"They're definitely blowing something up."
DMV gave up an address for Tremaine L. Franck two blocks from campus. Forty-five minutes later we were pulling up to a six-unit dingbat, enhanced by two flowering magnolia trees but otherwise sad. A tilting bicycle rack stood near the entrance. A single chain coiled around the slats but no bikes in sight.
Inside, the place smelled like a dorm with two-wheelers crowding a dim hallway. Green walls were chipped and cracked, ravaged carpeting was worn down to the padding in spots, hip-hop blared through plywood doors. One section of the hallway had been glued with hundreds of pennies. Crude black-marker lettering above the array: Penny Paved Is Penny Ioned.
No music leaked from Trey Franck's unit. No answer to Milo's knock. He slipped his card between the jamb and the door, with a message to call asap.
"Let's grab a bite in Olde Towne, try him again. I know a fish-and-chips place, got the whole English pub thing going on. Ever throw darts?"
Five minutes later, as I neared Colorado Boulevard, his cell beeped a Bach fugue.
"Mr. Franck, thanks for calling back. Listen, I was wondering if we could talk about Elise Freeman... you haven't heard? Sorry to be the one to tell you but she's passed... no, not naturally... we're not certain yet... that would be good, Mr. Franck... Trey it is... no, it won't take long at all, Trey.
"Pull a U-ey, Dr. D. Haddock will have to wait. He was in the apartment next door, we just missed him. Sounds like a nice kid, appropriately freaked about Elise. On the other hand, he snuck around with her while she was supposedly going with Fidella and he changes his hair like I change shirts. So maybe he got involved in more than May-December hoohah."
"Multifaceted," I said. "That could help get you into Harvard."
"You bet. Look at His Flawlessness."
As we returned to Trey Franck's building, the fugue repeated. "Sturgis... Dr. Jernigan, what's up? No, I haven't... probably... yeah, it does, what can I say, you play the cards you're dealt... that's pretty quick, not that I'm complaining... okay... makes sense... no, I haven't, thanks for letting me know... yes, I will keep it close to the vest."
He hung up, bounced his lower teeth against his uppers. "The unnamed opiate has been identified as oxycodone, possibly administered as a liquid because there was no pill residue in Elise's stomach, but Jernigan won't swear to that. Not enough dope for an O.D. but the interaction with all the booze in Elise's system would significantly kick up the risk for heart stoppage."
"Someone gave her a chaser," I said. "Liquid form would make it easier to doctor the alcohol."
"Jernigan was double-checking to see if there were Oxy bottles at the scene or in the trash. When I told her no, she said that clinched it, she's calling it a homicide."
"What are you keeping close to the vest?"
"The fact that she called me. The labs came in yesterday with instructions from Above not to disseminate without official permission. Jernigan was surprised when I didn't do a follow-up call, so she went out on a limb."
"Nothing like a pal at the coroner."
"Too bad I need one."
Trey Franck slumped on the Murphy bed of his shabby single room. Near his left hand was a contact-lens case and a bottle of eyedrops. The orbs to which he'd just applied the drops were big and round, gray-blue flecked with gold, shiny with moisture.
Hanging on a grimy wall opposite the bed was the room's sole nod to decoration: a black poster curling at the corners, bearing a single line of white script limned in electric blue.
DIGITAL CLOUD BOSTON
Milo pointed. "That a band?"
"Art exhibit," said Trey. "Allison Birnbaum, a friend from college."
"Harvard?"
"Indeed, that's a college." Franck shook his head. "I can't believe this."
"How'd you know Elise?"
"I did some work for her. This is utterly horrifying."
"When's the last time you and she had contact?"
"We spoke on the phone around... two weeks ago."
Confirmed by the records.
"Social call?"
"She called me to catch up." Franck's speech had an odd delay to it, lips forming words milliseconds before any sound emerged.
"About?"
"Work." Franck knuckled an eye, touched a chin dotted with sparse blond stubble. He had on a baggy blue Yale T-shirt, gray sweatpants, rubber thongs. His hair was longer than his DMV shot, a good two inches below his shoulders and tinted coppery brown with white-blond tips. Smooth, hairless arms hung like vines from narrow sloping shoulders. Nails bitten to the quick. A bright green beanbag chair and a splintering dresser comprised the decor. Atop the dresser, a hot plate shared space with food spatter, used and unused cans of Pepsi, a bag of cheese curls, books, spiral notepads. One corner was filled with a jumble of dirty clothing. A laptop and a printer sat on the floor.
Milo had considered the beanbag, eyed an ambiguous stain, and opted to remain on his feet. "What kind of work did you do for Elise?"
"I took tutoring jobs when she was full up."
"Did she pay you or just recommend your services?"
"Elise handled the business aspect. For every hour I worked, I earned half."
"So she had plenty of business, gave you the overflow."
"Her business is seasonal," said Franck. "But, yes."
"Did Elise ever tutor you? Back in your high school days?"
Franck blinked. "No." Reproachfully, as if the question was absurd.
"Perfect SATs all on your own?"
Shrug. "It's just a test."
"What subjects do you specialize in, Trey?"
"Anything that's required."
"Math-science as well as English?"
"Yes."
"Elise only tutored English and history."
"She could do basic math but she preferred not to go beyond that."
"So for algebra, calculus, APs, and such, you're the man."
"Was," said Franck. "I don't do it anymore."
"Too busy?"
"I've got a research assistantship that pays for room, board, and tuition." Taking in the room. "It's not luxe but I'm fine."
"This building a dorm?"
"Not officially," said Franck. "It's owned by an alumnus and he gives a substantial break on the rent. What exactly happened to Elise?"
"All we can say at this point is that she's deceased, Trey. Tell us how you met her."
"That's relevant because..."
"It's relevant because I asked."
Franck stared up at him. "Sorry, I'm still trying to integrate."
"You were close to Elise."
"She helped me by sharing her business--"
"When did that start?"
"I was a senior at Prep, she knew I needed the money."
"And you were smart."
Shrug. "She thought so."
"No problems tutoring your peers?"
"I had something they needed. For the most part, they were smart kids."
"Why would smart kids need tutoring?"
Franck's smile said we couldn't hope to understand.
Milo said, "Smart but not super-smart?"
"At a place like Prep, boosting a 740 SAT to 780 is profound."
"How much do smart kids pay for something like that, Trey?"
"Their parents pay a hundred an hour with a one-thousand-dollar retainer up front. My cut was fifty percent."
"How many clients a week did Elise send you?"
"At the peak I was putting in fifteen hours a week. I still can't believe she's gone." Franck's eyes drifted to the ceiling. Gray stains marred the plaster, as if a greasy-haired giant had butted his head.
"Seven fifty a week," said Milo.
"Well earned, Lieutenant."
"You don't have time for it anymore."
"I need to concentrate on my research," said Franck, slapping hair from his brow.
"What are you researching?"
"Catalysis and response engineering."
"Oh, yeah," said Milo. "Saw a TV Guide special on that."
Franck didn't react.
Milo edged an inch closer. "You're into color, huh?"
"Pardon?"
"Your hair, you dye it."
Franck licked his lips. "You take your fun where you find it."
"What's the next step, a catalysis tattoo?"
Reluctant smile. "I don't think so, Lieutenant."
"Were you Elise's only employee?"
"I was."
"When you went off to Harvard, she didn't hire anyone else?"
"No. When I was back for summers, I resumed. It beat flipping burgers."
"Guy with your talents," said Milo, "I don't see you in fast food."
"Guess what, Lieutenant, that's exactly what I did for two high school summers. McDonald's, Burger King. Then I promoted myself to busboy at Shecky's Deli. You want corned beef sliced thin, I'm your man."
"No summer fellowships available for smart kids?"
"There's no shortage of unpaid internships," said Franck. "And the best summer programs, like Oxbridge, you pay for. My father teaches math and my mother's a nurse. Ergo a funny hat and playing solo deep-fryer."
"So it was a match made in heaven," said Milo. "You and Elise."
"It worked out for both of us."
"How come you're wearing a Yale T-shirt?"
Franck blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Why advertise the opposition?"
The young man's smile was wide and toothy. "It's an Ivy thing. Flaunting your own school is pretentious."
"So when some jerk cuts me off in traffic and he's got a YooHoo University decal on the rear window of his Mercedes he probably didn't go to YooHoo?"
"If he's a jerk, he probably did," said Franck. "Can I assume you have no idea who killed Elise?"
"I never said she was killed, Trey."
"You're homicide detectives."
"Sometimes we investigate suicides."
"You think that's what it was?"
"You see that as possible, Trey?"
"What do you mean?"
"Any signs of depression on Elise's part?"
"No."
"Just like that," said Milo, snapping his fingers. "No hemming and hawing."
"I never saw any depression. Not in the clinical sense."
"Meaning?"
"She had her moods," said Franck. "Like anyone. Mostly when I saw her, she was in fine spirits." He picked at a cuticle. "I probably shouldn't get into this, but I feel duty-bound. Not that I think it's necessarily relevant. But..."
Pick pick.
"There's a kid named Martin Mendoza. He's a senior at Prep and Elise tutored him. But he didn't come to her in the usual way, Prep assigned him to Elise."
"And?"
"And there were problems."
"What kinds of problems?"
"Anger management," said Franck. "He didn't want to be there--at Prep, or working with Elise--and he let her know. He came in as a junior, recruited to pitch for the baseball team, he'd been a star in public school. Early in the season, he got injured, couldn't play anymore, but Prep had already contracted with him for the full two years."
"Contracted?" said Milo. "Sounds like the major leagues."
"In a sense it is, Lieutenant. When a prize athlete from the inner city fits a niche at Prep, Prep draws up a written agreement. If it works out, everyone gets their money's worth. If it doesn't and the student has significant academic issues to begin with--which is fairly typical--the problem generally fixes itself. In a Darwinian sense."
"The student drops out because he can't handle the workload."
"It's a high-pressure environment to begin with," said Franck. "Unless you're academically oriented, you're likely to be miserable."
"Blow your knee, back to Urban Sprawl High."
"Well put, Lieutenant."
"Martin Mendoza didn't oblige?"
"From what Elise told me, transferring to Prep wasn't his choice, it was his parents'. His father works as a waiter at a country club, that's where he met an alum who hooked him up. But overcoming historical deficits is tough."
"What's a historical deficit, Trey?"
"Public school," said Franck. "Martin had some monumental catching up, Prep hired Elise to help him."
"Nice of them, even though he wasn't pitching anymore."
"Guess so."
"You don't think it was altruism."
"I think by seventeen a kid should have some control over his life and when you neglect that, you're playing with fire. Martin got pretty aggressive with Elise. It upset her."
"Physically aggressive?"
"Verbally, but it bothered her enough to tell me about it."
"Did she ask you to protect her from Mendoza?"
"Nothing like that, she just wanted to talk about it. Normally, I wouldn't be thinking about it. But now that she's... I have to tell you, I'm not comfortable talking out of school."
"So to speak," said Milo.
Silence.
"So Elise was scared of Mendoza."
"More like... I guess she was, Lieutenant. She tried to do her job but he kept missing appointments and messing up her schedule, never followed through on homework assignments, went out of his way to be uncooperative. Elise finally told him he was wasting her time and Prep's money and not doing himself a favor. He got in her face, started screaming. Elise said she backed away, was ready to call 911. But he just cursed and ran out and she never saw him again."
"When did this happen?"
"A month or so ago. When's the funeral?"
"At this point, that's unclear." Milo produced his pad, flipped it open, scanned. "Arnie Joseph's."
"Pardon?"
"It's a bar on Van Nuys Boulevard. Elise used to drink there occasionally but you know that."
"I don't drink." Franck's finger worked a cuticle. A seam of blood appeared and he stanched it with a thumb.
Another look at the greasy ceiling.
"You're saying you've never been to Arnie Joseph's."
Franck licked his lips. "I haven't."
"But you have been near Arnie Joseph's, that's how we found you, Trey. You walked Elise over there, then the two of you shared a bye-bye kiss. Hot and heavy was the way it was described to us."
Trey Franck blurted, "Oh, God." Plopping back on his bed, he lay on his back, closed his eyes, breathed fast.
"Anything else you want to tell us, Trey?"
Franck mumbled something.
"I didn't catch that, Trey."
"We did it."
"Did what?"
Franck propped up on his elbows, stared past us. "We made love. Not regularly, once in a while. Nothing emotional, for fun."
"Fun," said Milo.
"Stress relief." Franck swiveled and met our eyes. Held the gaze defiantly. "Dealing with idiots, hour after interminable hour. It helped us forget."
CHAPTER
19
Trey Franck sat up and spread his shoulders.
Admitting his affair with Elise Freeman had enlarged him.
Milo said, "When did you and Elise begin your stress-reduction program?"
"Don't worry, I was over eighteen."
"I'm not worried, son, I'm looking for details."
"I still don't see why anything I've done is relevant."
Milo squatted and put his big face close to Franck's. Franck edged back.
"When we investigate a nasty death, Trey, we begin by looking at people close to the deceased, because statistically, most nasty deaths are perpetrated by someone the victim knows. When we ran Elise's phone records, you popped up as a frequent contact. One thing in your favor is that you didn't lie about not speaking to her in two weeks. The record backs that up. But that doesn't mean we're not interested in learning more about you."
"Statistics," said Franck, "are group measurements intended for samples, not individuals. They possess absolutely no validity when applied to individuals."
"Thanks for the math lesson,
son, but right now you're what we call a person of interest and if you want to stop being a person of interest, you'll just answer the questions."
"I just don't see why my sex life is--"
"Here's a theoretical situation, Trey: What if you and Elise had a hot-and-heavy romance going and she broke it off? Jealousy and resentment are great motives."
"It may be theoretical but it's definitely not empirical," said Franck. "Elise and I got together occasionally for recreational sex and no one broke anything off. If you're looking at jealousy, pay attention to a loser who had a serious thing for her named Sal Fidella. Since you've got phone records, I'm sure you've seen his number."
"You know Mr. Fidella."
"No. I know of him. Elise said she'd dated him on and off, he was getting annoying."
"Annoying in what way?"
"Wanting to keep getting with her but she was over it. She thought he was a loser, always talking to her about get-rich-quick schemes."
"Such as?"
"She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask. It wasn't anything we dwelled upon."
"Did Elise ever say Fidella had actually gone through with any of his schemes?"
Franck smirked. "So you already suspect him."
"Don't second-guess us, son."
"She never got specific beyond saying he was all heat, no light."
"She ever say he was violent?"
"Unfortunately, she never mentioned that."
"Unfortunately?"
"You'd concentrate on him and I wouldn't have to talk about my sex life."
"You've seen a photo of Elise and Fidella in her living room?"
"Okay. So?"
"That didn't make you think?"
"About what?"
"She's over him but hangs on to his picture?"
Franck's knees pressed together. "I suppose that was incongruous. But so what? I wasn't romantically attached to Elise."
"Obviously," said Milo. "She kept no picture of you."
Silence.
"Unless she did and you removed it after she died."
"No way, I haven't been to her house in months! You keep coming back to total irrelevancies--"
Milo said, "Of course, there could be another reason--another theoretical. Elise had students coming in and out. Parents, too, sometimes. Flaunting a nonromantic, recreational relationship with a former student wouldn't do much for business."
Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel Page 12
