by Paul Bishop
Castano had the good sense to look a little chagrinned. I could sympathize, having also misjudged Pagan’s actions.
Pagan put a friendly hand on Castano’s shoulder, smiling as he did so. “Leave it to me. I’ll get him to talk this afternoon.”
Castano nodded.
“What have we got so far?” Pagan asked.
“Not much,” Castano said with a shrug. He looked at a small notebook in his right hand. “Missing girl is Unicorn Davis. Six years old. Mother, Judith Davis, put her to bed last night around seven. She checked on her around midnight when she went to bed herself. Mother woke up at three when the house alarm went off. Front door was open and the daughter was gone.”
“Any kind of ransom demand?” I asked.
“Nothing yet,” Castano said. “Probably too soon.”
“Any possibility she simply got out of bed and went out the front door by herself?” Pagan asked.
“Mother says the daughter doesn’t know how to unlock the front door. Its also got a childproof handle. Still, we’ve got units out searching and doing a canvass of the neighborhood in case.”
“There’s a lot of open ground leading down to the canyon,” I said.
Castano nodded. “Sheriff’s Search and Rescue are responding.”
“Where was Smack Daddy when all this was happening?” Pagan asked.
“Out all night paaartying,” Castano said, drawing out the word. “Got home around four, as everything was ramping up.”
“Burns and Clark the first uniforms on the scene?”
“Yes. We’re holding them over on their shift until we get some kind of direction. SID is on the way for prints and photos.”
“You have point on this?” Pagan asked Castano.
Castano’s face darkened, his barrel chest expanding within his out of date sports jacket. “Yes.”
“We going to have a pissing contest about Randall or myself doing the interviewing and any interrogations?”
I was surprised, but pleased to be included.
“Captain North said you’ve got carte blanche,” Castano said, begrudgingly.
“I’m not concerned with what North said. I want to know where you stand,” Pagan said.
Castano took a deep breath. “I won’t get in the way. Neither will my team. Just find the child.”
Pagan nodded. “Who’s back at the office to work the computers?”
“Lancaster,” Castano said.
“We need a full public information rundown on Smack Records, Smack Daddy, and the mother, Judith Davis. And get him to pull the records for this house.” Pagan said.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Nothing specific, but there are some niggling details.”
“Such as?”
Pagan shook his head cutting off my inquiries. “Just doing tactical background.” He took out his phone, tapped the screen a couple of times, and then handed it to me. When I looked there was already a message on the screen – Inside job.
I looked up at Pagan, but kept my mouth shut.
“Please text Arlo,” Pagan said. “Ask him to tap into his tabloid buddies and find out what kind of dirt they have on Smack Daddy, including anything not confirmed.”
I pulled up Arlo’s contact info and started texting.
“Where’s the victim’s room?” Pagan asked Castano.
“Upstairs. Do you want to see it?”
“Not yet. Let’s brace the mother first.”
Chapter 12
Lips that lie are sticky and dry,
the liar’s palms are not.
Genuine tears can be verified,
only when accompanied by snot.
- Carl Stincelli, Reading Between the Lines
Twenty years younger than her husband, Judith Davis was a mess. She was clearly not a natural blonde, but she was definitely a natural Caucasian. Her skin was porcelain white. Her cheeks were blotched red from crying. A baggy tank top covered braless, store bought breasts, and her short shorts revealed a thigh gap you could drive a truck through. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She was barely over five-foot tall and as thin and fragile as a tree twig in December.
When I looked closely, I could see her whole face was a lie – eyelids tweaked, cheekbones raised, Botox in forehead and lips. Snot ran freely from her sculptured nose. She kept wiping it away with the twisted tissue in her right hand.
“You have to help me,” she was saying. “You have to find Unicorn. She’s all I have…”
There was a cynical part of me wanting to make a bad joke about searching for unicorns, but my better nature kept the words from slipping between my lips.
“It must have been one of the squatters from the house next door,” Judith was ramping us again. “They hate us. They’ve destroyed everything over there.”
“Was there anyone over there last night?” Pagan asked.
“There’s always somebody there. Ever since the house went on the market, there have been nonstop raves and parties. We’ve tried to get them out, but they’re like cockroaches.”
Pagan was sitting on the oversized leather couch next to Judith, nodding his head and holding her free hand. I watched the colored streamers of her words. They didn’t flow freely. Her anxiety made the streamers jerk, break, and reform, but the colors were all pale pastels.
Pagan had typed possibly an inside job on his phone screen before handing it to me. He had to be thinking Smack Daddy, because Judith had no deception on display. She may be mistaken, but she wasn’t consciously lying.
I thought about the explanation Pagan had given Castano regarding Smack Daddy’s behavior. I hadn’t seen Pagan’s words as total lies – I remembered them coming out as a translucent purple – yet I now realized they were only a half-truth. Whatever it was Pagan had heard or felt in Smack Daddy’s behavior was something deeper than an insecure narcissistic meltdown.
The room we were in, like the rest of the house, looked as if it had been vomited up by an interior decorator. Everything was gaudy and overdone – money spent for show not taste.
The drapes in the room were heavy, too bright, red velvet. The lighting was too harsh, reflecting off heavy glass tables and adding a starkness to the oversized maroon leather chairs and sofa set next to a lime green eyesore of a loveseat. The paintings on the walls were all modern lines and angles surrounded by inappropriate baroque frames. They left you in no doubt they were wallet cleaners, but with as much connection to real art as Elvis on velvet.
“Tell me about yesterday. Anything unusual?” Pagan encouraged Judith Davis. She was no longer hyperventilating as she had been when we entered the room.
I had felt the warmth Pagan could emanate when he held your hands. I knew the calming effect it had. As I watched him, I found it impossible to tell how much of his concern was real and how much a manipulation for the sake of the case. Lines of pain creased his forehead and there was a depth of great sadness to his demeanor.
I looked over at Castano and his partner Ken Dodd, who stood in the room’s entryway, and then across the room to the other RHD detective team, Livia Nelson and Johnny Hawkins. All four of them, along with Officer Donna Clark – a petite, short haired blonde, who was standing next to me – appeared enraptured. I realized my own breathing, like theirs, had slowed down as if we were all afraid to make a noise.
When Pagan had entered the room, Judith Davis had been on a crying jag, gasping for breath. Livia Nelson had been making an effort to speak softly and calmly to her, but without success.
Without hesitating, Pagan had taken two long strides across the teak flooring and wrapped Judith in his arms. There probably wasn’t another detective on the planet who would have taken the same action, let alone so smoothly and comfortably. Pagan simply absorbed her into him.
An awkward two minutes followed for everybody with a badge except for Pagan, of course. He simply held Judith as if she were the embodiment of the missing child. He had his head buried in her hair. It was a strangely inti
mate tableau, yet there was no trace of a sexual component. When the embrace finally unraveled, Judith had stabilized enough for Pagan to guide her to the loveseat, where they both now sat.
She took a deep breath before answering. “We didn’t do anything special. We went to the park in the afternoon. When we came home, Unicorn wanted mac ‘n’ cheese for dinner. We watched the Cartoon Network and I put her to bed around seven.”
“Was she upset at all?”
“No. She’s a really happy child. She would never wander away.” Judith looked up murderously at Livia Nelson.
Pagan shook Judith’s hand softly. With his other hand he put a finger lightly on her cheek and gently turned her face and attention back to him. “Of course, she wouldn’t,” he said. “She would never leave you. Like you would never leave her.”
“Never,” Judith said, her voice verging on keening again. She was starting to rock and more snot streamed out her nose.
“Tell me what Unicorn liked,” Pagan said, centering Judith again.
“She’s a Hello Kitty fanatic. Everything has to have Hello Kitty on it or she won’t play with it.”
“Could someone have led her away if they showed her something with Hello Kitty on it?”
“Maybe…She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without her Hello Kitty pillow.”
Pagan cut his dark, fathomless, eyes toward me and then returned his attention to Judith. It was a simple look, yet I knew what it communicated.
I used my cane to help push me up from the edge of the leather armchair on which I’d been sitting. I moved quietly and slowly out of the room, tapping Castano on the shoulder as I passed him.
Behind me, I heard Pagan asking, “When did your friend come over?”
“You know Steve was here?” Judith Davis said, surprised but not wary.
In the vestibule, I looked at Castano. “Steve?”
Castano sighed. “There is no denying your partner has a knack for asking the right question in the right way…We didn’t know Steve was here, but we do now…”
“Where’s the child’s room?” I asked, getting back on mission.
Castano pointed up a sweeping stairway and started climbing the stairs. I stumped along behind him.
There were six bedrooms and four bathrooms on the second floor. Unicorn’s room was at the opposite end from the master bedroom. It was all pink and white frills bought wholesale from an interior design catalogue. Aside from a shelf of plastic, china, and stuffed unicorns, everything else was plastered with the image of a white, cartoon, catlike creature, with a pink bow over its right ear. Its face consisted of two small, round, flat black eyes, a small oval nose, three whiskers exploding out from each cheek, and – disturbingly – no mouth. Hello Kitty.
The Hello Kitty sheets and bedspread were rumpled, but there was no Hello Kitty pillow.
I took in the rest of the room. Certainly no sign of a struggle and no obvious entry and exit point other than the bedroom door. There were windows on the room’s two exterior walls. They were both closed and locked. When I opened them to look out, not only were the screens in place and secure, but the house’s alarm system sounded a loud chime. I pushed out the screens. There were no obvious ladder scuff marks on the wall, no ladders lying in the unmarred landscaping below.
There were several framed pictures of Unicorn and Judith. Smack Daddy didn’t appear in any of the photos. I picked up a five-by-seven studio shot of Unicorn. It was a hard thing to say, but objectively, she was not a pretty child. Not even the professionalism of the studio lights and photographer’s obvious use of air brushing could help. Her skin coloring was blotchy, her features wide and round, her black curly hair thin, her eyes dull. She was only six. She had years to blossom like so many of us, but life had already been unkind to her. No doubt her mother loved her, but I wasn’t so sure about her father.
I tried to look at the room the way Pagan would. What were the things he saw that others didn’t see? It was frustrating to admit, I didn’t know. It made me think what it must be like to be Pagan – his mind constantly racing ahead of everyone else’s.
Since we had arrived, he’d worked the uniformed officer at the door, disarmed and manipulated Smack Daddy, managed to diffuse Dante Castano in order to get him to cooperate on what he thought were his own terms, and was even now running a game on Judith Davis. Pagan was so steeped in what he did, I’m sure he didn’t even think about it most of the time. It was second nature to him. I wondered if he was even capable of turning it off.
Considering this, I realized how well he’d also disarmed, manipulated, and managed me. Giving me the tapes of his interrogation of Michael Horner – trusting me by exposing his deepest wounds to me. His knowledge and handling of my own most hidden secret.
Then there was the whole setup of The Hacienda itself. Specifically, I thought of Pagan throwing open the door to the apartment on the second floor, giving me the promise of a home – an invitation to be part of a family.
There was so much more, but – oddly – I thought of my name on a parking bumper.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about it all. Was it too much? There had been no time to process. I instinctively wanted to rebel, but to do so would be totally against my own best interests. It was part of the trap Pagan laid for the unaware – he made his will your will. He blinded you with the force of his empathy, and by the time you could see clearly again your entire paradigm had changed.
I heard the buzzing vibration of Castano’s phone. He’d been standing in the bedroom doorway watching me, as if expecting me to find the child hiding under the bed. He turned away from me to answer the phone while I took a last scan of the room for non-existent clues.
When I looked back at Castano, I didn’t need to be Pagan to instantly read his body language. His shoulders were slumped, the muscles on his face sagging, his eyes hollowing.
“What is it?” I asked, feeding on his anxiety. “Did they find Unicorn? Is she alive?”
Castano shook his head. “Another six year-old child has been reported missing…”
Chapter 13
Good lies need a leavening of truth
to make them palatable.
- William McIlvanney, The Papers of Troy Veitch
My head was spinning again, but this was quickly becoming the new norm. I followed Castano downstairs. I knew his impulse was to interrupt Pagan, but that was a bad idea. Pagan could do nothing immediately about the second missing child and, from the sounds coming from the living room, he was in full flow – or at least Judith Davis was.
Her voice was a high rising screech verging on the hysterical. “That bastard thinks he can divorce me and pay me nothing…”
I was stumping along behind Castano, barely keeping up, but I managed to reach out and grab his shoulder. He rounded on me with a hiss.
“Down, boy,” I said. “Take a deep breath.”
Anger flared in his eyes, but then Judith Davis’ voice began to register on him.
“Do you think I wanted to look like this?”
I edged past Castano and into the open entry. Judith had her back to me. She was as rigid as if electricity was flowing through her. Pagan was sitting with one knee up on the loveseat, his upper body fully open and turned toward her. His eyes were locked on her, allowing and encouraging her verbal tsunami, but I knew he was aware of me. Not only aware I was there, but also reading my body language, sensing the change the news regarding the second missing child had engendered in my mood.
Judith waved her hands around her face and medically sculpted body. “I did all of this to please him, but nothing I do pleases him.” Judith was crying again, mucus streaming from her knife-sculpted nose. “He calls me a stupid bitch, and I must be to put up with him. He even wanted me to take Unicorn to the plastic surgeon because he doesn’t like the way she looks. She’s six for Hell’s sake!”
I thought of the picture in Unicorn’s room. My objectivity regarding Smack Daddy was in serious danger of slipping.
Pagan’s question went directly to my point. “Do you think Smack Daddy has anything to do with her being gone?”
Judith slumped forward, her head crashing down into Pagan’s lap, her hands scrabbling at his clothing. Pagan recovered quickly, but it was the first time I’d ever seen him startled. He tried to get hold of her hands.
“Whatever you want.” Judith’s muffled voice was saying. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please find her.”
It was almost funny to see Pagan in an awkward position, but he was my partner. Since every other detective in the room appeared frozen in place by the turn of events, I moved forward, setting my cane down as I slid onto the loveseat directly behind Judith. I wrapped my arms around her, pinning her elbows, and pulled her away from Pagan and back against my chest.
She was sobbing uncontrollably, trying to wiggle away from me. Pagan stood up, allowing Officer Clark to slide into his place and help me. After a few moments, I was able to release Judith, who flopped forward helplessly into Officer Clark’s embrace. Clark held her and rocked her as if Judith was a small child.
I recovered my cane and stood to look at Pagan, who appeared to have recovered most of his composure. We moved together out of the room and into the house vestibule.
“What has happened?” Pagan asked.
“Another six year-old has been reported missing. This time in West Valley Division,” I said.
Pagan shook his head. “Circumstances?”
“Same as here,” I said. “Put to bed last night, gone this morning. No sign of forced entry.”
“Any sort of ransom demand?”
“Nothing yet,” I said. “Same as here.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A boy.”
Castano joined us followed by his partner, Dodd. “West Valley Division isn’t Hollywood. It has some nice areas, but nothing like the money there is here,” he said.
“Where, exactly?” Pagan asked.
“Sherman Oaks. South of Ventura Boulevard, east of Sepulveda.”
“I know it,” Pagan said. “Old residential area. Still mostly a Jewish enclave. Old money, but not flashy money.”
