six weeks,” he said, raising his shoulders. “Not long after I met her. But we’d already been exchanging emails. I was the new kid in town. I think that’s the only reason she was interested in me.”

“Where did this take place?”

“A whole bunch of us met at some park. I can’t remember the name of it. She and I broke away from the group, got in my car.” Resentfully, he added, “Didn’t you ever do it in the backseat of a car?”

He was trying to pick a fight. The transference of guilt was a classic distraction tactic that Dean recognized and refused to buy in to. “Did you use a rubber?”

“Of course.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Jeez.”

“And you were with her only that one time?”

Gavin rolled his shoulders, pushed back a hank of hair that had fallen over his forehead, looked everywhere except at Dean.

“Gavin?”

He sighed theatrically. “Okay, one other time. She went down on me.”

“Same questions.”

“Where did it happen? Behind some club on Sixth Street.”

“In public?”

“Yeah, sorta, I guess. I mean, we were out in the open, but nobody else was around.”

He had a flash image of himself calling Pat and telling her that her baby boy was in jail for public lewdness.
Where were you, Dean?
she would have asked. Where
had
he been while his son was composing smutty letters and getting blow jobs in alleyways?

The self-accusations had to be shelved until later, too. “Those two times? That’s it?”

“Yeah, she cooled it, dumped me.”

“But you weren’t ready to be dumped.”

Gavin looked at him as if he was crazy. “Hell, no. She’s hot.”

“To say the least,” Dean said in an undertone. “If there’s anything else, you’d better tell me. I don’t want any more ugly surprises, something the cops have discovered that you haven’t told me.”

Gavin wrestled with indecision for at least half a minute before he said, “She, uh…” He opened a desk drawer, removed a paperback copy of
The Lord of the Rings,
and took out a photograph that had been secreted between the pages. “She gave me this the other night.”

Dean reached for the photograph. He didn’t know which astonished him more, the girl’s graphic pose or her shameless smile. He slipped the picture into his shirt pocket. “Get showered and dressed.”

“Dad—”

“Hurry. I’ve been instructed to have you there by noon. A lawyer is meeting us there.”

Finally, the gravity of his predicament seemed to have penetrated layers of adolescent insolence. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

“I’m afraid you do, Gavin.”

“I didn’t do anything to Janey. Don’t you believe me, Dad?”

His sullenness had dissolved. He looked young and scared, and Dean experienced that same twinge in his heart that he had felt the night before when he watched him sleep.