by Alan Cook
“Yeah.”
But he said it wistfully. Tony could not detect any undertone of anger.
“Apparently my friend isn’t in the phonebook. Thanks for letting me look at it.” Tony walked the couple of steps to the door, carefully, both to avoid the piles on the floor and to protect his knee. He had been standing since he had left the car, and his knee was beginning to ache.
Fred glanced up almost to Tony’s eyes and said, “You’re welcome.”
He didn’t say anything more. He stood in the middle of his room and seemed to be looking at the pictures on one of the walls. As Tony closed the door, he was still standing there, motionless.
Tony went slowly down the stairs, leaning on the railing with his arm to support much of his weight, each time he lowered his left foot from one step to the one below. He limped to the SUV and settled himself into the driver’s seat. He drove home at a leisurely pace, while thinking about Fred. And being glad that he wasn’t Fred.
CHAPTER 28
The next morning as Tony prepared his version of an omelet for breakfast, he thought some more about Fred. He couldn’t picture Fred as a killer. A masturbator, yes. He was obviously that. The pictures, the phone calls, the voice-altering mechanism. The girls had been trained to hang up on him whenever he started talking dirty—and rightly so. But he didn’t appear to have any normal sexual outlets. Whatever normal meant.
Not only did he show no signs of anger or pugnacity, he wasn’t as big as Joy. And Tony couldn’t picture him wielding a knife to subdue her, let alone strangling her. When Tony had gone to meet him the first time, Fred had fled before he even knew that Tony was a man instead of a girl. It had probably taken all the guts he had just to go to the meeting place. He had undoubtedly persuaded himself that Shahla—Sally—wouldn’t show up, and so he was safe. But when someone did show up, he couldn’t face the situation.
And last night, Shahla had again talked him into meeting her. This invitation was so different from the usual hang ups he received from the girls that he had been flustered enough to give his work address. He had grasped at a thread of hope, while probably dreading what would happen if she actually came. But when she didn’t come, it cemented his self-image. He was a loser, and girls wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
One more thing. Fred undoubtedly had an alibi for the night of the murder. He had probably been working. And although he worked alone, didn’t he have to punch time clocks and leave other tracks during his shift?
That sealed it. Tony was not going to talk to Detective Croyden about Fred. For one thing, he didn’t want to take Croyden’s shit about doing police work and interfering with the law. He hadn’t interfered with anything. Croyden would be able to verify Fred’s employment, his alibi, and anything else he wanted to know. And nothing Tony had done would stop him. Fred didn’t associate him with the police or with the Hotline. He was sure of that.
The doorbell chimed. Who could that be at 10:00 on a Saturday morning? Tony glanced at his attire, relieved that he was wearing shorts, even though he was shirtless. At least he was presentable enough to answer the door. He padded slowly into the living room, without his crutches. He didn’t intend to use them anymore. He didn’t bother to look through the peephole in the front door. The sun was shining and nothing bad could be lurking outside. He opened the door and found himself looking at the crooked nose of Detective Croyden.
It was a shock to see the man he had just been thinking about. Tony stared at him for a moment before he found his voice. “Good morning, Detective Croyden,” he said. “Do you work twenty-four hours a day?”
“Thirty, sometimes. I’ve come to talk to Josh.”
Josh. Tony was horrified. When he had given the panties to Croyden, he had known at some level that Croyden would have to talk to Josh. But he hadn’t actually pictured how this would take place. In his house. And so soon.
“Josh is still asleep.” He had come home even later than Tony.
“Well, wake him up. This is official police business. And I want to talk to him alone.”
That did sound official. Tony stepped back so that Croyden could enter. He pointed to the couch in the living room and said, “I’ll get him.”
As he went slowly up the stairs, still favoring his left leg, Tony dreaded what was going to happen. Croyden was carrying a briefcase. He could guess what was inside. He pictured Croyden whipping the panties out of the case and saying, “Where did you get these?”
Croyden hadn’t had time to perform any tests on the panties. But what could he test for? If there wasn’t any blood on them, how could a test connect them with Joy? Tony reached the top of the stairs and looked at Josh’s closed door. He was a grumpy riser. And being faced with the prospect of talking to the police would make his mood that much fouler.
Tony decided to go to his athletic club and work out, something he hadn’t done since his knee injury. Get good and sweaty. And not return for a while. He gritted his teeth and knocked on the door.
***
In fact, Tony didn’t return home until late that afternoon. After he finished his workout he went to his office to catch up on paperwork. He sometimes did that on weekends when there was nobody around to disturb him. It was peaceful, and he was very productive. He found that he really liked this job, and he wanted to do well at it. He was sure that what he did helped people. Just as the Hotline helped people.
Toward the end of the afternoon, he remembered that he had been going to tell the Los Angeles Police Department about the church scam. It would be a long drive to a police station near the church. And then back. And Croyden had been pessimistic about how much good it would do. He decided to skip it.
He hadn’t thought about Josh and Detective Croyden for several hours when he turned into the car park of his townhouse development. He had driven the Porsche for the first time in several days, and it felt good to be behind the wheel of the responsive car, even if he had to be careful shifting because his left knee was still sore.
As he drove down the row of carports, he saw that his was filled with large cardboard boxes. What the hell was going on? He saw Josh’s SUV, which had been backed into the adjoining carport, and then he saw Josh, methodically loading the boxes into it.
Tony stopped the Porsche outside the carport and got out, not bothering to close the door. He limped over to Josh, who had not ceased work, and said, “What are you doing?”
Josh placed a box carefully into his car before he replied. He looked at Tony and said, “Remember, I told you that I’d move out within thirty days? I’m well within that time period, I believe.”
“I didn’t think…I didn’t think….” He didn’t think what? “I didn’t think you’d really do it.”
Josh looked very cool. He said, “An agreement is an agreement. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do, although I’m almost finished. This is the last load. Then I’ll be out of your hair for good.” He picked up another box and shoved it into the car.
“Where are you going?”
“What do you care? I’m going; that should be all that matters to you.”
“It was Detective Croyden, wasn’t it? What did he tell you?”
“He didn’t have to tell me anything. When he showed me the panties that were a souvenir of my first affair in college, I knew the whole story. I knew that my buddy had double-crossed me. I knew he was trying to set me up—for what reason I don’t know. But it’s definitely time to make a break with the past. So sayonara, Noodles. It’s been fun.”
“But I didn’t remember the panties. I’m not trying to set you up. You know that.” Tony sputtered, not knowing what to say.
“After all we’ve been through together, you don’t trust your roommate. That’s what hurts the most.”
Josh shoved the last box into the back of the SUV and slammed the door down. He walked around to the driver’s side, pushing Tony out of the way when he tried to stop him. He climbed in, slammed that door, started the engine and pulled fo
rward out of the carport. He took a left turn, then another, and disappeared around the row of townhouses.
***
Tony had just finished looking into Josh’s room and verifying that everything “Josh” was indeed gone when the phone rang. It was Rasa, Shahla’s mother. She was speaking rapidly and Tony had trouble understanding her.
“Could you repeat that?” he asked.
“It’s Shahla. She has disappeared.”
CHAPTER 29
“When did you last see Shahla?”
Tony tried to ask the question in an even voice, hoping that his example would help to calm Rasa down enough so that he could understand what she was saying. Upon receiving her call, he had immediately driven to her place, knowing that he would never be able to communicate with her by phone. When he had arrived, she had started talking as soon as she opened the door, so rapidly that he still couldn’t understand her accented words. He had suggested they sit down in her living room. She appeared to be a little calmer now as she answered.
“This morning. She came down about eight o’clock and had something to eat.”
That was better. The act of sitting had slowed the flow of words; they were now intelligible to Tony. He said, “And then what happened?”
“She said she was going to study with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend lives short distance from here so she walked.” And Rasa’s car was in the driveway.
“And she was supposed to come home at a certain time?”
“That is too much to ask. I told her to call me at noon and tell me where she was. She did not call so I called her cell phone. I got message.”
“Did you call her girlfriend?”
“Yes, I called girlfriend. There was no answer.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since.”
“No. I called again and again and always got message. She must not have phone with her. Otherwise she would return my calls.”
“What do you think happened to her?” As soon as he asked it, Tony wished he could withdraw the question.
Rasa sobbed, “I think Joy’s murderer has kidnapped her.”
He wasn’t used to all this emotion, except from the callers, and with them he had the safety of a phone line between them. At least Rasa didn’t say she thought Shahla was dead. But she did look close to collapsing. Tony reflected that in the days before cell phones, it wasn’t unusual for a teenager to be out of touch with her parents for several hours, or even all day. Now, parents expected instant access to their children. He didn’t know whether to be worried or not. If it weren’t for the fact that a murder had been committed….
“Let me try her,” Tony said. He pulled out his own phone. God. The world was being run by them. He called Shahla’s number and waited. It rang twice and went to voice mail. After the beep, Tony said, “Shahla, it’s Tony. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.” He gave his number and hung up.
“What should I do?” Rasa asked wiping her eyes with a tissue.
She was looking to him for guidance. Because of the circumstances, immediate action was called for. And maybe it would get her to stop crying. “I think we should call the police.”
“Do you think police will help?”
“That’s their job.”
***
It was after 9 when Tony got back to his townhouse, emotionally exhausted and starving. He hadn’t had anything to eat since about noon. He rummaged through the refrigerator and found some leftover chicken that Josh had bought at a fast-food restaurant and not finished. A parting gift from his ex-roommate. He gave it the sniff test, and it passed, so he ate it, along with a potato and some frozen corn that he microwaved.
It had been a thoroughly bad day. First Josh and then Shahla. After Tony had called the Bonita Beach Police, the desk officer had called Detective Croyden who was at home. Tony had actually been shocked that Croyden wasn’t working. And then he realized that he expected Croyden to be on duty all the time. And it almost seemed as if he was. When Shahla and others badmouthed the police for not solving the murder, they were ignoring Croyden’s work ethic.
Croyden had come to Rasa’s home. She had repeated her story to him. Tony had told him about his meeting with the Chameleon. Otherwise, he would have been withholding evidence. Croyden hadn’t even chewed him out. He just took notes with his Mont Blanc pen and looked properly concerned. An officer Croyden had brought with him started calling friends of Shahla from a list supplied by Rasa.
Tony belatedly told Croyden that Josh had moved out. Croyden made a note and looked at Tony for a moment with what was almost a compassionate expression. He said, “You still did the right thing. It’s hard to rat out your buddy, but sometimes to have to do it.”
“You don’t think he’s involved in this, do you?” Tony asked, shocked by Croyden’s serious tone.
“His story about the panties sounds legit. We’re checking on his alibi for the night of the murder.”
Tony couldn’t recall that Josh had given him an alibi. But he felt relieved. Even if Josh never spoke to him again, he didn’t want him to be convicted of murder.
A female friend of Rasa’s arrived to comfort her. Detective Croyden was using the house as a temporary command post while he coordinated the efforts of several officers in the field. In between phone calls, he asked Rasa questions about Shahla’s friends and habits.
After watching him in action for a while, Tony began to see him in a better light. He really was a good policeman. It relieved Tony’s mind a little. He still wasn’t convinced that Shahla had met with foul play, but whether she had or whether she hadn’t, Croyden was doing his best to find her.
Eventually, Tony began to feel expendable, like a disposable razor. So he left. He decided to conduct his own search. He drove slowly, up and down almost every street in Bonita Beach—the streets that crossed Pacific Coast Highway and ran downhill to the water, and the cross streets parallel to PCH and the coastline. He did this for two hours—until his gas gauge registered empty.
What else could he do? The more he tried to think, the more his brain wouldn’t function. It was then he realized that he was exhausted and starving. He drove home and parked in his carport. After staring at the empty space where Josh’s car used to be, he dragged himself into the house and went to the refrigerator.
***
Tony leafed through the pages of the Green Book at the Hotline office on Sunday morning, concentrating on the inactive callers at the back of the book. Detective Croyden had considered all of the active callers as possible suspects, and as far as Tony knew, he had discarded all of them except Fred the Chameleon. And Tony had discarded Fred as a suspect. Tony was sure that Croyden had also looked at the inactive pages, but because there was no way to contact the people who were no longer calling the Hotline, he really didn’t have any leads to follow.
Tony wasn’t sure he could do any better, but he read the description of each caller, looking for something—he didn’t know what— that might set off an alarm in his brain. He read the information for each inactive caller and then went back and reread it for just the male callers. Then, for some reason, he came back and read the page for one caller a third time.
This was a man who had given a variety of names, none of which had any special meaning for Tony. His Hotline nickname was Cackling Crucifier. He had called for several years and apparently stopped calling very abruptly about nine or ten months ago. He was given the name because of his weird laugh and because he liked to talk about religion. He appeared to carry a lot of guilt. He talked as if he thought he had personally crucified Jesus. He asked listeners about their religions. He always had a television set on in the background. The page on him said not to discuss religion or give him any personal information.
Tony had come into the Hotline office because he wanted to feel as if he was doing something to help find Shahla. Besides, he couldn’t stand the quiet in his townhouse with Josh gone. He had called the Bonita Beach police first thing this morning to get
an update on the search for her. No news. Now that he was here, he realized that this was where he usually saw her. He missed her. It occurred to him for the first time that if something had happened to her, he might never see her again. He shuddered.
He was sitting at the white table in the outer office. A girl named Anne was in the listening room. Tony knew she had been a listener for a couple of years. When she hung up from a call, Tony carried the Green Book into the listening room and said, “Anne, did you ever speak to this guy called Cackling Crucifier?”
“Several times,” she said. “He was what I would call a Jesus freak.”
“Did he ask a lot of questions?”
“Yeah. He wanted to know if I went to church and if I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior. I didn’t tell him I was Jewish.”
“Did he ever ask where the Hotline was located?”
“He may have, but if he did, I didn’t tell him.”
“What else can you remember about him?”
“He had a distinctive laugh. Kind of a cackle. That’s how he got his name. I’d recognize his laugh anywhere.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked what I looked like and whether I’d go out with him. He got pretty personal. I blew him off. Once or twice he became abusive, saying that I was immoral and would go to hell. When he did, I hung up on him.”
“The book says he lives in Los Angeles. Did he ever tell you anything more specific than that?”
“I don’t think so. I imagine he lives somewhere within fifty miles of here.”
He and a few million other people.
CHAPTER 30
When Shahla left Jane’s house, she walked to the beach. One of her friends from school, Lacey, lived in a three-story house right on the beach. Lacey’s parents were away for the weekend. Lacey had decided this was the ideal opportunity to throw a party.
Rasa didn’t allow Shahla to attend parties that weren’t supervised by adults. So Shahla hadn’t bothered to tell her about this party. Doing schoolwork with Jane was her excuse to go out. And she and Jane had done schoolwork, Shahla rationalized, as she felt a twinge of guilt. But she also deserved a little fun.
