Gun Games

by Faye Kellerman

  “That’s fine. But I’m still concerned about her laptop. I don’t think it’s too intrusive to call and tell them to put Myra’s computer in a safe place . . . just in case.”

  “I can do that, but she has to find it first. We didn’t find it in her room, remember?”

  “Ah . . . right.”

  “Two missing laptops . . .” Marge thought a moment. “Two kids were going to the same school where suicides are not very common. And both deaths involved stolen guns and maybe laptops. You have to wonder.”

  “What about Myra’s friends? Get a chance to talk to any of them?”

  “I lined something up with Heddy Kramer on Thursday evening, the only evening when her parents don’t work late. They’re all coming into the station house at six.”

  “So anything new with Dylan Lashay and the B and W Mafia?”

  “Nothing. He doesn’t have an adult record. When I asked Juvenile about him, they claimed they’ve never heard the name. No wants or warrants. Not even a parking ticket. Mr. Eli seems squeaky clean. So maybe he is an upstanding citizen.”

  “Or another Teflon don,” Decker said. “Either he’s clean or he’s careful. If it’s the former, then he’s out of the picture. If it’s the latter, we’ll wait until he screws up.”

  The original text had come in an hour ago, at six-thirty. Gabe had turned off his phone because he’d been at the piano all day. He’d been coasting for the last week, spending too much of his time thinking about the wrong things. He knew he’d have to do better, especially because he now had some actual paying jobs in his future. This had been his first real day of work, his fingers and brain working as a unit. It felt good. He rewarded his hard work by allowing himself to read the text.

  g8 lesson. made a breakthrough.

  Gabe smiled. Maybe this would be the impetus to continue on with her voice. He texted back: u still there, cuckoo?

  He waited and his phone burred a moment later.

  hi.

  what happened?

  at the lesson?

  yeah.

  my vocal coach said I sounded like a real opera singer 4 the 1st time, that I sang w/real emotion.

  congrats.

  thx . . . teach.

  ur welcome, student. just don’t sue me for sexual harassment.

  lol. want 2 know how i did it?

  of course.

  i thought of u w/another girl.

  He broke up. that would never happen but use what u need.

  it better not happen.

  better not w/u either. seriously keep up the gd work. knew u could do it . . . u got stuff in u just w8ting 2 come out. that’s y u need 2 sing.

  thx :)

  i mean it, yasmine. u really need 2 sing. if u don’t, u’ll get depressed.

  i get depressed when i’m not w/u. r we on 2morrow?

  b there at 6:30.

  it opens at 6.

  but ur always l8.

  i promise 2 b there at 6 . . . 6:15 L8est.

  Gabe smiled. She was hedging her bets. it’s still dark outside at 6. i’ll w8 for u on the corner so b there on time!

  ok.

  u know, if u make me get up extra early and ur l8, u buy breakfast.

  I always offer. u never let me pay.

  of course u don’t pay. only when ur bad.

  u know me, gabe, I can b very bad.

  Ugh!!! u wreck me.

  think of me tonite when ur alone.

  I always think of u especially when I’m alone.

  my mom is calling me 2 help w/dinner. gotta go. kisses.

  kisses, Gabe texted back, then disconnected the line. His stomach growled. He realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  It seemed indeed that music was the stuff of life.

  Play on, Gabriel, play on.

  Wendy Hesse had dropped some pounds in a month, but the weight had come off too quickly and the excess skin on her face sagged like deflated jowls. Her blue eyes were clear instead of red, and her hair had grown out and was styled, her white roots no longer showing. It was a good sign that she took enough pride in her appearance. She wore a red sweater like the first time she had come into the station house and black pants. Marge had seated her in an interview room, offering her a chair and a cup of coffee. Oliver joined them a minute later.

  Wendy looked uncomfortable in her surroundings. “Isn’t this where you interrogate the criminals?”

  Marge said, “We use the rooms for all kinds of interviews.”

  “Most of us just have cubicles,” Oliver explained. “This is a little more private.”

  “If you would prefer it, we can go outside and talk in the open.”

  “Oh good God, no. We need privacy.” She regarded Marge’s questioning eyes. “I know that you’ve called me several times and I haven’t called back.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

  “All of it bad.” She reached in her purse and pulled out several photographs, but didn’t reveal them, keeping them close to her breast. “Right after it happened, I was going through Gregory’s drawers, hoping to find some answers.”

  She put them on the table and looked away. Marge kept a blank face as she picked up the graphic snapshots. The girl’s features were obscured by long hair and a close-up of an erect penis halfway into her mouth. A few of that pose and a couple more of a tongue licking testicles. She passed the photos to Oliver.

  Wendy said, “Obviously, there was a lot about my son that I didn’t know about.”

  “Any idea who the girl is?” Marge asked.

  “I didn’t even know that Gregory had a girlfriend.”

  Oliver scanned them several times. “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but are you sure that’s even Gregory? There’s no face.”

  Wendy turned to him, dumbfounded. “You know, I’m not sure at all. I just . . . assumed.” She exhaled forcibly. “Maybe it’s one of his friends. It certainly doesn’t look like professional smut.”

  “No, it’s amateur stuff,” Oliver said.

  Wendy bit a thumbnail. It had been painted red and some of the polish was chipping off. “I guess I was in the dark about my son. I feel stupid.”

  Oliver said, “I don’t want to sound cavalier, Mrs. Hesse, but things like this . . . it’s sort of normal for a teenage boy.”

  Marge said, “And please don’t feel stupid. Most fifteen-year-old boys don’t confide in their mothers.”

  “It’s just shocking when you think you know someone and then . . .” She threw up her hands.

  “Tell us about the photographs on the computer,” Oliver said.

  “After I found these, I became curious about what was on Gregory’s computer. I hired someone to hack into it because I thought I knew his password, but he changed it. I felt a bit sheepish breaking into his privacy even though he’s . . . gone. But I wanted to know more about my son, get a clue as to why he did this. Most of the pictures were just him and his friends.” Her eyes got wet. “But then I saw other pictures like the ones I brought to you. I can’t imagine Snapfish printing them.”

  “No, these were probably done with a photo printer hooked up to a home computer,” Oliver told her. “Does your son have a photo printer?”

  “I didn’t see one. Even though he’s gone, it really upsets me that he would take such indecent pictures of himself. And what girl in her right mind would let herself be photographed doing something so obscene?”

  “It’s not all that uncommon—kids being kids,” Marge said. “If you can, talk to me about the photos of Greg with a gun.”

  “Just like I told you over the phone. He had pictures of him pointing it and . . .” Her eyes spilled tears onto her cheeks. “Of him holding it to his . . . head. It got me to thinking that probably what happened was just a terrible mistake.”

  Marge nodded.

  “I don’t understand how such a responsible boy could do such foolish things.”

  The paradox of adolescence. Oliver said, “It’s a miracle that
more tragedies don’t happen to them.”

  Marge said, “You told me that Greg looked stoned or drunk in the pictures?”

  “He had a bizarre expression on his face . . . droopy lids, lopsided smile, and his head was cocked to the side. It didn’t look like him. But it was him. That much I can tell you.”

  Her eyes flitted between Oliver’s and Marge’s faces.

  “That’s why I didn’t return your calls. I didn’t want all this . . . ugly stuff to come out about my son. But once I saw the gun pictures on the laptop . . . I don’t know. I just felt I should let you know . . . although I don’t know why.”

  “Your instincts were good,” Marge told her. “Especially now that the laptop was stolen.”

  “How did the thief get into your house?” Oliver asked.

  Wendy stared at him. “I don’t know.”

  “Any windows or doors unlocked or opened when you got up this morning?”

  “Not that I can remember.” She was quiet. “That’s very odd. I was so intent on the laptop, I never even thought about how they got in.”

  “They?” Marge asked.

  “They, he, she . . .”

  “And you’re sure nothing else was taken?” Marge asked.

  “All my jewelry was still in the box in my bedroom. So I thought maybe they didn’t go into the master. But my purse was still hanging in my closet. All my money was still in my wallet. Plus on the same table as the laptop, I have a pair of silver candlesticks. They weren’t touched. I haven’t gone through things item by item, but it appears that nothing was taken except the laptop.”

  Marge said, “Did you happen to find Gregory’s camcorder?”

  “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

  Yasmine 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.”