Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel

by Jonathan Kellerman

  "So," said Milo, "no favorites you were aware of."

  "I wasn't paying attention."

  "What about conflict with anyone at Prep? Students, faculty, janitors?"

  "Absolutely nothing like that," said Winterthorn.

  "If she did have problems with someone, would you have known, Jim?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Being in the math-science tribe."

  "That demarcation applies to socializing," said Winterthorn, shifting his weight and scratching the bridge of his nose. "Prep's an intimate place, significant events can attain broad coverage. If Elise was experiencing significant conflict--something that would lead to... yes, I might know about that. But I never heard a thing."

  "You're saying there's a well-oiled gossip mill operating."

  "Not really, it's just... important facts travel."

  "What did the mill have to say about Elise?"

  Winterthorn bit his lip. "I'm not comfortable talking behind her back. Especially now."

  "Now is when you need to talk behind her back, Jim. That back is currently resting on the cold steel surface of a coroner's dissection table."

  Winterthorn shuddered. "Good Lord, you don't pull punches, do you?"

  "I've found that unhelpful when dealing with murder."

  "Murder... this is surreal."

  "Let's get back to the gossip question, Jim. What did loose lips flap about concerning Elise?"

  "Do I have to be quoted on this in your official document--your file, whatever you call it?"

  "Not if you're forthcoming, Jim." Smooth lie.

  Winterthorn rubbed his eyes. "I can't vouch for this firsthand but yes, there was talk to the effect that Elise had a drinking problem. I certainly never saw it, but people claimed they had."

  "Which people?"

  "Other teachers."

  "Names, please."

  "I..."

  "Jim, this is important."

  "Please don't say it came from me."

  "Deal. Who, Jim?"

  "Enrico Hauer, he teaches psychology and urban studies. He claimed he'd seen Elise drunk."

  "At school?"

  Head shake. "At a bar."

  "Which one?"

  "I didn't ask. He said she was pretty much wasted."

  "Are we talking a single episode or a pattern?"

  "He claimed he'd smelled it on her breath at work."

  "And what did Mr. Hauer do with this information?"

  "Nothing," said Winterthorn. "At least as far as I know. I didn't want to hear it. I try to remain above the fray."

  "What fray is that?"

  "It's an expression, Lieutenant. I don't like getting involved in other people's issues." Winterthorn's voice had taken on metal. Tightened posture brought out muscle in the thin, pale arms. Small man, but sinewy, with square shoulders, maybe stronger than he looked.

  Milo said, "What about drugs?"

  "That I never heard," said Winterthorn. "Are you saying drugs were somehow used in conjunction with dry ice? Because as a chemist I really can't come up with an obvious scenario--"

  "So you never hung out with Elise."

  "Never."

  "So if someone else testified that you did hang out with her, they'd be lying."

  Winterthorn's eyes raced from side to side. "Who told you that?"

  "What would you say if I told you Elise did?"

  "I'd say that's ridiculous."

  Milo summarized the DVD.

  Winterthorn gripped the sides of his chair. Burst into tears, lips churning.

  Milo said, "That goes beyond hanging out, Jim."

  Winterthorn rocked, clutched his hair, as his mouth continued to work soundlessly. Two strangled words finally escaped:

  "Only. Once."

  CHAPTER

  11

  James Winterthorn kept shaking.

  Milo said, "Tell us about the one time."

  "You know already, why play games?"

  "Know what, Jim?"

  "It's your strategy," said Winterthorn. "Don't ask questions unless you already know the answer. Lawyers do that." Bitter smile. "Mom's a litigator."

  "Tell us anyway, Jim."

  "One damn time, okay? We were both working late and then we walked to our cars together and that's where it happened."

  "In one of your cars."

  "Hers. I walked her there. Being a gentleman and all that." Arid laugh. "She thanked me and kissed my cheek." Winterthorn's arms crossed his chest. "She turned her head, cheek turned into mouth, and then... what's the difference? It was one time, neither of us talked about it again and there was certainly no harassment and if she claimed different, she was obviously deranged."

  Milo kept silent.

  "In point of fact," Winterthorn went on, "she was the aggressor--she initiated, I was just stupid. We didn't even have conventional sex--no, that came out wrong, I'm not implying anything weird or kinky, I'm just saying we didn't have intercourse. Understand?"

  "Not fully, Jim."

  "She went down on me, okay?" Winterthorn sprang up, walked to the French doors, looked out at impatiens, begonias, ferns, a cute little pathway fashioned from round pond stones. "And then it was over and we never talked about it and it's not relevant because Elise wasn't significant to me and I'm sure the same went for her."

  He faced us. "I was nothing to her. She made that clear."

  "How'd she do that, Jim?"

  "After she finished, she wiped her mouth and laughed and said, 'Don't make a big deal of that, Jimmy. I was just in a mood.'"

  "That kind of attitude could make someone mad."

  "The only one I was mad at was myself. I've always prided myself on being faithful and up until that point I had been. I was a total ass, no excuse. I still don't understand how it happened but I certainly didn't pursue her. Just the opposite, I wanted nothing to do with her."

  "She took you by surprise, Jim."

  "She sure as hell did but I was an ass, nonetheless. I know this sounds like something a woman would say but the entire episode made me feel dirty."

  "Feeling dirty could make someone mad."

  "I didn't kill her!" Winterthorn pounded a pane. Rocked on the balls of his feet. "Goddammit!"

  "Why don't you sit back down, Jim?"

  "I prefer to stand."

  Milo said, "I'm going to give you a time span and I'd like you to tell me where you were during that period."

  He outlined the parameters of the murder day.

  Winterthorn said, "I was with--no, I wasn't with Emily, thank God. I was with my mother. She wasn't feeling well and my father was at a conference so I went and sat with her." Facing us. "There's no reason to drag Emily into this, right?"

  "Hopefully not, Jim."

  "Please. I had nothing to do with Elise's death."

  "Even though she made you feel cheap."

  "An isolated event," said Winterthorn. "I put it behind me."

  "Something like that, a lot of guys would remember it fondly."

  "I'm not a lot of guys."

  "Guess not."

  "That doesn't mean I'm a killer."

  Milo said, "Let's go back to that event for a sec. You tell it as Elise coming on to you, she tells it as persistent sexual harassment."

  "That's insane, I have no idea why she'd say that. Why me, of all people?"

  "Who, then?"

  Winterthorn looked to the side. "That's not what I meant."

  "What did you mean, Jim?"

  Winterthorn slumped. "This is crazy, totally crazy. Dr. Helfgott pulls me out of class and now I'm being interrogated like a criminal."

  "Interviewed," said Milo.

  "I feel interrogated. Worse--intimidated. Like Guantanamo."

  "How did you and Elise get along after the 'event'?"

  "I avoided her."

  "She made you nervous."

  "Maybe that's why she made those insane accusations. She felt rejected."

  "She came on to you again and you turned her
down?"

  "No, no, I'd avoid eye contact, she never had the opportunity. Maybe it annoyed her, I don't know. But what was my choice?"

  "Science teachers not hobnobbing with English teachers made it easier for you," said Milo. "But general job stuff must've thrown you together."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Gripe sessions in the faculty lounge."

  Winterthorn's laughter was quick, too emphatic. Grateful for the opportunity to be other than scared. "There are no gripe sessions at Prep. They'd be considered unseemly."

  Milo said, "That sounds like a word Dr. Helfgott would use."

  "As a matter of fact, it's one of his favorite adjectives."

  "Unseemly," said Milo. "Guess that could apply to murder."

  "That Dr. H. would probably call abominable."

  "Hmm... okay, Jim, I'll need your mother's phone number and address."

  Winterthorn's eyes bugged. "You're kidding."

  "She's your alibi, Jim."

  "I need an alibi?"

  "Jim, look at the facts objectively: A woman accuses you of sexual harassment and now she's dead."

  "I'm the only person she accused?"

  "Should there be others, Jim?"

  Silence.

  "If there's something you know," said Milo, "now's the time."

  Winterthorn sat down, lowered his head. "I'm probably opening a can of worms."

  "Sometimes that's what it takes to catch fish, Jim."

  Seconds passed. A sparrow settled on a rock in the garden. A raven swooped down and scared the smaller bird away.

  Winterthorn covered his mouth with one hand, moaned into his palm softly. The hand lowered. "If you want to pursue that angle, I'd have a look at Enrico--Enrico Hauer. I'm sure he and Elise were seeing each other."

  "Why?"

  "They weren't exactly subtle, Lieutenant. Long looks, smiles, brushing against each other."

  "Sounds like you were watching them, Jim."

  "No, no, that's my point. It was hard to miss."

  "What else can you tell me about Mr. Hauer?"

  "He's from Argentina... he's... self-assured. Teaches urban studies and psychology."

  "He and Elise had something going on."

  "That was my impression."

  "Problem is, Jim, that boils down to consensual hanky-panky, not harassment."

  "The same applies to me! It was totally consensual--she initiated for God's sake--and it was only one time. Enrico, on the other hand..."

  Winterthorn trailed off.

  Milo said, "Okay, thanks for the help, Jim. Now, what's your mom's number?"

  "What are you going to tell her?"

  "That your whereabouts are part of a routine investigation."

  "That's going to freak her out," said Winterthorn. "Could you say I'm not a suspect, you're checking out other people?"

  "Hmm--if you've been totally truthful I guess I could do that."

  "I have been, I swear. And you won't tell Emily, right?"

  "Same answer, Jim."

  "Thank you. I meant that." Winterthorn's eyes misted. Milo held out a tissue. Men usually refuse the offer.

  Winterthorn didn't.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Enrico Hauer smiled dreamily, as if aroused from a pleasant nap. "How bizarre."

  Windsor Prep's head of social studies had arrived ten minutes late, giving Milo time to call James Winterthorn's mother and inquire about the science teacher's whereabouts. Martha Winterthorn, Esq., played lawyer for a while, finally filled in the time frame. Her account left an hour or so unaccounted for and mothers were dubious guarantors, but Milo hung up saying, "At this point, you see any reason to bust the poor bastard's life wide open?"

  "Not yet."

  Bell ring number two.

  The man we found striding into the empty living room was thirty-five to forty, tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, and handsome in a mirror-junkie way: thick, black, pomaded hair worn shoulder-length, perfectly arched eyebrows, glossed and buffed fingernails. He wore a body-conscious chocolate turtleneck, black slacks, two-tone brown-and-black clogs. His gold watch was thin, his pinkie ring bulky. As we got closer, the aroma of a lemony cologne thickened.

  He took in the house's interior. "Nice. When can we open escrow?" Mellow baritone, the barest hint of Latin accent.

  Neither Milo nor I laughed.

  Enrico Hauer said, "I'm joking because I'm upset and disoriented. Being called to face the police is Kafkaesque."

  Milo said, "One of those days, huh?" and guided Hauer to the back of the house. Seated in the chair James Winterthorn had occupied, Hauer slipped his hand between buttock and metal. "Already warm. This is the hot seat?"

  "It's good to have a sense of humor, Mr. Hauer."

  "Rico. As a defense mechanism it's less damaging than others."

  "What have you been told about this meeting?"

  "Dr. Helfgott's secretary informed me Elise Freeman was dead and that the police wanted to talk to some of the faculty."

  "How well did you know Elise?"

  "Not well at all."

  "It's been suggested that you and Elise Freeman had an affair."

  "An affair? How silly."

  "Never happened, huh?"

  "By silly I meant that word. Affair. As if formal invitations were printed. We had sex." Hauer shook his head. "That's why I'm here? For having sex."

  "For having sex with a dead woman."

  Hauer laughed. "I am not a necrophiliac."

  "Correction," said Milo. "A woman who ended up dead."

  "Well, I'm sorry for that, but here are the facts: Elise and I had purely physical sex many times. Surely you guys don't see that as strange. A woman I can see objecting. The blending of emotion and physicality. But we are different, no?"

  "You teach psychology, right?"

  "I love it," said Rico Hauer. "One day I may pursue a Ph.D."

  "What other subjects do you teach?"

  "Social justice. That's a two-semester course spanning the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries. As well as an honors seminar in urban studies and a super-honors mini-course in poverty and social adjustment."

  "Super-honors?"

  Hauer winked. "Kids who are really motivated get rewarded with extra homework and long papers."

  Milo said, "Sounds like you've got a busy schedule."

  "One who loves his work is never busy, only engaged."

  "Ah... that apply to sex with Elise?"

  "Oh, yes, Lieutenant. We were both definitely engaged--engrossed, really."

  "How often did you and Elise get mutually engrossed?"

  "As often as we could--no, forgive me, I'm being flippant again because this really has unnerved me."

  "Being here."

  "Being here to discuss Elise's death. Which I'm assuming was unpleasant and irregular, otherwise why would I be here, forgive the teleology--the circular logic."

  Milo handed over his card.

  Hauer said, "I hope she didn't suffer, Elise did not like to suffer."

  "She told you that?"

  "Oh, yes, explicitly. 'I'm not into pain, Rico.'"

  "How did the topic of pain come up, Mr. Hauer?"

  Hauer crossed long legs. White silk socks thin enough to suggest chestnut ankles contrasted with the black pants. "You're probably assuming paraphilia--pain in a sexual context. But not so, Lieutenant, the conversation was postcoital. Elise did what many women do in that situation. Began talking about herself." Conspiratorial grin.

  Milo remained impassive. Hauer turned to me for empathy. I pretended to be a DMV clerk.

  He said, "What I'm trying to get across is, Elise began talking about her childhood. A very unpleasant childhood, as it turned out."

  "How so, Mr. Hauer?"

  "A father who withheld love. In my view, it had turned Elise needy and vulnerable. That particular night, her point was that she'd escaped an unsatisfying family situation and had no desire to repeat it. Hence, 'I'm not into pain,
Rico.' To my mind it sounded like anxious denial--trying to convince herself that she was strong. On the other hand, not repeating history would be a positive step, so I didn't debate her."

  Hauer turned serious. "She yearned for gentleness. In fact, I'd say that was the unifying concept of her sexually. That's why I find it so unnerving that someone has harmed her. Was it violent?"

  "We're keeping the details to ourselves for now."

  "Yes," said Hauer. "That makes sense."

  Milo said, "You always treated her gently."

  "I'm a guy who loves to make women happy, Lieutenant. The pleasure of others increases my own."

  "So if a woman wanted it rough, you'd oblige."

  "Within bounds, but that wasn't Elise. Quite the opposite, she was more tickle than tussle."

  Milo flipped pages in his pad. Hauer looked out to the garden, smiled serenely.

  "You like working at Prep?"

  "For the time being."

  "Thinking of leaving?"

  "Not imminently," said Hauer, "but I do like to keep life well seasoned. A few years ago I rode my motorcycle from San Diego into Central America. Shortly after that, I managed to enter Myanmar--Burma--on a cargo ship. That is a place Americans are advised against visiting. I managed quite nicely for two weeks. I've lived on the isle of Gibraltar, observing the monkeys. I've studied flamenco guitar in Andalusia--as a historian, not a musician."

  "So one day you might just pick up and take another adventure."

  "Life is adventure."

  I said, "Where are you from?"

  "A place where Italians speak Spanish and think they're Germans." Smile. "Argentina. But America suits me better. The land of endless opportunity."

  "Like a Ph.D. in psychology."

  "Or a position at a think tank, or ten more years teaching bright, nervous kids." A big hand waved. "Whatever life brings."

  "What aspect of psychology would you study?"

  "I would become a master psychotherapist."

  "Isn't the Ph.D. a research degree?" I said. "Least that's what my cousin the psychologist says."

  "I would research becoming a master psychotherapist. My secondary topic would be psychotherapeutic valences as they enhance affective gestalt."

  Gibberish; I nodded as if it were profound.