True Detectives (4 page)

November 11, 1980

M
addy watched the baby sleep.

The chair by the crib was a City of Hope thrift-shop find: salmon silk tulip seat with a grimy Sloan label underneath and only a few stains.

Maddy’d paid thirty bucks, considered it the find of the century.

She’d placed it in the living room, dragging it from the van by herself. Arranged it next to the fireplace with a cute little table that held a vase of silk flowers. Just like they did in
House & Garden
.

The day she set it up, she poured herself an unfiltered apple juice, waited for Darius to come home.

He arrived two hours late, reeking of beer and other women. Gaped at what Maddy had done and burst into laughter and pronounced the new addition “beaucoup faggy.” Hoisting the chair easily, he carried it to the garage.

Later, when Darius was sleeping, Maddy went out there, draped the silk with a clean white sheet, and sat. Filling her nose with garage dust, motor oil, old cardboard, the metallic perfume of Darius’s half-restored Harley.

Sometimes she still went out there and sniffed the air. Very little had changed, but the tulip chair’s honor had been restored.

No one to complain when she moved it into the baby’s room. From time to time Darius’s voice rang in her head.
Pink for a boy? Jesus, girl, you are going to turn him into a first-class swish and if you think that means he’ll grow up polite and artistic, think again. I’ve seen what those guys do to each other when they get all pissed off and namby-jealous …

Maddy’s eyes puffed.

The baby stirred.

She hoisted herself up, tiptoed to the crib, stared down at the pink, smooth face, round as a dinner plate. Blue-eyed little angel, like one of those Renaissance paintings.

Angelic disposition, too. As if he knew enough not to upset the applecart.

Five months old and already, the freckles. He’d need protection from the sun. And God knew what else …

She touched his soft little tummy, feeling the swell of ample nourishment through terry cloth.

Blue jammy. Darius would approve.

The baby smiled in his sleep.

Maddy said, “Angel. You have no idea.”

A slamming door whisked her out of her reverie and she hurried out of the room, shut the door softly, continued into the kitchen.

Ready to shush the obvious culprit. How many times had she
told
him?

Aaron was a smart boy, maybe he did it on purpose.

One thing for sure, he knew what was coming because he shouted, “Mommy!” as if they’d been apart for months and flashed a thousand-watt smile.

That
smile. She couldn’t help but spread her arms as he ran toward her.

Aaron’s little head made contact with her belly. He nuzzled her. She got down on one knee and held him tight. Taking in that little-boy smell.

School clothes grimy with dust, he still managed to look more put-together than any other four-year-old on the face of the planet.

“Good to see you, Mommy! How was your day?”

“Oh, you charmer.”

Maddy hugged him harder. Aaron squirmed away. “I must have
Froot
Loops!
Please!”

“Baby, it’s too—”

“Pleeeeeze
. It’s
important
! Oh, my belly
needs
Froot Loops, needs it so
bad!
”

Dancing around the kitchen, not even pretending to take himself seriously. Sometimes she thought he was forty, not four.

He swayed, eyes as big as the universe. “I’m so
hungry
, Mommy!”

Little con man; Maddy fought not to laugh.

The preschool teacher had been more diplomatic.

“Aaron is a charming boy, but sometimes he relies on social skills a little too much.”

Blood ran thicker than …

“Froot Loops! I will fall over tired, Mommy, on my face, without
Froot
Loops!”

“Shh. Baby Moe’s sleeping.”

“Baby Moe,” said Aaron, turning pensive. “He is my brother and I love him,” he stage-whispered. “He wants me to have Froot Loops, without Froot Loops everyone will be sad and Baby Moe will cry—”

“Shh, Aaron. Please.”

Aaron turned instantly silent. Stood at attention. Saluted.

Maddy said, “Wash your hands, mister, then go sit at the table like a civilized person and I’ll fix you a nice snack.”

“Froot Loops is a nice snack,” said Aaron. “With chocolate milk. Real dark.”

“That’s way too much sugar, honey.”

“Just a
little
dark.”

“Even a little is too much sugar—”

“Puhleeeeeeze?”

“Shh.”

“Mommy, I can’t be quiet unless my head is happy. What makes me happy on today is—”

“Froot Loops,” said Maddy. “With regular milk.”

“A
leeetle
chocolate?”

“Fine.”

“A leetle more than a leeetle?”

“Don’t push your luck, Handsome Boy.”

Aaron grinned. “Or it could be Smirnoff.”

Maddy froze. “What do you know about Smirnoff.”

“Jack likes it. There’s a bottle in your room.”

Maddy placed her hands on his shoulders. The boy’s eyes didn’t waver. “Aaron Fox, have you been rummaging in other people’s personal belongings?”

“I saw it when I came in to kiss you, Mommy. You weren’t there. You were with the washing machine, but I saw it.”

“Where was this bottle?”

Aaron didn’t answer.

“I need to know, sweetheart.”

“Jack did a bad?”

Maddy sighed. “No, Jack didn’t do a bad. Tell me where—”

“On the table next to the bed. On Jack’s side.”

She said, “Sweetheart, Smirnoff’s for grown-ups.”

Aaron smiled wider. Knowing he’d boxed her into a corner, the little devil.

“Exactly, Mommy, and chocolate milk’s for kids. A
leeetle
more dark. Please?”

“Two teaspoons of Nestlé’s and that’s it.”

“Three.”

“Two and that’s final.”

Then it hit her. Aaron had come in by himself.

Her heart began to pound. “Where
is
Jack?”

“Sitting in the car,” said Aaron.

“Why?”

Shrug.

“Is he okay?”

Shrug.

“He did pick you up from school?”

“Uh-huh. Can I have my Froot—”

Rushing to the front of the little house, Maddy flung the door open.

The van was parked in the driveway. Jack sat behind the wheel.

Staring at nothing.

She went over to him and he let out one of his crooked smiles.

This was her life. Staring at male teeth. “What are you doing, Jack?”

His hair, beginning to gray, was windblown. His eyelids drooped. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Reeking
of booze.

“You
drank
before you picked him up?”

“Hours ago, gorgeous—”

“I can smell it on you, don’t
gorgeous
me!”

Jack didn’t answer.

“Are you out of your
mind
?”

“Maddy,” said Jack, “you’re blowing this way up.”

“I’m talking about my child—”

“I love him like he’s—”

“So you say—”

“I love him
to pieces
, Maddy.” Tears filled Jack’s eyes. “Love him maybe not like you do, but he’s … I love him, honey, he’s a great kid, you know I’d never hurt him, honey, you know that, you know that, right? All I want to do is take care of my family …”

“Then how could you—”

“It was hours ago,” Jack insisted.

“At the Drop Inn.”

“Couple of beer-and-shots is all.” Jack reached out to touch her arm. She avoided him. “Aw, c’mon, hon. I’da used vodka, you’da never known.”

Maddy turned to leave.

Jack got out of the van and hurried to her side.

He did seem to be walking okay.

“I’ll call the station, get ’em to bring a Breathalyzer, okay?”

Maddy said, “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Jack lied.

Bad liars were the worst. At least with the good ones you could fantasize they were sincere. Jack’s inability to dissemble had caused her to lose respect within weeks of their marriage.

She said, “Don’t do it again. Aaron should never smell that on you.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“Forget it.”

“Love you, honey.”

Maddy didn’t answer.

“Either way,” said Jack.

By the time they returned to the kitchen, Aaron was at the table snarfing from a huge bowl of Froot Loops. His free hand grazed a glass of milk so saturated with chocolate that undissolved clumps floated on the surface like water lilies.

Cereal speckled the floor. Not too big of a mess, considering. The boy had always been coordinated.

He’d climbed up to the cereal cupboard, taken the time to close the door, move the chair back into place.

When he saw her, he opened a mouth full of Technicolor mush and said, “Yum!”

Jack winked and said, “Hey, that looks good.”

From down the hall came the chuffing of Baby Moe’s initial wake-up cries.

Time for
his
snack.

Maddy left the kitchen, freeing her left breast.

I
nstead of heading for the parking lot, Moe began walking toward Santa Monica Boulevard.

Aaron said, “We’re hiking to the Peninsula?”

“Forget the Peninsula.”

“Too rich for your blood?”

Moe picked up his pace.

“Okay, I bite. Where we going?”

“Suzy Q’s.”

“That dump?”

“Too cop for your blood?” said Moe.

“Bacon on sausage on lard on trans fat with a side of LDL cholesterol? Suit yourself, bro.”

A flush spread from Moe’s pecs up to his face. His father—the man whose name Aaron had never taken—had dropped dead of a heart attack at thirty-nine. Last year, Moe had finally dug up the death report.

The deceased had fallen off a bar stool, probably cold before he hit the floor.

Moe ate a lot of skinless chicken breasts.

“Suzy’s too much for you to handle? Let’s do Indian.”

Aaron said, “That place where they worship Sturgis?”

“That a problem for you?”

“Life is beautiful, I’ve got no problems.” Four steps later: “You like working with Sturgis?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason. So tell me what you’ve done on Frostig.”

Moe sped up to a near jog.

Aaron said, “Aerobics and chutney in the a.m. I’m always open to new experiences.”

The bespectacled woman who ran Café Moghul recognized Aaron the moment he pushed the door open. She flashed him a neon smile, brighter than her aqua-blue sari.

Moe thought: A whole different greeting from the first time. Aaron had walked in on a marsh-murder sitdown and the woman had reacted to a black face with instinctive anxiety. Despite Aaron’s custom suit, the easygoing grin, the deliberately unthreatening posture.

All those strategies his brother used to put people at ease.

Moe had his feelings about Aaron and they made empathy a huge nuisance. But once in a while he let himself imagine what it would be like to
be
Aaron, always having to
present
yourself …

“Sir.” The woman gave a little flourish and bow. “Please, anywhere you like.”

That day, Aaron had eaten nothing, drunk half a glass of clove tea. But picking up everyone’s tab and tipping big had bought him some social status.

As they settled at a corner table, the woman said, “Is the lieutenant coming as well?”

“No, ma’am,” said Moe.

She appeared to notice him for the first time. Turned back to Aaron: “He is okay?”

Moe said, “He’s fine, ma’am.”

“I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

The storefront café was Sturgis’s secondary office. The woman viewed the Loo as a human guard dog, a role he’d earned by ejecting a few homeless whacks and just being big and mean looking.

Moe said, “I’ll send him your best.”

“We have fresh lamb in a very nice curry.”

Aaron’s hand slipped down toward his flat abdomen and Moe figured he’d give some excuse and order tea.

Aaron said, “Sure. And bring healthy vegetables for Detective Reed.”

While they waited for the food, Aaron checked his BlackBerry.

Moe said, “People to do, things to see.”

Aaron clicked off. “The Peninsula’s where Rory Stoltz’s mama works. You changed your mind because you don’t want to make it easy for me.”

“Whatever you want to do on Caitlin, I can’t stop you unless you cross the line. In terms of what I can give you, like I said there’s nothing. And Martha Stoltz is a waste of time. I spoke to her this morning. She had nothing to say.”

“So you’re actively working the case.”

“So they tell me.”

The food arrived. Heaps of lamb stew for both of them, bowls of every veg the kitchen could offer.

The bespectacled woman said, “Tell the lieutenant how good everything is.”

When she left, Aaron looked at the banquet and shook his head.

“Not up to it?” said Moe.

“A little early in the day, no?”

Moe began eating with simulated gusto. Undigested breakfast sat in his gut but damned if he’d wimp out. Maybe lamb was better than beef, cholesterol-wise. Another hour of lifting and a run would keep him virtuous. Tonight, after seeing Liz.
If he
went home.

Aaron said, “Tell me about Rory Stoltz.”

“I interviewed him four times, he’s alibied for at least one hour after Caitlin left the Riptide. Stayed on to clean up. After that, he went home where Mommy claims he stayed.”

“Claims?”

“She’s his mother.”

“You pick something up hinky about her, Moses?”

“You didn’t hear me the first time? She’s useless.”

Aaron’s clean jawline rippled. He took a breath. “Mo—”

“Maybe I fucked up somewhere along the line, but if I did, Sturgis doesn’t think so. I went over the murder book with him and he said nothing was missing. Same for Delaware.”

“You went to see Delaware because …”

“At Sturgis’s suggestion.”

“Sturgis sees Caitlin as a psycho case?”

“Sturgis doesn’t know what she is. No one does.
Including
Delaware. But a girl driving alone, late at night? There are all sorts of possibilities.”

“Bad guy on the road,” said Aaron. “Except her car hasn’t been found.”

“So the psycho collects wheels as trophies. Or he dumped it somewhere.”

“Psycho garage,” said Aaron. “Here’s an image for you: rows of vics’ vehicles, each one with a skeleton propped behind the wheel.”

“You’ve been Hollywooding too long.”

“Little brother, you are right about that. But maybe that’ll work to my advantage.”

“Why?”

“Maitland Frostig said Riptide gets celebs.”

“I was there,” said Moe. “All I saw were juiceheads and old surfers.”

“Maybe you hit an off night. Stoltz still work there?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’ll find out when I talk to him. Unless that’s a problem.”

“Talk to him all you want. Kid’s not going to give up anything because
if he does have something to hide, he’s had fifteen months to live with it and get his story straight.”

“Nothing hinky about him,” said Aaron, “but still you wonder.”

Moe glared at him.

“What?”

“You’re sounding like a shrink. Bouncing back what I say.”

“Bro—”

“I’ve got nothing on Stoltz except that he was the boyfriend.”

“Was,” said Aaron. “So you definitely see her as dead.”

“Hey,” said Moe, “maybe she’s partying in Dubai, or whatever.”

“White slavery.” Aaron grinned. “Always loved that phrase. As opposed to normal slavery.”

The racial allusion surprised Moe. He said, “You
don’t
see her as dead?”

“Yeah, I probably do. Except for what I said before, she might’ve wanted to get away from Daddy. She didn’t even have her own computer, they shared. What college student doesn’t have a laptop? So Maitland could be one of those controlling types. And girls do wanna have fu-uhn.”

“She was a virgin,” said Moe. “Supposedly.”

Aaron’s brows arched. “Daddy told you that?”

“Martha Stoltz did.”

“How’d it come up?”

“She was talking about what a perfect couple Caitlin and Rory were. All-American. Both virgins.”

“What was her point in telling you?”

Moe shrugged. “I’m just quoting.”

“It wasn’t weird?” said Aaron. “Middle of an interview and she volunteers about their sex life?”

“Lack of sex life. I figured she wanted me to see Rory as a choirboy.”

“Because he isn’t?”

“If he’s got a secret life, it’s stayed secret from me,” said Moe. “What’re you gonna do, high-tech-bug his bedroom?”

Aaron smoothed his tie, tugged the big knot tighter. “They’re both virgins … like Mama’s in the backseat with them?”

“Hey,” said Moe, “I’m open to anything. You find out Rory’s chapter president of the Ted Bundy Fan Club, I’ll get interested. But I talked to him four times and he came across exactly what he claimed to be.”

“Which is?”

“Clean-cut Pepperdine student.”

“That’s a Baptist school. We talking Holy Roller?”

“Normal, clean-cut kid,” said Moe. “Seemed genuinely torn up about Caitlin. But not over-the-top emotional, like he was trying to prove something.”

“Virgins,” said Aaron. “Wonder if he’s still that way fifteen months later. You planning a fifth chat?”

“The case is still open.”

Aaron drank water.

Moe said, “I don’t want you stepping on my toes.”

“Last thing on my mind, bro.”

“But if I tell you to hold off, you’re not going to listen.” Gas or acid or whatever was rising up his food tube. His belt cut like dental floss. From what, three pieces of lamb and some eggplant? What did they put in this stuff?

“Moses, can’t we just put it aside?”

“Put what aside?”

“SOS. Same old shit.” Aaron laughed. “Remember when I told that idiot counselor he was just digging up SOS and he near about fell off his shrink chair?”

Moe stayed silent.

“You don’t remember, bro?”

“Dr. Gibson,” said Moe. As if called upon to recite.

“
Mr
. Gibson,” said Aaron. “Had a master’s.” He shook his head. “Working for the school system filing paper, at night he moonlights, pretends he’s an analyst.”

“Didn’t stop Mom from liking him.”

“Mom,” said Aaron. “She also liked that massage therapist with the
bad breath and the huge mole on her chin and that Polish N.D. we all thought was an M.D.—Kussorsky, Master Naturopath. Guy’s doling out little vials of water with invisible ingredients and Mom’s telling us we have to take it for our allergies. Meanwhile, she takes in two cats.”

He laughed again. “SOS.”

Moe thought about fake-shrink Gibson and couldn’t muster up any glee.

He’d been fourteen, Aaron eighteen. The two of them going at each other constantly, sometimes it got physical. Mom having no idea.

My father was a hero
.

So was my father. What? You’re saying he wasn’t? You’re saying that?

All I’m saying, little bro, is—

Fuck you
.

Fuck
you.

A whirlwind of scuffle, fists flying, Mom hurrying in, trying to break it up.

The next day, she announced everyone was going to “family therapy.”

She’d met Quentin Gibson, M.A., at yoga class.

Guy makes house calls, wimpy, skinny, ponytailed, British tool.
Let’s-everyone-express-their-feelings
. Useful as a tissue-paper condom.

Moe felt himself smile, put a brake on his lips.

Aaron leaned in closer. “I promise not to step on your feet.”

“That assumes we’re dancing.”

“So nothing I’m going to say is going to work.”

“Nothing has to work. Do what you want.”

“Even if that was my style, I wouldn’t handle it that way, bro.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Bro.”

Aaron’s caramel eyes widened. “I’ve been doing that your whole life.”

“Exactly.”

Aaron ran a long, graceful finger along his hairline. “Ok-ay. Detective Reed.”

Moe’s colon churned. He fought to conceal another belch.

Aaron exhaled slowly. “This is what I am going to do.” Lapsing into that schoolteacher tone Moe hated. “I will check with you before I interview Stoltz, his mommy, or anyone else you deem important. If I learn anything relevant, you’ll be the first to know.”

Moe forked food around his plate.

“Detective Brother Reed,
is
there anyone else you deem important?”

“Just Caitlin,” said Moe. “If you run across her, tell her to give me a ring.”

The bespectacled woman came over, looked at Aaron’s untouched plate.

Not a trace of irritation as she said, “May I wrap that for you to go, sir?”