was Des.
“I invited you and Chris for dinner Wednesday,” Des said. “I don’t want him to welch out without telling you.”
David smiled. “Chris wouldn’t do anything like that.” They both knew he would, especially if he thought it was in David’s best interests. “I’ll let Chris know we’d be happy to come. Thanks, Des.”
After he got off the phone he headed for the media room.
Nothing on TV held his interest. Even a late season game between Boston and Atlanta left him yawning. His head buzzed with too many thoughts, none of which could focus. He thought of the interview tomorrow. Would the son have heard of his mother’s 42 P.A. Brown
death? He knew the propensity for “if it bleeds, it leads” meant most of the media would ignore the apparent suicide of an old woman as non-news. So if he knew what did that say? Was he involved in her death? If David’s instincts were correct and it was homicide, then the son became their prime suspect. The interview was going to be a tricky one. David preferred to interview next-of-kin before releasing the bad news. He knew it often came across as harsh and unfeeling, but trying to catch a killer in a lie was more important than playing nice. Distraught families were rarely able to focus on the needs of the investigation. But the son would know something was wrong the minute he arrived at an empty apartment. What time had the nosy neighbor said the son usually arrived?
He checked his notes. She’d been fuzzy on the time and David hadn’t pushed her. He called her now, hoping there wasn’t a Tuesday night Mass too.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Oh, Detective,” Alice said. “I was just thinking of you.
Imagine you called!”
“I just have one question, Mrs. Crandall. What time does Nancy’s son usually come to visit? Do you remember if there was any pattern?”
“He always showed up around ten-thirty or so. He knew his mother and I had tea every morning and she asked him not to come then. We had Bible study and she didn’t want him interrupting us.”
A thought occurred to David. “Did he resent his mother’s new interest in religion?” Maybe he felt she’d betrayed her old faith. It was a stretch as a motive, but he’d seen worse done for less.
“He never said anything to me and Nancy never spoke of it. He always seemed like an attentive boy. Always there for her.
Always had a smile for me or anyone else he met, except...”
“Except what, Mrs. Crandall?”
L.A. BYTES 43
“That smile never went anywhere. His eyes always looked like they was laughing at you, even when he was playing nice. I never told Nancy, it being her only blood, but I never liked that boy much.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Crandall. I appreciate your time. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”
“Will you be along on Wednesday then, Detective?”
“I’ll be there,” David said, even though he knew showing up was going to piss Martinez off big time, he needed to do this.
“With my partner.”
“Mum’s the word, right, Detective?”
“Right. Thank you, Mrs. Crandall.”
David scribbled his notes. He called Martinez, giving him a heads up on the interview time, letting Martinez’s anger roll off him. Stifl ing a jaw-stretching yawn, he returned to the media room where he turned off the game without even checking the score and climbed the Mexican tile steps to the second fl oor.
In the bathroom he ran a hand over his face and felt the rasp of day-old beard. Normally he shaved at night, but tonight he didn’t bother. Chris wasn’t around to complain and he wasn’t sure he had a steady enough hand for the task.
He stared hard at the mirror. Brushing his fi ngers through his thick mustache, he frowned. Was that white hair? His ‘stache looked frosted and the stubble on his face had a silvery sheen.
Combined with the new lines under his eyes and the deepening furrows around his mouth, he was starting to look like one of those old winos who hung