The Murder Book

Fighting revulsion, I said, "The other guys' daddies. Do you remember which ones?"

"The brothers, for sure- Garvey and Bobo's old man, and this other creep, this nasty nerd named Brad something-or-other. He piped up and said his daddy'd had her, too. Laughing about it. Proud."

"Brad Larner."

"Never knew his last name. Ski

"Any other buddies in the group, that night?"

"One other, this big doofus, this surfer type… Luke. Luke the Nuke, was my name for him cause he always looked bombed, would eat anything I sold him."

"Luke Chapman," I said. "Had his father had sex with Janie?"

He thought. "I don't recall his saying so… no, I don't think so, 'cause when the others were going on about it, he looked a little uneasy."

Multigenerational rape. Michael Larner's assault on Allison Gwy

Like father, like…

Bowie Ingalls had primed his only child by abusing her, then trafficking in her flesh. I thought about Milo's description of Janie's nearly empty room. A place she didn't- wouldn't think of as home.

Ingalls had been evil and calculating but stupid. Showing up at the meeting with his blackmail targets, drunk and overconfident.

I said, "What happened when they finished bragging?"

"Coury made some crack about, 'Honor thy father.' Went after Janie- just grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. The others followed."

"She resist?"

"Not much. Like I said, she was pretty much out of it. I took Aimee and got out of there. Not because I was a good man. But all that talk about ganging up on a girl, taking sloppy seconds from their daddies made me feel… uncomfortable. Also, Aimee had to go to the bathroom, had been pulling at my arm for a while, complaining she needed to go. But finding a bathroom wasn't so easy in that place, every toilet was being used for getting high or having sex or throwing up or doing what a toilet's for. So, I took her out of the house, over to the backyard, all the way in back, to the bushes and trees, told her to go in there, I'd keep watch."

He shrugged. The movement caused him pain, and he winced. "I know it sounds crude, but we'd done that before, Aimee and me. I'd be driving her somewhere far from the city- we used to like to go up into the mountains, out in the San Gabriels or over in the West Valley near Thousand Oaks, or up on Mullholland Highway or Rambla Pacifica, top of Malibu. Anywhere we could find empty space and just enjoy the quiet. And no matter how many times I'd tell her to go to the bathroom before we set out, wouldn't you believe she'd have to go where there was no facilities?"

Big smile. "Like a kid. So I was used to leading her into the bushes and keeping watch and that's what I did out in the backyard and when we were heading back to the house, we heard voices over the wall- her brother's voice, Garvey, whooping and laughing. Then the others. They were outside, too, going to the next-door property. I knew that because they'd taken me there, it was this huge place, acres, this estate, the owner was some rich European who was never there and most of the time the house was empty. They used to go there to party because no one would bother them. They had a way of getting in, this side gate, up toward the back with a bolt that was easy to wiggle loose and once you were back there you were so far from the house no one could spot you."

"Party spot."

"I partied with them, there," he said. "Like I said, I was the candy man. Anyway, Aimee wanted to tag along and go over there, like she always did- anything those boys did, she thought was cool. No matter how they treated her, she'd want to be with them. I tried to talk her out of it, brought her back inside the party house and sat down and tried to groove on some music. 'Cause while Aimee was in the bushes, I'd shot up, was feeling mellow. But when I opened my eyes, she was gone, and I knew where she'd gone and I was responsible for her so I went after her. And found her. Looking. From behind some trees, into a clearing. She was shaking really bad, teeth chattering, and when I saw what she was looking at, I dug why."

"How much time had passed since Coury had made a move for Janie?" I said.

"Hard to say. It felt like a long time, but I was going in and out- weaving, you know? Ever been on opiates?"

"When I was a kid I split myself open and they gave me Demerol to stitch me up."

"Like it?"

"I liked it fine," I said. "Everything slowed down and pain turned into a warm glow."

"So you know." He rolled his head. "It's like the best kiss. The sweetest kiss, straight from God's lips. All these years, even knowing what it did to my life, I still think about it… about the idea of doing it. And Lord help me, sometimes I pray that when I do die and if by some miracle I end up upstairs, there'll be this big syringe waiting for me."

"What was Aimee looking at?"

"Janie." His voice cracked on the name, and he rocked gently in his wheelchair. "Oh, Lord, it was bad. Someone was holding a flashlight on her- Luke the Nuke- and the others were standing around, staring. They had her spread out on the ground, with her legs apart and her head was nothing but blood and she was all cut up and burned and dead cigarettes and blood was all over the ground."

"Did you see a weapon?"

"Coury and Bobo Cossack were holding knives. Big hunting knives, like you'd get in an army surplus store. Garvey had the pack of cigarettes- Kools. Trying to be hip."

"What about Brad Larner?"

"He was just standing and staring. And the other one- this big dumb-looking dude was behind him, freaked out, dead scared, you could see it all over his face. The others were more… frozen. Like they'd done something and now it was sinking in. Then Coury said, 'We need to get the bitch outta here,' and he told Brad to go to his car, get out these blankets he kept there. Then Aimee started retching out loud, and they all turned toward us, and Garvey said, 'Oh, shit, you fucking moron!' and I grabbed Aimee and tried to get the hell out of there. But Garvey had got hold of her arm and wouldn't let go and I just wanted to be as far from there as I could so I left her with him and ran as fast as I could and got in my car and drove the hell out of there. I drove like a maniac, it's a miracle no cop pulled me over. Went over to the Marina, then east on Washington, sped all the way east to La Brea, then south into the ghetto."

He smiled. "Into the high-crime neighborhood. Watts. That's when I finally felt safe."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. I kept a low profile, ran out of money and smack, did what I knew how to do, and got busted."

"You never thought about reporting the murder?"

"Sure," he said. "Rich kids from Bel Air and a black junkie felon tells the cops he just happened to see a white girl get carved up? Cops used to stop me for driving while black, run my license and reg, pull me out, have me do the spread for no reason. Even in my old Mercury Cougar, which was a piece of junk, appropriate for a black junkie felon."

"That night," I said, "you had better wheels. Late-model white Cadillac."

"You know that?" he said. "You already know stuff?" Something new crept into his voice- an aftertone of menace. Hint of the man he'd once been. "You having me go through the motions?"

"You're the first eyewitness we've found. I know about the Caddy because we located Melinda Waters, and she mentioned it. But she split from the party before the murder."

His head rolled slowly, and he canted it away from me. "The Caddy was a borrowed car. I maintained the Merc the way a junkie would and finally it broke down and I sold it for dope money. Next day I realized that without wheels I was nothing- good old junkie pla