A Kiss Gone Bad wm-1 Read online

  He explained what he’d found, both the adult and legit tapes. Claudia rubbed her face. ‘Holy holy God,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Back to your question,’ Whit said. ‘Suicide’s certainly suggested. There’s no sign of a note, but he turned down a picture of his son. I saw the same in a suicide down in Darius a few weeks back. But… considering this guy’s livelihood, I’m wondering why that camera – with no tape – is pointed at the bed. And there’s a pair of women’s panties mixed in with his own clothes. Is our young witness missing any underwear?’

  ‘Oddly enough, I haven’t checked.’

  ‘There’s women’s clothing in the closet, including some stuff you ain’t gonna see the Junior League sporting during the Buccaneer Ball. If this girl isn’t staying with him, it belongs to someone else.’

  ‘You think… he was filming a movie and got snuffed?’

  Whit shrugged. ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘This is turning nastier by the second.’

  ‘Where is your witness?’

  ‘Down at the station. Gardner and the deputies can finish the scene work, I’m going to question her and get a statement.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘Not a word, Whit, not a word to anyone.’

  He jabbed a finger back at her but smiled. ‘Gardner says this girl is a runaway. If you’re not going to detain her I don’t want her taking off before the inquest.’

  Claudia nodded. ‘I’ll make sure she sticks close.’

  ‘I wonder if the person taping Pete talking about his brother was our runaway.’

  ‘Let’s talk to her,’ Claudia said. ‘We’ll compare her voice to the tape.’

  They walked back to Real Shame. Claudia quickly inspected the tape collection and retrieved Pete’s homemade tape, and they went back on the dock, toward the marina office. An angry voice boomed along the docks, and they saw a woman arguing with Patrolman Fox at the police tape boundary.

  ‘Lady says she lives on the boat,’ Fox called to Claudia. ‘Her name’s Velvet.’

  ‘Velvet Mojo,’ Whit whispered, ‘is the director of Pete’s movies.’

  ‘Velvet Mojo sounds like a real bad wine,’ Claudia said. ‘It’s okay,’ she called back to Fox.

  The woman was in her late twenties, with streaky blond hair combed back to her shoulders. She wore a dark long-sleeve T-shirt that read MEAN PEOPLE SUCK and baggy blue-jean shorts with scuffed sneakers.

  ‘Velvet?’ Claudia asked as they came to the tape.

  The woman stared, and Whit saw fear in her eyes, fueled by the police, the crowd, the hearse.

  ‘What’s going on here? Is Pete in trouble?’ the woman asked.

  Whit immediately recognized the woman’s voice from the videotape. Smoky, hinting of hazy bars and purred invitations.

  ‘Maybe we could go inside and talk.’ Claudia nodded toward the marina office.

  Velvet shook her head. ‘I want to know what’s happened. Right freaking now.’

  ‘And I want to tell you. But inside,’ Claudia said.

  ‘Jesus,’ Velvet said, but she allowed herself to be led to the marina office. The wind gusted against them once, smelling of rain.

  Inside the office, Claudia gently steered Velvet to a couch and sat down with her. ‘Velvet – pardon, but is that your real name?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s what I go by. But Mojo’s made up,’ Velvet said, as if that could be a revelation.

  ‘So what’s your real name?’

  ‘Velvet Lynn Hollister.’ Her gaze darted back and forth between Whit and Claudia.

  ‘I’m Claudia Salazar with the Port Leo Police Department, and this is Judge Whit Mosley. He’s our justice of the peace.’

  ‘Is Pete in trouble? Did he-’ She stopped.

  ‘Pete has died,’ Claudia said. ‘He was found shot to death this evening. I’m terribly sorry.’

  Velvet accepted this news without screams or tears. Her throat worked in the dim light of the office for a few moments. ‘Dead? On the boat?’ She held herself very still, hands fixed in her lap, eyes dry.

  ‘Yes,’ Whit said. ‘He had been shot in the mouth. The gun was in his hand.’

  They let Velvet digest that bit of news for a moment. She didn’t move.

  ‘Did he own a gun?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘No. He hated guns. Didn’t want them around.’

  Claudia glanced at Whit. ‘Would one of his family perhaps have lent him a gun?’

  ‘I avoided his family,’ Velvet said. ‘I wasn’t up to their tight-assed snuff. His mother’s an A- I bitch and his ex-wife’s her understudy. They didn’t want us around.’

  So Faith knew Pete was in town. Why didn’t she tell me? Whit touched Velvet’s shoulder; she didn’t flinch away. ‘Where would Pete have gotten the gun from?’

  ‘The boat belongs to a friend of Pete’s. He might have gotten the gun from him. I don’t know.’ Velvet began to shiver.

  ‘Who’s this friend?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘A guy named Deloache. Junior Deloache. He lives in Houston, but he’s got a weekend condo here.’ Velvet grabbed Whit’s arm. ‘Did a doctor look at Pete? Are you sure he’s dead?’

  ‘I’m quite sure. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did you see any sign of depression in Mr Hubble?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘You think he killed himself?’ Velvet sounded incredulous. ‘No way. No way, no way, no way.’ She stood, pacing away from the couch, shaking her head.

  Claudia stood. ‘I know this is hard…’

  ‘You never knew him, Miss Thing, and you’re gonna pretend to know him better than me? He… didn’t… kill… himself.’

  Whit asked the obvious question. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Her glare would have savaged a tank. ‘Because. He liked himself way too much. He wasn’t depressed. If he’s dead, someone killed him.’

  ‘Fine,’ Claudia said. ‘Who would want him dead?’

  Velvet’s tongue dabbed her lips. ‘Well, first of all, not me. I know how cops work and I didn’t have any reason to want Pete dead.’

  ‘What’s your relationship with him?’ Whit asked.

  ‘We’ve been friends for a long time. We’ve worked together on a bunch of art films. Dozens of them.’

  ‘So was he your boyfriend?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Boyfriend. How milk-and-cookies. No.’ Velvet frowned. ‘Look, go talk to Jabez Jones. He used to be a famous wrestler, now he’s a Jesus jumper on cable TV. You know him?’

  ‘We know him,’ Whit said.

  Velvet nodded. ‘Pete’s working on a new film project and he wanted some cooperation from Jabez, but Jabez told us to fuck off. But yesterday, I came home from the grocery and Jabez is here and he and Pete are talking on the boat and I can tell Pete’s upset – his face was lipstick-red, like his head was about to burst. Jabez was smirking like he’d just popped a good money shot.’

  Her choice of metaphors, Whit decided, was clearly influenced by her career.

  ‘We’ll talk to Jabez,’ Claudia said. ‘Anyone else?’

  Velvet pinched her lip between finger and thumb. ‘His ex-wife, Faith Hubble. They’d been bickering over Pete getting to see his son… Faith didn’t want Pete to have anything to do with Sam. Pete wanted joint custody, which I knew he wouldn’t get, but he and Faith argued about Sam. A lot.’

  Great, great, great. Whit cleared his throat.

  ‘Where were you tonight, Velvet?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Screw you,’ Velvet said. ‘There’s no way you’re gonna suspect a senator’s flunky or a minister, right, so start barking up my ass.’

  ‘I’m just asking where you were tonight, when you last saw him, what you last spoke about,’ Claudia said easily. ‘No one’s barking up your ass, so just calm down and help us.’

  Velvet shivered again and sat back on the couch. ‘Pete had work to do on his screenplay.’

  ‘About his brother?’ Whit asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Velvet said slowly. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I saw
the tape he had in the machine, scouting out locations, talking about his brother’s car.’

  ‘Pete wanted to be alone – he writes better – but didn’t want to write down at the beach, which is where he usually goes. Said maybe I could go entertain myself. So I went and did some shopping, ate a burger down at a cafe by Port Leo Beach, and went to see a movie.’ She stared at Claudia. ‘I got my ticket stub, and the geek behind the snack counter flirted with me. Alibi enough for you?’

  ‘I’d like to get a statement from you down at the station,’ Claudia said evenly.

  ‘Oh, shit, am I gonna need a lawyer?’ Velvet grabbed Whit’s arm. ‘You’re a judge, right? Do I need a lawyer?’

  ‘You’re not under arrest, ma’am,’ Claudia said. ‘If you want a lawyer, you can get one. We just want to get a statement from you.’

  ‘Do you have someplace you can stay. Velvet?’ Whit asked. ‘Y’all’s boat is a crime scene, and you can’t stay there, at least for now.’

  Velvet’s shoulders sagged, the enormity of the situation settling upon her. ‘You mean like friends? No, I don’t have any friends here. I don’t fit in with all you decent folk.’

  Whit said, ‘I’ll be sure you have a place to stay.’

  Claudia gave him a raised eyebrow that seemed to say, Aren’t you the little white knight?

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t need your help.’ Velvet stood. ‘Can I see Pete? Maybe I should be the one to tell his mother.’

  ‘The police chief will do that,’ Claudia said. ‘He’s known Pete’s mother for a long time. Let’s get you down to the station, get your statement, and then we can go from there. Okay?’

  Velvet crossed her arms. ‘Take all the statements you need. Tell me how I can help. Because there is no freaking way that Pete killed himself. None.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘And if you people don’t find who killed him, I’ll make more trouble than you can imagine. I assume you both can spell lawsuit?’

  5

  The small crowd of marina dwellers was a mix of boat bums, Gulf wanderers, and snowbirds. They had little in common except a desire for quiet and the sun-driven crinkle around the flesh of their eyes. They’d been hurried off their boats and they stood clustered in the parking lot, bathed by the glow of the police lights. One could hear mutterings about life being too short and the wrong class of people booking at the Golden Gulf. An overeager Officer Fox had used the word suicide in an ill-advised sentence, and the rumor rippled through the small crowd.

  The Blade listened to the murmured gossip. His heart jolted like he’d dosed himself with a tickly bit of electro-shock. No one paid him much heed, only a couple of the boat bums saying hello. He kept his hands tucked inside his light windbreaker.

  He watched a police officer forage in the trunk of a patrol car. The Blade wondered how the officer would react if he leaned close and whispered: I have a passion I’d like to share with you. Come see my graves. But he wouldn’t. The city would decorate the officer. The news pretties would hail the cop as hero while labeling the Blade as crazy. The boat snobs right here would jockey for camera position and gasp, Oh, yes, we’re terribly shocked. He seemed like the nicest man. And he probably wouldn’t even get to tell his side of the story on TV.

  Life was blatantly unfair unless you were willing to take it by the balls and squeeze hard. He watched as one older lady stopped and chatted with the whistling officer. He spoke and she hurried back to the crowd, where she whispered eagerly.

  He stood and waited. The elderly lady panted with excitement, ferrying the sad news to each knot of people.

  ‘It’s the man who lived on Real Shame that’s dead,’ she said to the Blade and two other men. ‘They think he might’ve shot himself. Isn’t that terrible?’

  Shot himself. Shot himself. What wonderful delicious morsels of words. If they were candy he would have eaten them and then licked his fingers.

  He wanted to see his new Darling, to touch her, to feel the heavy weight of her hair, lick her skin, and exult in the warmth of her breath against his neck. She would need comfort, poor baby.

  ‘I bet you that trashy girlfriend of his cheated on him and he killed himself.’ The old woman lowered her voice. ‘Wearing those thong swimsuits. A piece of trash.’

  Like Pete Hubble hadn’t been a piece of trash, too, thought the Blade. He wondered what interesting pops and creaks the old woman’s jaw would make if he broke it.

  ‘She probably won’t stay in town,’ the Blade heard himself say in his thin, wispy voice he so loathed. ‘Not from here, is she?’ Stupid, dummy! he berated himself. Shut up, shut up!

  The old woman nodded at him. She had wrapped her fluffy hairdo in a protective cocoon of toilet paper, and the Blade thought she looked ridiculous. ‘You’re so right. Ought to go back to whatever cesspool she’s from.’

  He nodded politely. Yes, if everyone thought Velvet had left town, then wouldn’t it all be easier for him? Perfect.

  Three people emerged from the marina office. Lovely, one was his Darling. Why, she wore grief well, as cute as could be in her jean shorts. Pretty is as pretty does, Mama used to say. His mouth went dry with want. The three walked back to Pete’s boat, went aboard, and came out perhaps two minutes later. Velvet was sobbing. He could see her bent shoulders in the dim light of the marina.

  A man walked with her, steering her toward the police cars.

  Panic flamed in him. Oh, no. They were arresting her. That would not do at all, not at all…

  But they – and now he could see in the dim light the other was a tall man, not a cop – went past the parked police cars, past the quiet ambulance. And he could hear his Darling sob, and – oh, this would not do – the man put his hand on her arm, tenderly. The Blade’s heart boiled. The man opened the door of a Ford Explorer and she got in, the man helping her like they were on a date.

  The man turned toward the crowd. The Blade, seeing his face, grimaced. Heat tickled the backs of his hands.

  The Explorer pulled out into the street, and the small crowd of onlookers parted to make way for it. One of those magnetic signs was affixed to the door, white letters bold against a stylized red-and-blue background: KEEP WHIT MOSLEY JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. The Explorer passed within three feet of the Blade, and he saw his Darling’s face, leaning against the passenger window. She had her fists pressed to her eyes. He heard the storm of her voice over the car’s motor as it shot past.

  The Blade hurried away. If they were arresting her, a cop would have taken her away. Not a judge. And she hadn’t had a bag. She wasn’t leaving town. That thought steadied him as he jumped into his beat-up Volkswagen. He didn’t like her running around with that judge when she belonged to him.

  That judge. That judge had seen her upset and wanted to help her… wanted to take her to his house and undress her and…

  No. No. He knew he was letting his imagination run wild and imagination was his enemy until his Darling was safely in his arms. Judge Mosley was part of law-and-order, after all, so he must be taking her to give a police statement. Or to fill out forms.

  Yeah, you know what all those Mosley boys are like. You know.

  The Blade revved his engine and headed toward town. He wanted her with him. Screw waiting. Maybe he could catch them before they got into Port Leo’s downtown, on the dark bay highway. Flash his headlights, pull them over onto the shoulder or a dark parking lot. Get Mosley out of the car, gut him with one swift move, then cut his throat. He wondered if a judge’s blood would reek of musty courtrooms and old thick books. Then he could whisk his Darling to his cabin and make her his, comfort her, take her away from the world’s sadness.

  He floored the accelerator.

  6

  ‘Do you think he suffered?’ Velvet mopped her eyes.

  ‘It was probably over in an instant.’ Whit believed in mercy, and it was the likely truth.

  She rolled down the window a couple of inches, and the cool of the wind slammed into her face. ‘That little cop. Salazar. She any good?’
r />   ‘She has an excellent reputation.’

  ‘Here in Mayberry-by-the-fucking-Bay? How many murders do you have here a year? One?’

  ‘None last year. I think one the year before that.’

  Velvet wadded up her tissue. ‘Oh, great, so she lives and breathes homicide. I feel so much better now.’ She stared at him. ‘So exactly what role do you play in this aside from chauffeur?’

  ‘When there’s a suspicious death, I examine the scene, meet with the people who knew the deceased, talk with the investigators, decide to order an autopsy or not, conduct the inquest, work with the ME in Nueces County if needed, rule on cause of death.’

  Velvet’s eyes widened. ‘So never mind the cop. All you gotta do is rule it’s murder and she has to investigate.’

  ‘I have to make decisions based on the evidence. I got to be judicial,’ he said.

  She regarded his tropical shirt and ratty shorts. ‘Yeah, when I picture judicial, I’m seeing you. What are you, twelve?’

  He didn’t know what to say to her; his inexperience gnawed at him. He cleared his throat. ‘I promise you I’ll be fair, and I’ll listen to what you have to say about Pete’s… state of mind.’

  ‘When will the autopsy be done?’

  ‘In the next couple of days. I’ll get a verbal report from the ME first, but we won’t have a complete report for a few weeks. And before you keep casting aspersions against me and Claudia, you ought to know that I grew up with Pete. I knew him and his brother.’ And I sleep with his ex-Wife, so clearly I’m an interested party.

  ‘Pete never mentioned you.’

  ‘He was more friends with my older brothers. But if someone killed Pete, we’re not gonna let him or her get away with it.’

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t be politically sound to let a Hubble be murdered and let the killer slip free,’ she said bitterly. ‘No, I guess you have to investigate to the balls when it’s a state senator’s son.’

  ‘I know you’re upset,’ Whit said, ‘and I’m real sorry for your loss, but is there some reason you’re cranking on me?’