Gun Games (20 page)

“No—” Abruptly, she paled. “Do you think there might be
those
kinds of movies on it?” When neither Marge nor Oliver answered the question, she shook her head in disgust. “Oh God! It just makes me sick to think about it.” She started crying silently. “It hurts me so much that I knew so little about my son. Maybe if I had seen some kind of warning sign, this all would have been preventable.”

Oliver said, “There might not have been obvious warning signs, Mrs. Hesse.”

Marge said, “If it’s okay with you, we’d like to go through your house, including Gregory’s room.”

“What for?” Wendy asked.

“A crime was committed. We want to see how the burglar got into your house.”

“That makes sense. But why Gregory’s room?”

Marge deflected the question. “You showed us these pictures. You obviously want to know more about Gregory.”

Wendy Hesse sighed. “Initially, I thought I did. ”

Oliver said, “I think you’d want to make sure that the laptop doesn’t get into the wrong hands . . . some sicko who could post unpleasant things on the Internet.”

“Oh my word, I never thought about that,” Wendy exclaimed. “Yes, of course. You can come anytime you’d like.” She looked at the detectives with newfound respect, blotting her tears with a tissue. “Thank you so much. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back earlier . . . after it happened.”

Marge said, “Don’t give it a second thought, Mrs. Hesse. Does three tomorrow afternoon work for all of us to come to the house?”

“I have a court case, but I should be done by three,” Oliver said.

“I’m okay with three,” Wendy said.

“Then we’ll see you there. If you get a chance tonight, look for Greg’s camcorder.” Marge stood up. “And if you find it, hide it in a safe place.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Y
asmine hated when the hands on her new silver watch with the blue face told her it was quarter after seven. It meant she had to go to school.

It was terrible spending so many long hours without him. No matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind, no matter how often she willed herself to be back to the way it was BG—before Gabe—she was lonely and lost and shaky without him. The past week had been especially painful because of the Passover holiday. The entire family had moved into her aunt’s large house in Beverly Hills, and she hadn’t seen him in over a week. She was moody and dark, and everyone made fun of her. And all she wanted was Gabe—like she was addicted to him.

She sipped the last dregs of her coffee, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Her eyes lifted over the brim of her Styrofoam cup, and she was startled to see a beautiful girl around eighteen staring at her. She was waiting at the order pickup, her hip cocked, her black suede boot grazing the floor, moving back and forth.

Her eyes abruptly narrowed.

Yasmine returned her attention to her coffee, disconcerted. The girl wore a black cashmere sweater, skinny jeans, and, judging by the red sole, what looked like Christian Louboutin fashion boots. Her gold jewelry also looked real. Her face was as white as milk and she had blue, blue eyes with long blond hair that reached halfway down her back. She also had big boobs.

God, how Yasmine wished she’d have boobs already.

She glanced up and the older girl smiled.

White straight teeth on a beautiful face. But her smile was creepy . . . even mean. In the back of her mind, Yasmine wondered if she had offended her somehow, like maybe accidentally cut in front of her last week. Or maybe the girl didn’t like Persians. Yasmine was always slightly uncomfortable with beautiful, white girls, especially the ones who weren’t Jewish. She wished Gabe would come back. He was so knowledgeable about everything, and when she was with him, she felt secure and large. As soon as he was gone, she retreated into a shell, feeling foreign and very small.

A moment later he returned, much to her relief.

He sat down and threw his arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunately, it’s around that time.” He looked around and kissed her mouth. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay.” Her eyes lifted upward. The girl was gone.

Gabe studied her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look . . . upset, maybe.”

“No, I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “It’s always hard going back to school after vacation.” She tried to forget about the girl and her mean smile. So she didn’t like Persians. That was her problem. “I didn’t even ask how your Passover was.”

“Me?” Gabe laughed. “Actually I did have Seder with the Deckers on the first night. Then with everyone being home, it was too crowded, so I spent the rest of the week with my crazy aunt, Melissa, who’s not much older than I am. She’s ditzy and sloppy, but she can be a riot. Still, I was happy to leave. I missed you terribly, Yasmine. This last week without you has been torture.”

“I missed you soooooo much.” She still felt uneasy. “I’m so glad it’s over.”

“How was your Passover?” Gabe asked.

“Boring. My aunt had about twenty zillion people over. It was my assignment to cover the table with the romaine lettuce.”

Gabe stared at her. “Come again?”

She gave a hint of a smile. “Persian Seders are different from Ashkenazi Seders. Like covering the table in maror—the bitter herbs. Then we actually reenact the whole exodus from Egypt.”

“How do you do that?”

“We chase each other around the table and beat each other with onions.”

Gabe looked at her. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No, not onion onions. Scallions. We whip each other with scallions.”

“Kin . . . ky!” Gabe grinned. “Invite me over next year.”

She slapped him under the table. Then she grew serious. “I’ve got to go.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ve got to catch the bus anyway.”

Her heart suddenly started beating quickly . . . ominously. She felt weird. “Do you have time to walk with me?”

Gabe broke into a smile. “You want me to walk with you in full daylight?”

“We’ll take side streets.”

“Aha.” He grinned. “So I’m still your dirty little secret.”

“Gabe . . .” Now she looked very upset.

He took pity on her. She was in a bind, and he was making it worse. “You know how much I love being with you. Lead the way.”

They got up from their booth and left the café, walking for a minute without talking. The day was crisp and the sky was blue. The side streets were residences, the foliage still green by eastern standards; but the sycamores that lined the sidewalks were bare, and many of the lawns had turned brown.

He said, “What’s on your mind, Yasmine?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true. Did I upset you with my wisecrack?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I understand your position with your parents. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”

“It’s not that.” Her eyes clouded. “I just can’t . . .”

“Tell me.” He stopped walking and held her shoulders. “You can’t
what
?”

She shook her head.

“You can’t be with me anymore? Is that it?” He was heartbroken but tried to hide it. “Tell me, Yasmine. It’s okay. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Her eyes were wet. “I’m always trying to hide us. It must make you feel terrible.”

“I’d
rather
it be out in the open, but I’m a big boy. I know it’s just as hard for you as it is for me.”

“I can’t understand why put up with it,” she blurted out. “With all these beautiful girls around, I just don’t understand why you like me.”

Gabe waited for more, but it didn’t come. “
That’s
what’s on your mind?” When she nodded, he blew out air, relieved. “You are such a cuckoo bird.”

“You are so gorgeous, Gabe. You’re gorgeous and talented and smart and funny and you’re just perfect.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “You could get any girl you wanted.”

“But I don’t want any girl, I just want you.” No one was around. He drew her into a long, lingering kiss. “If you could only see yourself through my eyes, Yasmine. You are so incredibly exotic . . . with these big, big round black eyes, a small perfect nose . . . and your lips . . . oh my God, you have the thickest, most kissable lips ever. You’ve got this mane of black, wavy hair that I just want to lose myself in. You’re just so sexy.”

“Even with my small chest?”

Gabe smiled. “Okay. So now I know you’re feeling better. You’re teasing me.” He took her hand. “You’re going to be late if we don’t move.”

She started walking but didn’t say anything.

“We have this incredible chemistry, but that’s not the only reason I like you.” He kissed her hand. “I like you because you’ve got this wonderful curiosity about everything. You approach everything with this wide-eyed innocence. God, so many girls out there are plowing headfirst into adulthood and you take such delight in being this wondrous girl. Absolutely nothing about you is forced.”

He slipped his arm around her waist.

“And of course, you speak music.”

“I do speak music,” Yasmine said.

“That’s a biggie for me. It’s hard to find someone my age who speaks music.” He stopped walking, pulling her body close to his. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Her eyes watered. “I love you, too.”

“I
need
to be alone with you again.” He growled out, “
When?
”

She lay her head on his chest. “We’re invited out for Shabbat this Saturday.”

“What about Sunday?”

“We have a cousin’s wedding.”

“Exactly how many relatives do you have?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You must have a party every week.”

“About.” She looped her hands around his neck, entwining her fingers through his hair and kissed him hard. “I’ll think of something.”

He groaned with lust. “Man, you’d better or I’m going to do something drastic.”

She smiled. “The school’s a block away. I can take it from here.”

“Fine. And no more silly talk about why do I like you, okay? It makes me feel bad.”

“Okay.” She smiled broadly. “I love you soooooo much.”

“I love you, too.”

She kissed him, broke away, and started running.

Gabe watched her go. It was nice to see a spring in her step. It was also fun to watch her ass.

T
he secretary announced that someone was on line three. Decker punched in the blinking light and announced himself.

“Romulus Poe here.”

“What’s going on, Sergeant Poe?”

“Just wanted to tell you that we’ve had a few weeks of spring weather . . . beautiful out here—deep blue skies and purple mountains majesty. The waterfalls are particularly spectacular with all the runoff.”

“Thanks for the travelogue.”

Poe laughed. “If Garth Hammerling was able to make it through the winter in the national forest—and I have my doubts about that—we should be able to start looking for him provided we can slosh through the mud. We got waders but Lord knows, it’s slippery out there.”

“Any help you could give me would be appreciated.”

“Like I said, I have my doubts. Unless your guy was the survivalist type, I’d say he’s pretty much in a deep freeze by now.”

“Garth’s a nurse so he has some emergency medical skills.”

“Maybe it’d help him with the cold, but not with a mountain lion. On top of that, our bears just aren’t hibernating like they used to. Hungry critters could easily look at your prey as a mighty fine warm-blooded entrée. But there’s always that slim chance that we’ll find him.”

Decker said, “I’ll just keep the faith.”

“You can do that for both of us, Loo. I could use a little God in my life.”

T
he suicide scene had been ghastly. Since then Gregory Hesse’s bed had been removed and the walls, once covered with posters and personal effects, were bare after being scrubbed down, disinfected to remove any remaining biological matter spread by the shotgun blast, and then painted apartment white. The original carpet had been replaced by something brown and flat. The space felt vacant and haunted.

“I don’t go in here much.” Wendy Hesse’s eyes grew wet. She was wringing her hands, her complexion very pale. She wore a green blouse and black double-knit pants. “Not much left.” A statement applicable to her life.

Oliver looked around. Original to the room were a couple of nightstands, a desk and a dresser with nothing on top, and a bookshelf. The room had a sliding door closet. He remembered that he had wanted to go through the closet, but there had been so many people from the coroner’s office, it had been impractical.

Wendy said, “I wish I hadn’t gone through his drawers.” A pause. “I think I’ll wait in the living room. Would either of you like some water?”

“I’m fine for now, but thank you,” Marge said.

Oliver smiled. “I’m all right.”

The two detectives put on rubber gloves and went to work. First, they combed the bookshelf, which contained more CDs and DVDs than paper pages. There was a dock for an MP3 player with an iPod in the charge. They pulled out every single book and flipped through the pages hoping something significant would flutter out. They opened every single jewel box. They checked his iPod. Nothing looked even vaguely sinister.

They moved on to his drawers, slowly emptying out the contents and putting them back once they had gone through the items. Everything was organized and neatly folded: first drawer, socks and underwear; second, pajamas and gym clothes; third, shirts and T-shirts; and fourth, shorts and more gym clothes. The desk drawers held nothing. Neither did any of the nightstands.

The closet contained polo shirts and several white dress shirts, pants, jeans, jackets, coats. Shoes on the floor were carefully aligned. The open shelving held sweaters and sweatshirts. They sorted through the clothes in the closet. They didn’t find the camcorder. They didn’t find anything.

The top shelf appeared empty. Marge took the chair from the desk. “Make sure I don’t break my neck.”

“I can do that.” Oliver held the legs as Marge climbed atop the seat and peered across the space. “Find anything?”

“No.” She stepped off the chair and regarded the shoes. They were all around the same size except for a pair of smaller patent leather loafers—something left over from a bar mitzvah or a confirmation. She bent down, felt inside the formal footwear, and fished out a plastic bag. About an ounce of pot, which she put back in the shoe.

She stood up. “He wasn’t as innocent as Mom thought, but it certainly doesn’t explain why he did what he did. I don’t see the point in bringing this to Mom’s attention.”