K Is for Killer

  "That'd be nice," I said. I sat down at the banquette and checked the kitchen table for sticky spots. I found a clear couple of inches and propped my elbow with care.

  She took down a mug and filled it, then refilled hers before she put the pot back on the machine. In profile, her nose seemed too long for her face, but the effect in certain lights was lovely nonetheless. Her neck was long and her ears elfin, her short-cropped dark hair trimmed to wisps around her face. Her eyes were lined in smudged black, and her lip gloss was a brownish tint.

  I put the leather case in the middle of the table.

  She took a seat on the bench, pulling her feet up under her. She ran her hand through her hair, her expression somewhat sheepish. "I kept meaning to take that out, but I never got around to it. What a dork."

  "You installed surveillance equipment?"

  "Wasn't much. Just a mike and a tape recorder."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I was worried," she said. Her dark eyes seemed enormous, filled with innocence.

  "I'm listening."

  Color was rising in her face. "I thought J.D. and Lorna might be fooling around, but I was wrong." There was a baby bottle half-full of formula sitting on the table. She unscrewed the nipple and used the contents for cream. She offered me some, but I declined.

  "What was it, voice-activated?"

  "Well, yeah. I know it sounds kind of dumb in retrospect, but I'd just found out I was pregnant with the baby, and I was throwing up all day. Jack wasn't even out of diapers, and I was frantic about J.D. I knew I was being bitchy, but I couldn't help myself. I looked horrible and felt worse. And there was Lorna, slim and elegant. I'm not stupid. I figured out what she did for a living, and so did he. J.D. started finding excuses for going back there every other day. I knew if I confronted him, he'd laugh in my face, so I borrowed some of Daddy's stuff."

  "Were they having an affair?"

  Her expression was self-mocking. "He fixed her toilet. One of her screens had come loose, and he fixed that, too. The most he ever did was complain about me, and even that wasn't bad. She had a fit and chewed him out. She said he had a hell of a nerve when I was the one doing all the suffering and hard work. Also, she got on him because he didn't lift a finger with Jack. That's when he started cooking, which has been a big help. I feel bad I never thanked her, but I wasn't supposed to know she'd come to my defense."

  "How'd you know how to install the bug?"

  "I've watched Daddy do it. Lorna was gone a lot, so it wasn't hard. The doorbell never worked, but the box was there. I just drilled a hole in the floor and then crawled under the cabin. All I had to do was make sure the tape was close enough to the edge of the porch so I could switch it without a hassle. We kept the gardening tools under there. Any time I weeded, I would find a way to check the tape."

  "How many tapes did you run?"

  "I only used one tape, but the first time was a bust because the mike was defective and didn't pick up half the time. Second try was better, but the sound was distorted, so you couldn't hear too well. She had the radio on. She played this jazz station all the time. Up front there's this little fragment with her and J.D. I had to listen three times to be sure it was him. Then her drying her hair... that was entertaining. I got her end of a couple of phone calls, that, whole business where she's cranking on J.D. Then more music, only country this time, then she's talking to some guy. That part's left over from the first round, I think."

  "Did you tell the police?"

  "There wasn't anything to tell. Besides, I was embarrassed," she said. "I didn't want J.D. to know I didn't trust him, especially when it turned out he's innocent. I felt like a fool. Plus, the whole thing's illegal, so why incriminate myself? I'm still worried they'll start thinking it was J.D. who killed her. It scared me silly when you started in on us, but at least this way I can prove the two of them were friends and got along okay."

  I stared at her. "Are you trying to tell me you still have the tapes?"

  "Well, sure, but there's only one," she said. "The first time was mostly static, so I went ahead and taped over it."

  "You mind if I listen?"

  "You mean right now?"

  "If you don't mind."

  Chapter 15

  * * *

  She unfolded herself and got up from the table. She moved out into the hallway and disappeared from sight. Moments later she returned with an empty cassette box and a little tape recorder, the cassette already in place and visible through the oval window. "I guess I didn't have to keep this, but it made me feel better. Really, J.D. couldn't have killed her because he wasn't even in town. He took off Friday morning on a fishing trip. She wasn't killed until Saturday when he was miles away."

  "Where were you that day?"

  "I was gone too. I decided to go part of the way with him. He took me as far as Santa Maria and dropped Jack and me at my sister's on Friday. I spent a week with her and then came home on the bus."

  "You have any objections to giving me her name and number?"

  "You don't believe me?"

  "Let's don't get into that, Leda. You're not exactly a Girl Scout," I said.

  "Well, I know, but that doesn't mean I'd kill anyone."

  "What about J.D.? Can he verify his whereabouts?"

  "You can ask my sister's husband, Nick. That's who he went to Nacimiento with."

  I made a note of the name and number.

  Leda punched the play button on the recorder. After a brief interval of white noise, the sound seemed to jump out. The reception was dismal, filled with clunks and banging as people moved around. With the equipment so close, the knocking on the door sounded like lightning cracks. A chair scraped, and someone thunked across the floor.

  "Oh, hi. Come on in. I got the check right here."

  There were a couple of inaudible remarks between the two of them. The front door closed like a muffled explosion.

  Footsteps clunking. "How's Leda feeling?"

  "She's kind of down in the dumps, but she was this way last time. She gets to feeling fat and ugly. She's convinced I'm going out to screw around on her, so she busts out crying every time I leave the house."

  I put out a hand. "Hold on a minute. That's J.D.'s voice?"

  She pushed pause, and the recording stopped. "Yeah, I know. It's hard to recognize. I had to play it two or three times myself. You want to hear it again?"

  "If you don't mind," I said. "I've never heard Lorna's voice, but I'm assuming you can identify her as well."

  "Well, sure," Leda said. She punched the rewind button. When the tape stopped, she pressed play, and we listened to the opening again. "Oh, hi. Come on in. I got the check right here."

  Again, muffled remarks between the two of them and the front door closed like a sonic boom.

  Footsteps clunking. "How's Leda feeling?"

  "She's kind of down in the dumps, but she was this way last time. She gets to feeling fat and ugly. She's convinced I'm going out to screw around on her, so she busts out crying every time I leave the house."

  Lorna was saying, "What's her problem? She looks darling."

  "Well, I think so, but she's got some girlfriend that happened to." Footsteps thunked across the floor and a chair scraped back, sounding like a lion roaring in the jungle.

  "She only gained fifteen pounds with Jack. How could she feel fat? She doesn't even show. My mother gained forty-six with me. Now, that's uggers. I've seen pictures. Stomach hanging down to here. Boobs looked like footballs, and her legs looked like sticks." Laughter. Mumbles. Static.

  "Yeah, well, it isn't real, so you can't talk her out of it. You know how she is.... [mumble, mumble]... insecure."

  "That's what you get for hooking up with someone half your age."

  "She's twenty-one!"

  "Serves you right. She's an infant. Listen, you want me to keep Jack while you two go out to dinner?" More mumbles.

  "xxxxxxx" The response here was completely missing, blotted out by static.

&nbs
p; "... problem. He and I get along great. In exchange, you can do me a favor and fog the place for me next time I go out of town. The spiders are getting out of control."

  "Thanks.... ceipt in your mailbox." Chairs scraping. Clump, clump of footsteps crossing the cabin. Muffled voices. The conversation continued outside and then stopped abruptly. Silence. When the tape picked up again, there were strains of country music with the high whine of a hair dryer running over it. A phone began to ring. The hair dryer was turned off. Clump, clump, clump of footsteps like a series of gunshots. The phone was picked up, and Lorna raised her voice in greeting. After that, much of her end of the call was a series of short responses... uhn-hun, sure, right, okay, that's great. There was a fragmentary mention of the Palace that made me think she might be talking to Danielle. Hard to tell with the competing strains of country music overlaid. There was a second conversation between J.D. and Lorna, which was much as Leda indicated. J.D. complained, and Lorna chewed him out because he never helped at home.

  Leila pressed the stop button impatiently. "It goes on like that. Pissed me off they were always talking about me behind my back. Lot of the rest is just mumbling, and most you can't even hear."

  "Too bad," I said.

  "Yeah, well, the equipment was kind of dinky. I didn't want to get into anything elaborate because it was too much trouble. The amplification was minimal. You get a lot of distortion that way."

  "When was this done? Any way to pin down the date?"

  "Not really. Lorna sat with Jack a couple different times, but I never wrote it down. It wasn't any special occasion. Just us popping out for a bite to eat. With a toddler at home, an hour by yourself feels like heaven."

  "What about the month? It must have been early in the pregnancy because he mentions you're not showing yet. And wasn't there mention of a receipt? In that first conversation, it sounds like he's stopped by to pick up the rent."

  "Oh. Maybe so. You could be right about that. I mean, Jeremy was born in September, so that must have been... I don't know... April sometime? She paid the first of the month."

  "When did you start the taping?"

  "Around then, I guess. Like I said, the first tape was all static. This is the second one I did. I think he actually had the exterminator out for all the spiders and bugs. He probably has a record of it if you want me to look it up."

  "What else is on here?"

  "Mostly junk, like I said. The batteries went dead about halfway through, and after that all you hear is the stuff still on there from the first time I taped." She pulled the tape out and tucked it back in the empty cassette box. She got up from the table as if to leave the room.

  I caught her casually by the arm. "Mind if I take that?"

  She hesitated. "What for?"

  "So I can hear it again."

  She made a face. "Nnn, I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea. This's the only one I got."

  "I'll bring it back as soon as possible."

  She shook her head. "I'd rather not."

  "Come on, Leda. What are you so worried about?"

  "How do I know you won't turn it over to the cops?"

  "Oh, right. So they can listen to people clump around making small talk? This is not incriminating stuff. They're talking about the fuckin' bugs," I said. "Besides, you can always claim you had permission. Who's going to contradict you?"

  She gave that consideration. "What's your interest?"

  "I was hired to do this. This is my job," I said. "Look. From what you've said, this tape was made within a month of Lorna's death. How can you be sure it's not significant?"

  "You'll bring it right back?"

  "I promise."

  Reluctantly she put the cassette on the table and pushed it over to me. "But I want to know where to call in case I need it back," she said.

  "You're a doll," I said. I took out a business card and made a note of my home phone and my home address. "I gave you this before, but here it is again. Oh, and one more thing."

  Sounding crabby, she said, "What?"

  Every time I manipulate people, it seems to make them so cross. "Has J.D. come into any money in the last few months?"

  "J.D. doesn't have money. If he does, he never told me. You want me to ask when he gets in?"

  "It's not important," I said. "Anyway, if you mention it, you might have to tell him what we were talking about, and I don't think you want to do that."

  From the expression on her face, I thought maybe I could trust her discretion.

  I stopped at a minimart on the way back to my place. Somewhere I had a tape recorder, but the batteries were probably dead. While I was at it, I bought myself a king-size cup of coffee and a nasty-looking meat sandwich wrapped in cellophane. From the pink stuff peeking out the side, it was hard to imagine what cow part this was thin slivers of. I ate driving home, feeling too starved to wait. It was not quite eight o'clock, but this was probably lunch.

  Home again, I spent some time getting organized. The tape recorder was right where it was supposed to be, in the bottom drawer of my desk. I changed the batteries and found the headphones, a pencil, and a legal pad. I played the tape through, listening with my eyes closed, the headphones pressed against my ears. I played the tape back again, taking notes this time. I transcribed what I could hear clearly and left a series of dots, dashes, and question marks where the sound was garbled or inaudible. It was slow going, but I finally reached a point where I'd gleaned as much as I could.

  As Leda had indicated, toward the end of the tape, after sixty minutes of boring talk, her machine had gone dead, leaving a fragment from the first taping she'd done. The one voice was Lorna's. The other voice was male, but not J.D.'s as far as I could tell. There was a segment of country music playing on the radio. Lorna must have turned it off because the silence was abrupt and punctuated by static. The guy spoke up sharply, saying, "Hey..."

  Lorna sounded annoyed. "I hate that stuff.... xxxxxxx. xxxxxxxxx..."

  "Oh, come on. I'm just kidding. But you have to admit, it's xxxxxxxxxx. She goes in xxxxxxxxxxxxx day... xxxxxx..."

  "Goddamn it! Would you stop saying that? You're really sick.

  "People shouldn't xxxxxxxx... [clatter... clink]..."

  Sound of water... squeaking...

  "... xxxxxxxx..."

  Thump, thump...

  "I'm serious... by –"

  "xxxxx..."

  Laughter... chair scrape... rustle... murmur...

  There was something quarrelsome in the tone, an edginess in Lorna's voice. I played the tape twice more, writing down everything I heard clearly, but the subject of the conversation never made any sense. I took the headphones off. I pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed my hands across my face. I wondered if the guys in the forensics lab had a way to amplify sound on a tape like this. As a private investigator, I was not exactly into high-tech equipment. A portable typewriter was about as state-of-the-art as I could boast. The problem was, I didn't see how I could ask for police assistance without an explanation of some kind. Despite my assurances to Leda, she was guilty of withholding, if not evidence, then information that might have been relevant to the police investigation. Cops get very surly when you least expect it, and I didn't want them to take an interest in something that wasn't mine to begin with.

  Who else did I know? I tried the Yellow Pages in the telephone book under "Audio." The businesses listed offered laser home theaters, giant-screen TVs, custom design and installation of audio systems, and presentation graphics, followed by the ads for hearing aids, hearing evaluations, and speech therapists. I tried the section entitled "Sound," which was devoted in large part to designing wireless drive-through intercoms and residential and commercial sound systems. Oh.

  I checked my watch: quarter after nine. I flipped back to the White Pages under K-SPL and called Hector Moreno at the local FM station. It was probably too early to reach him, but I could at least leave a message. The phone was picked up after three rings. "K-SPELL. This is Hector Mor
eno."

  "Hector? I can't believe it's you. This is Kinsey Millhone. Aren't you there awfully early?"

  "Well, hey. How are you? I switch shifts now and then. Keeps me from getting bored. What about you? What are you up to?"

  "I have a tape recording with very poor sound quality. Would you have any way to clean it up?"

  "That depends on what you got. I could try," he said. "You want to drop it off? I can leave the door unlocked."

  "I'll be right there."

  En route, I made a stop at Rosie's, where I told her about Beauty and begged for doggie bones. Earlier she'd boiled up two pounds of veal knuckle for the stock she makes. I had to pick through the trash to get them, but she wrapped two in paper with the usual admonishment. "You should get a dog," she said.

  "I'm never home," I replied. She is always on me about this. Don't ask me why. Just a piece of aggravation, in my opinion. I took the packet of bones and began to back away, hoping to curtail discussion.

  "A dog is good company, and protection, too."

  "I'll think about it," I said as the kitchen door swung shut.

  "Get a fella while you're at it."

  At the station, I let myself in. Hector had left the door ajar and the foyer lights on. I went down into the twilight of the stairwell with my paper packet of bones. Beauty was waiting for me when I reached the bottom. She was the size of a small bear, her dark eyes bright with intelligence. Her coat was red gold, the undercoat puffy and soft. When she saw me, her fur seemed to undulate and she emitted a low, humming growl. I watched her lift her head at the scent of me. Without warning she pursed her lips and howled, a soaring note of ululation that seemed to go on for minutes. I didn't move, but I could feel my own fur bristle in response to her keening. I was rooted to the bottom step, my hand on the rail. Something primitive in her singing sent ice down along my spine. I heard Hector call her, then the quick thump of his crutches as he swung along the corridor.

  "Beauty!" he snapped.

  At first she refused to yield. He called her again. Her eyes rolled back at him reluctantly, and I could see her debate. She was willful, intent. As strong as her urge toward obedience, she didn't want to comply. Her complaints were sorrowful, the half-talk of dogs in which sentiment is conveyed in the insistent language of canines. She howled again, watching me.