The Murder Book

Hansen's hands dropped. "Should I be worried?"

"It does seem odd," said Milo. "For three years you've been living in L.A. but you've never run into them."

"It's a big city," said Hansen. "Big as you want it to be."

"You don't run in the same social circles?"

"I don't have any social circle. I rarely leave the house. Everything's delivered- groceries, laundry. Painting and taking Mother to the doctor, that's my world."

I thought: Prison.

Milo said, "Have you followed the others' lives?"

"I know the Cossacks are builders of some kind- you see their names on construction signs. That's it."

"No idea what Vance Coury's been up to?"

"No."

"Brad Larner?"

"No."

Milo wrote something down. "So… your buddies took the nameless girl to the property next door and things just kind of got bloody."

"They weren't my buddies."

"Who did the actual killing?"

"Luke didn't say."

"What about the rape? Who initiated that?"

"He- my impression was they all joined in."

"But Chapman wasn't sure if he participated or not."

"Maybe he was lying. Or in denial, I don't know," said Hansen. "Luke wasn't cruel but- I can see him getting carried along. But with-out the others, he never would've done anything like that. He told me he'd felt… immobilized- as if his feet were stuck. That's the way he phrased it. 'My feet were stuck, Nick. Like in quicksand.' "

"Can you see the others doing something like that on their own?"

"I don't know… I used to think of them as clowns… maybe. All I'm saying is Luke was a big softie. A big Baby Huey type of guy."

"And the others?"

"The others weren't soft."

"So," said Milo, "the murder started out as a way to silence the girl."

Hansen nodded.

"But it progressed to something else, Nicholas. If you'd seen the body, you'd know that. It was something you wouldn't want to paint."

"Oh, Lord," said Hansen.

"Did Luke Chapman make any mention at all of who initiated the murder?"

Hansen shook his head.

"How about taking a guess?" said Milo. "From what you remember about the Kingers' personalities."

"Vance," said Hansen, without hesitation. "He was the leader. The most aggressive. Vance was the one who picked her up. If I had to guess, I'd say Vance was the first to cut her."

Milo slapped his pad shut. His head shot forward. "Who said anything about cutting, Nicholas?"

Hansen turned white. "You said it- you said it was ugly."

"Chapman told you they'd cut her, didn't he?"

"Maybe- he could've."

Milo stood and stomped his way slowly toward Hansen on echoing tiles, came to a halt inches from Hansen's terrified face. Hansen's hands rose protectively.

"What else are you holding back, Nicholas?"

"Nothing! I'm doing my best-"

"Do better," said Milo.

"I'm trying." Hansen's voice took on a whine. "It's twenty years ago. You're making me remember things I repressed because they disgusted me. I didn't want to hear details then, and I don't want to now."

"Because you like pretty things," said Milo. "The wonderful world of art."

Hansen clapped his hands against his temples and looked away from Milo. Milo got down on one knee and spoke into Hansen's right ear.

"Tell me about the cutting."

"That's it. He just said they started cutting her." Hansen's shoulders rose and fell, and he began weeping.

Milo gave him a moment of peace. Then he said, "After they cut her, what?"

"They burned her. They burned her with cigarettes. Luke said he could hear her skin sizzle… oh God- I really thought he was…"

"Making it up."

Hansen sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve, let his head fall. The back of his neck was glossy and creased, like ca

Milo said, "They burned her, then what?"

"That's all. That really is all. Luke said it was like it became a game- he had to think of it as a game in order not to freak out completely. He said he'd watched and tried to pretend she was one of those inflatable dolls and they were playing with her. He said it seemed to go on forever until someone- I think it was Vance, I can't swear to it, but probably Vance- said she was dead and they needed to get her out of there. They bundled her up in something, put her in the trunk of Vance's Jaguar, and dumped her somewhere near downtown."

"Pretty detailed for a hallucination," said Milo.

Hansen didn't respond.

"Especially," pressed Milo, "for a dull guy like Chapman. You ever know him to be that imaginative?"

Hansen remained mute.

"Where'd they take her, Nicholas?"

"I don't know where- why the hell wasn't it in the papers?" Hansen balled a hand into a fist and raised it chest high. Making a stab at assertiveness. Milo remained crouched but somehow increased his dominance. Hansen shook his head and looked away and cried some more.

"What'd they do afterward?"

"Had coffee," said Hansen. "Some place in Hollywood. Coffee and pie. Luke said he tried eating but threw up in the bathroom."

"What kind of pie?"

"I didn't ask. Why wasn't there anything in the paper?"

"What would your theory be about that, Nicholas?"

"What do you mean?" said Hansen.

"Given what you know about your buddies, what's your theory."

"I don't see what you're getting at."

Milo got up, stretched, rolled his neck, walked slowly to a leaded window, turned his back on Hansen. "Think about the world you inhabit, Nicholas. You're a successful artist. You get thirty, forty thousand dollars for a painting. Who buys your stuff?"

"Thirty thousand isn't big-time in the art world," said Hansen. "Not compared to-"

"It's a lot of money for a painting," said Milo. "Who buys your stuff?"

"Collectors, but I don't see what that has to-"

"Yeah, yeah, people of taste and all that. But at forty grand a pop not just any collectors."

"People of means," said Hansen.

Milo turned suddenly, gri

Hansen's muddy eyes rounded. "You're saying someone was bribed to keep it quiet? Something that horrible could be- then for God's sake why didn't it stay quiet? Why is it coming to light, now?"

"Give me a theory about that, too."

"I don't have one."

"Think."

"It's in someone's best interests to go public?" said Hansen. He sat up. "Bigger money's come into play? Is that what you're getting at?"

Milo returned to the sofa, sat back comfortably, flipped his pad open.

"Bigger money," said Hansen. "Meaning I'm a total ass for talking to you. You caught me off guard and used me-" He brightened suddenly. "But you screwed up. You were obligated to offer me the presence of an attorney, so anything I've told you is inadmissable-"

"You watch too much TV, Nicholas. We're obligated to offer you a lawyer if we arrest you. Any reason we should arrest you, Nicholas?"

"No, no, of course not-"

Milo glanced at me. "I suppose we could exercise the option. Obstruction of justice is a felony." Back to Hansen: "Charge like that, whether or not you got convicted, your life would change. But given that you've cooperated…"

Hansen's eyes sparked. He pawed at the scant hair above his ears. "I need to be worried, don't I?"

"About what?"

"Them. Jesus, what have I done? I'm stuck here, can't leave, not with Mother-"

"With or without Mother, leaving would be a bad idea, Nicholas. If you've been straight- really told us everything, we'll do our best to keep you safe."

"As if you give a damn." Hansen got to his feet. "Get out- leave me alone."

Milo stayed seated. "How about a look at your painting?"

"What?"

"I meant what I said," said Milo. "I do like art."