Good to the Last Kiss

by Ronald Tierney

  ‘My name’s McClellan,’ said the heavier cop, the one who looked a little bloated. ‘That’s Gratelli.’ Gratelli had deep bags under his eyes. Gratelli was pretty ugly, Falwell thought. A face you couldn’t read. Sad, dog-like eyes, thin lips. Hair in his ears.

  The two cops sat across the narrow table, close enough to reach across and grab Falwell by the throat if they wanted to. But they didn’t seem excited enough to do that. They seemed kind of slow. Kind of boring. Not at all what he imagined. This was Homicide?

  Falwell reminded himself to be quiet. Polite. Short answers.

  ‘So, Earl,’ the bloated cop said. ‘You ever been up on Potrero Hill.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How ’bout that hill above Haight Street.’

  ‘Nope,’ Earl said. He knew what this was about now. He thought he’d been home free. The guy he beat up finally dropped charges – after Earl spent ugly time in jail waiting – probably because the beating victim didn’t want to come back from Baltimore or Boston or some place like that. And he was just about home free. Just a couple of more questions they said before they set him free. And here he was. In Homicide. Talking about the hill above Haight Street. Earl Falwell’s right foot started keeping time a beat no one including Earl could hear.

  ‘Nope?’ McClellan said. ‘You live near the Haight, don’t you?’

  ‘You know where I live.’

  ‘Yeah and you never been up the hill over there?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Twin Peaks? Sutro Tower? You know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Yeah, but I never been up there.’

  ‘You jog much?’

  ‘Nope,’ Earl Falwell said. He wondered if he should get his attorney. Not if he just kept saying ‘nope.’ Thing was if he asked for an attorney he’d be admitting he thought this was something serious. He thought he’d better ask.

  ‘Looks like you work out some,’ McClellan continued.

  ‘I don’t jog. What’s this all about?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘I don’t know anything.’

  ‘You work out at a gym, maybe.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I notice a lot of gay guys work out.’

  ‘I ain’t queer.’

  ‘You like girls, then.’

  ‘Yeah, what kind of question is that?’

  ‘I don’t know, just a question of whether or not you like girls.’ McClellan looked at Gratelli. Gratelli had nothing to say. He looked bored, so bored, Earl thought the guy might die from it. ‘So, you going with somebody?’

  ‘I been in jail.’

  ‘Sure. I know. But your girlfriend came to visit you, didn’t she?’

  ‘I ain’t seein’ no one right now.’

  ‘How long’s it been?’ McClellan asked.

  ‘How long’s what been?’

  ‘Since you’ve been with a girl.’

  ‘I have girl friends.’

  ‘How long’s it been?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘C’mon, a good looking guy like you, cool guy like you gotta get a little. You gotta a chick that’ll help you out, you know?’

  McClellan acted like they were just two guys talking about chicks.

  ‘You’re talking weird,’ Earl said. ‘Why are you so interested in my love life?’

  ‘Gratelli here kind of pegged you as being gay, didn’t you Gratelli?’

  Gratelli didn’t acknowledge the question.

  ‘I’m not queer,’ Earl said, trying again to remind himself they were playing games with his head. Better not to play along. They couldn’t know what Cobra had made him do. And that didn’t make him queer anyway. Don’t bite on this one, don’t get pissed, he reminded himself.

  ‘We’ve got a couple of dates and times here, Earl. Thought maybe you tell us what you were doing during those times.’

  There were twelve dates and times and Earl didn’t have an alibi for any of them. Though he couldn’t remember exactly what the dates were, they seemed to correspond to the incidents.

  ‘Who could remember things like that? I don’t keep a diary or nothing. What’s supposed to have happened on those dates, anyways?’ Earl asked.

  ‘We have some girls got themselves killed,’ McClellan said.

  ‘You think I did ’em.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. Why would I do that?’

  ‘You’re alone an awful lot.’

  ‘I am,’ Earl said. ‘I like to be alone.’

  ‘No friends?’ McClellan asked.

  ‘No. Like I said, I like to be alone.’

  ‘You said you had girlfriends. Maybe you could give me the names of some of those girlfriends. We could talk to them. Maybe they could bail you out on a couple of those dates.’

  ‘Am I arrested?’

  ‘Nah, nah, nah,’ McClellan said. ‘Just questions.’

  ‘Maybe I should get an attorney.’

  ‘Not now,’ McClellan said. ‘Maybe later. Just between you and me and the fence post over there,’ he said gesturing to Gratelli, ‘what are you into?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sex.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘C’mon Earl. A guy, alone a lot. Healthy. Into anything kinky?’

  ‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.’

  ‘Now, Earl don’t say “fuck”. Gratelli, over there, is a sensitive guy. Goes to church. Right Gratelli? He don’t like people saying “fuck” and things like that. You fucking understand?’

  ‘Fucking A,’ Earl said.

  McClellan laughed.

  Earl laughed, relieved.

  Gratelli didn’t.

  ‘The kid’s got a sense of humor. I like him,’ he said to Gratelli, then back to Falwell. ‘I like you. Listen, what I like from a woman is respect, you know. I like it when a woman shows me she respects me, willing to do what I ask. Sub-servant. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Subservient,’ Gratelli said.

  ‘We don’t know the difference, do we Earl? But we know what it means, don’t we Earl?’

  ‘No,’ Earl said.

  ‘It’s kind of like you want total control, Earl. So the girl don’t give you any problems, any resistance, any back talk.’ McClellan bent down so that he and Earl were nose to nose. ‘Otherwise you can’t get your tallywacker up.’ McClellan smiled, backed away and turned toward his partner. ‘Vince, why don’t you take a walk.’

  Gratelli got up, left the room, closing the door behind him.

  McClellan leaned over the table.

  ‘C’mon, Earl. Tell me. We won’t get heavy here, but what kind of girl do you like. Young, old, full chested or maybe the slender, model type?’

  ‘Hey, I like girls. That’s it.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘I don’t talk about my sex life, man.’

  ‘I was gettin’ a little bored. I thought we could talk about women. But hell, maybe Vince was right.’

  ‘I ain’t . . . look, don’t matter. I don’t care what you think. I don’t give a shit whether you think I’m a fag or not. I ain’t talking about my sex life with you and if you think you got me on something, why don’t you just let me call my lawyer. I’m supposed to be out of here.’

  ‘You got a lawyer, Earl?’

  ‘I’ll find one. It’s the law, right?’

  ‘I just don’t understand why you’re so shy when it comes to sex. Says here in this little folder,’ McClellan said, tapping a file folder, ‘says you got caught looking in a window late one night in Daly City. Peeping, Earl, peeping at some sixteen-year-old girl.’

  ‘I was looking for my dog.’

  ‘Cops say they come upon you and you got your pecker out.’

  ‘I had to take a piss.’

  ‘So what was it? Were you taking a piss or walking your dog. Or maybe you were petting your monkey.’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Monkey.’

  ‘I don’t have a monke
y.’ Earl looked confused.

  McClellan shook his head. ‘Half the world’s got a monkey, Earl.’ Still nothing from Earl. The detective gave up. ‘So where’s your dog now?’

  ‘Like I said, he ran away. Never seen him again.’ Earl grinned. He felt like he won one.

  ‘Neighbor said you were standing up on some bricks, looking in that window at that young girl in the bathroom. Funny place to be taking a leak.’

  ‘I was put on probation. I stayed clean. That’s over with.’

  ‘Don’t you still like naked young girls, Earl? I mean you kind of like looking at them, but you don’t much want them looking back.’

  Earl Falwell was starting to feel small, like he was shrinking right there in the seat.

  ‘Thing is, Earl,’ McClellan continued, ‘we have a few young girls who got strangled to death. And we thought you might know something about it.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  McClellan kicked the door and in a couple of seconds, Gratelli, came in, sat down.

  ‘Earl says he doesn’t know anything about these girls getting killed.’

  ‘You believe him?’ Gratelli said matter-of-factly.

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t give me much reason to believe him. I mean it’s all kind of a sex thing, you know, Vince, and Earl here gets all uptight about sex.’

  ‘That’s the way it is with these guys,’ Gratelli said.

  Earl’s heart began pounding. He wondered if the cops could hear it. Maybe he should just let it all out. Get it over with. They’re still playing their cop games, acting out, being cute.

  ‘You charging me, or what?’ Earl asked, trying to keep his tone from being angry or frightened or too cocky.

  ‘You’re kinda rushing through this, Earl. You gotta be somewhere?’

  ‘I been inside for months. I’m kinda in a hurry, yeah.’

  ‘OK, get outta here,’ McClellan said. ‘Oh, Earl?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What kind of car do you own?’

  ‘Chevy.’

  ‘Chevy, huh. Report says you have a Camaro.’

  ‘A Camaro is a Chevy,’ Earl said. ‘Where you been?’

  Once the kid left, McClellan put his head down on the table.

  ‘Hey, you OK?’ Gratelli asked.

  ‘Sure,’ McClellan raised his head. ‘What the hell you think?’

  ‘You can have the car tonight.’

  ‘Don’t need it. Live real close now.’

  Gratelli didn’t say anything.

  ‘End of the line,’ McClellan mumbled.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gratelli asked.

  ‘No place to go, nothing to do. The world’s all fucked up.’ He stood up. ‘Look, why don’t we get some electronics on that boy’s Camaro. We still got the car impounded, I think. Take him awhile to fill out the paperwork.’

  ‘You think he’s worth the trouble?’

  ‘No, I don’t. His IQ is about room temperature. He’s not the kind of guy I’d picture doing it. Other than brains he could be a fit. Except he don’t own a van. And he doesn’t stutter.’ McClellan shrugged. ‘That’s what the experts say, isn’t it. He’s supposed to stutter.’

  ‘Antisocial behavior they said. They got that right,’ Gratelli said. ‘We also know he’s a peeper.’

  ‘Young girls,’ McClellan countered.

  ‘Almost all of them were young.’

  ‘Not Bateman.’

  ‘He made a mistake. Maybe that’s why he got violent. We know he can get violent.’

  ‘I can’t see him doin’ the Bateman chick at all. Didn’t leave nothin’. You know?’

  ‘But she’s got the mark. He’s in jail, the crimes stop,’ Gratelli said.

  ‘Why do we bother?’ McClellan asked.

  ‘The mark puts them together somehow,’ Gratelli said, ignoring McClellan’s rhetorical futility. ‘I want to know.’

  EIGHTEEN

  David Seidman sat on the bench in a long row of benches by the lockers. He was fully dressed. The only thing that needed attention was his salt and pepper hair which curled into little ringlets when it was wet. He looked up to see his competitor just now coming from the shower room. Thaddeus Maldeaux was as cocky and exhibitionistic as ever. He came strolling toward the locker with his towel around his neck rather than around his waist.

  ‘Didn’t you used to have hair on your chest?’ Seidman asked.

  Maldeaux laughed, rubbed Seidman’s chest fur. ‘Sure did. A little vanity is good for the soul. The word we use these days is “buffed”.’

  ‘So who are you trying to be, some Calvin Klein model?’ Seidman said bitterly. He felt embarrassed. He wasn’t sure if it was for Maldeaux or for himself. Probably himself. Maldeaux looked younger. He wasn’t. People thought Maldeaux had more money. He didn’t. He looked more fit. He wasn’t. He just looked younger and more fit. God gave him better bones and enough confidence to walk around a locker room without his clothes, like he was out for an evening stroll on Mount Olympus.

  ‘You hear from Julia?’ Maldeaux asked, finishing the process of drying his tanned body.

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘Yes. Right. Julia. Is she OK?’

  ‘I called shortly after she left for Iowa. Couple of times. Her father said she couldn’t speak, then later wouldn’t speak. I finally got through to her and . . . hell, I don’t know . . . didn’t seem like the same person. Kind of dead.’ Seidman winced. ‘An unfortunate phrase.’

  ‘A thing like that, David. It’s utter destruction. Any word on who did it?’

  ‘No. They’re still trying to make a connection to those rose carving strangulation cases. But it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I thought I told you about those.’

  ‘Well yes, but you didn’t mention it in connection with Julia.’

  ‘We haven’t talked much since then.’

  ‘No, we haven’t.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘Spectacular game, David.’

  ‘You won,’ David said.

  ‘Yes. But you played really well.’

  David was quiet. ‘C’mon,’ Maldeaux said. ‘You have to get a life. This unrequited love with Julia was dragging you down anyway. You two were just, what do they say, farting in the wind.’

  ‘Colorful. You have a way with words.’

  ‘True though, right?’

  David nodded. ‘I guess. I still miss her.’

  ‘You two never even slept together, did you?’

  ‘Teddy, stop it. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘You’re right. Wasn’t very gentlemanly. But, don’t be so uptight. Sometimes, you’re such a prude. Let it out. If you don’t, some day you’re going to pop your cork big time and it won’t be pretty.’

  Seidman looked away.

  ‘C’mon, live,’ Maldeaux said, poking him with some force on the shoulder.

  ‘This is living isn’t it? I should be thankful. Not many assistant D.A.s can get an afternoon in Hillsborough for a little tennis.’

  ‘You’ve worked hard. You deserve it.’ Maldeaux slipped on his shirt. ‘No leads on this rose guy?’

  ‘No, I’ve followed it. I’m following it. I talked with the lieutenant in Homicide. It’s all cooling off. The cops looked through the records, found some dude named Falwell, of all names. Not a “Jerry” though. An “Earl”. Kid had a minor sex crime on his record. He was popped for battery and, while he was off the streets, the murders stopped. It’s interesting, but you can’t hang a whole lot on it. A lot of people came and went in that time when you count California’s prison population. And the guys on the case don’t think he’s bright enough to have covered his tracks so well. He owns a Camaro and that fits with the description of a car at one of the crime scenes. It’s all real vague, way too circumstantial.’

  ‘Sounds plausible. How much do you need?’

  ‘Who knows?

  ‘You should. Aren’t you the prosecutor?’

  ‘I doubt if I’ll be on thi
s one. Too close. The lieutenant says the guy could be good for it, but the cops say it’s not ready. If it’s him, the murders will start again. The cops will be looking out for him this time. On the other hand, Gratelli’s partner says a guy with the intellect of a Falwell wouldn’t be able to get away without leaving something. Pubes or something. The murderer is too savvy. Too clean. They dusted the car, vacuumed. Nothing. Aside from the IQ factor, the Quantico profile doesn’t paint him out of the picture or in the picture for that matter.’

  ‘What do they say?’

  ‘White male, not sure about age. Lonely. The usual. Can’t help himself. Maybe he wants to, maybe he doesn’t. Probably in awe of women, worships them. Doesn’t want to want to do the dirty thing. Not like you at all.’ Seidman laughed. The sound was hollow and he cut it short.

  ‘Can’t you just run a photo of this guy by Julia? You suppose she could identify him?’

  ‘They did. Faxed it out to the Iowa City Police. No I.D. She might not have seen him. A ski mask. If he ever took it off, she doesn’t remember. Maybe something will come to her.’

  ‘You think she might eventually remember him?’

  ‘Possible. With time. Maybe with some help,’ Seidman said, looking into Teddy’s eyes. ‘Since you’re so interested, it’s not uncommon for there to be some amnesia – even in accidental cases. Victims can’t remember anything immediately, then after a time they often remember everything except that which actually preceded the trauma.’

  ‘Really, never?’ Maldeaux asked.

  ‘Sometimes never. Sometimes they get some of it back.’

  ‘So, maybe, right?’

  ‘An outside chance.’

  ‘At any rate, she’s in Iowa, right?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘She’s coming back?’

  ‘Don’t know. She’s not cut off everything here,’ Seidman said. Was there hope in his voice? Dread?

  ‘All right, enough gloom. When are we gonna get you some women?’

  ‘Just pick one out of the herd, right Thaddeus?’

  ‘Don’t start using that high moral tone, OK? Women are equal to men. Superior in most cases. But let’s not forget sex is part of the human condition, not just the male condition. Men and women want it. So, David, it’s all right to have sex with women. Some of them even enjoy it.’ Maldeaux grinned. ‘And if you should ever have sex with a woman, remember you don’t have to marry them.’