Hotline to Murder (9 page)

Shahla said, “‘Can I help you?’ means, ‘Am I
able to help you?’ I was tempted to say, ‘I don’t know. Can
you?’”

“So what should she have said?” Tony asked.
He had never paid much attention in English class.

“‘May I help you?’ That asks for
permission.”

“Thank you for the lesson.”

“No charge.”

“Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite
people. I might have known I’d see you on Friday the
thirteenth.”

Detective Croyden had entered the room while
they had their backs to the door, looking at posters. Tony turned
around and said, “Working late, aren’t you?” He knew why Croyden
might be sarcastic with him, but not Shahla, unless she had let
some of her dislike of the police show when he talked to her.

“Crime never sleeps,” Croyden said. “What
have you got for me?”

He didn’t ask them to sit down, and he
didn’t take a seat himself, so the three of them remained standing.
Tony thought he looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, and
his facial wrinkles were pronounced, as was his broken nose. Tony
pointed to the brown envelope he had set on the table and told
Croyden what was inside. He related how he had found and handled
the white envelope, mentioning that several of his own fingerprints
might be on it.

“But at least you came to your senses before
you covered it with your prints,” Croyden said, with what might be
faint praise. “Do you know what’s inside it?”

Tony missed a beat while he reconsidered his
first answer and then said, “No.” He hoped Croyden hadn’t noticed
his involuntary head-fake.

“All right, we’ll take a look at it. You
said the Hotline office door was locked. That’s good. Did anybody
knock or did you hear any sounds outside the door?”

He directed this question to both of them.
They shook their heads.

“All right. Tony, do you have any objection
to the desk officer taking your fingerprints so that we can
eliminate the ones on the envelope?”

He could probably refuse, at least
temporarily, but what would be the point. “No objection.” It
appeared that Croyden was dismissing them.

Shahla said, “Detective Croyden, since the
person who left the envelope knows where the Hotline is, doesn’t
that sound to you as if the…killer might work for the Hotline?”

Croyden looked at her for a while, and Tony
began to wonder whether he wasn’t ogling her breasts instead of
contemplating his answer. He finally said, “Sha…” and stumbled.

“Shahla.”

“Shahla, first of all, we don’t know whether
the envelope was left by the killer. Assuming it was, there is a
possibility that he—or she—works for the Hotline. But other people
know where it is, too.”

“You mean, like ex-listeners. But we just
moved to this building six months ago, so that eliminates most of
them.”

“A smart caller could find out. One of your
listeners could have slipped and given away your location to a
caller. Like the Chameleon. I told Nancy she had a security leak
big enough to drive a Hummer through.”

Tony said, “It’s my observation that the
listeners are very security conscious. I don’t know how the
Chameleon might have found out.”

“But you know and I know that some of these
guys can sweet-talk the teenyboppers on the phone, and they’ll lose
their heads. Look at all these young girls who are seduced on the
Internet.”

“We’re not like them,” Shahla said hotly.
“We’ve been through the training and, anyway, we’re a lot smarter
than the dippy girls who look for love online.”

“What have you found out about the
Chameleon?” Tony asked to try to defuse the situation.

“Still working on it,” Croyden said stiffly.
“Did you get any calls from him today?”

“No.” If there had been calls from him
during the previous shifts, his name would have been on the
board.

“He hasn’t called since you went after him.
Looks like you scared him away. And made our job harder.”

Tony was tempted to make a retort about the
police not being able to find him, even with subpoenaed call
records, but Shahla didn’t know about those.

Croyden said, “Listen, I’d love to chat with
you, but I’ve got work to do. Tony, come over to the counter, and
we’ll get your prints.”

“What if there are prints on the envelope
that aren’t on file somewhere?” Shahla asked.

“We’ll try to match them against any
suspects’ prints. Why, did you touch the envelope? Do we need to
take your prints?”

“No,” Shahla said hastily. “I…don’t want to
get my fingers dirty.”

***

“I’ll have a piece of cherry pie with a big
scoop of vanilla ice cream on top,” Shahla said to the waitress at
the Beach House, the local all-night diner.

“Uh…coffee—decaf,” Tony said when she looked
at him. He didn’t want to stay awake the rest of the night.

“Well, at least you’re not anorexic,” Tony
said to Shahla. “But we can’t eliminate the possibility that you’re
a binge eater.” It had been Shahla’s idea to stop here.

“I’m not a binge eater unless you call
eating all the time bingeing.”

It was true. She was always munching on
something at the Hotline. “So how do you maintain your girlish
figure?”

“I’m on the cross-country team.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“A girl doesn’t tell all her secrets.”

“I thought you were going to get a job.”

“With all that’s been happening, I haven’t
had time to look for a job. But what about you? I don’t know
anything about you except that you own a condo…”

“Town house.”

“…you own a town house and drive a noisy
car.”

“I’m one of those poor people who have to
work for a living.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m marketing manager for an Internet
company that gives people who are dissatisfied with their weight or
the appearance of their bodies alternatives as to what to do.”

“You mean like plastic surgery?”

“Yeah, and having their stomachs
stapled.”

“Ugh, gross. Who would want to do any of
that?”

“Lots of people. When you’re young and have
a perfect body, you don’t realize that not everybody else does. Do
you know how many teenagers want nose jobs or even boob jobs?”

“I don’t have a perfect body.”

“Okay, the violins are playing, but I don’t
want to hear about it and 99.9% of the rest of the world doesn’t
want to, either.”

Shahla smiled. “Tony, you’re funny. So what
do you do when you aren’t working or driving your noisy car?”

Or going out with women. But his love life
was in a tailspin, and he wasn’t about to discuss it. “I like to
hike.” Although he hadn’t been hiking for a long time. And his gut
showed it.

“Where do you like to hike?”

“Have you ever been up the Palm Springs
Tramway?”

“No.”

“Well, from the top of the tram you can hike
up Mt. San Jacinto. It’s beautiful up there.”

“I’d like to do that sometime.”

The waitress brought their food, and Shahla
dove into her pie and ice cream. Tony sipped on his decaf. After he
had allowed her to take several bites, he said, “Tell me about why
you think Martha might be a suspect.”

“Jealousy. Joy was the star of the
volleyball team, and Martha was riding the bench, mostly. Now she’s
replaced Joy in the lineup as an outside hitter. But she’s not as
good as Joy and never will be.” Shahla emphasized the last
sentence.

“That doesn’t mean she killed Joy. Jealousy?
There must be more to it than that.”

“How about insane jealousy? They’ve known
each other all their lives, and Joy has always been better at
everything. School. Sports. Attracting boys.”

“How do you fit into this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said that they’ve known each other all
their lives. But Joy was your best friend. Couldn’t you be feeling
a little jealousy because of their closeness?”

Shahla glowered at him and took a big bite
of pie.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Tony knew who it was even before he raised
his eyes. He would know his ex-girlfriend’s voice anywhere. And
Carol was with a man—not a bad looking man, a prosperous-looking
man. Tony felt a twinge of something inside. And she was looking
good, with a skirt and sweater that didn’t hide her curves. Her
short brown hair with red highlights set off a smiling and
perfectly proportioned face. No need for a nose job there. And she
looked happy.

“Hi, Carol,” he said belatedly. “Uh, this is
Shahla. Shahla works on the Hotline with me.”

“Working the late shift, eh?” Carol said,
pointedly looking at her watch. Tony realized it was almost
midnight. “Hi, Shahla. I’m so glad to meet you. This is
Horace.”

Tony awkwardly stood up from the booth and
shook hands with Horace. He didn’t see a ring through his nose, but
maybe it was invisible.

“Well, we won’t keep you,” Carol said. “It
must be way past Shahla’s bedtime. But it was great to see you
both.” She tucked her hand into Horace’s arm and guided him to a
table in the corner.

“Who was that?” Shahla asked, her eyes
wide.

“That was my ex-girlfriend,” Tony said,
following Carol with his own eyes and wondering how she still had
such control over his emotions.

“She’s very pretty. But…”

“Pushy? Sarcastic?”

“I didn’t want to say anything bad about
her.”

“You don’t have to. I know all her faults by
heart.”

***

“I love your house.”

Tony had driven Shahla home, and they were
sitting in his car in the driveway of a roomy and modern two-story
house—the kind Tony would like to be able to afford someday. A
house without attached neighbors.

“Fortunately, my father had lots of life
insurance. And my mom works.”

“Your father? Your father is…?”

“My father is dead.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” Tony
couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a parent. Both of his
parents were still alive.

“He was murdered.”

“Ohmygod.”

“It’s been long enough so that I can talk
about it. Five years. But the pain never goes away.”

“It must be very hard for you.” Before
taking the class he wouldn’t have known what to say. But that
didn’t seem strong enough, somehow.

Shahla was silent. And Tony didn’t know what
else to say. Should he ask for details? It was time for her to go
into the house, but he didn’t want to push her to get out of the
car. That would seem heartless. He saw a light on in an upstairs
window. Perhaps her mother had heard them drive in. As Shahla had
said, his wasn’t the quietest car in the world. At least Mom would
know her daughter was safe.

“My father was coming home from a meeting at
night,” Shahla said softly. She seemed to be speaking to herself.
“He stopped at a place like a 7-Eleven to get a loaf of bread or
something. A man came into the store and pulled a gun on the clerk.
I don’t think he even saw my father. The clerk gave him the money,
and the robber was going to take him to the back of the store,
probably to shoot him. My father intervened, and the bastard shot
him.”

“Oh.” When Shahla remained silent, Tony
said, “And the clerk?”

“The robber lost his cool at that point. He
shot at the clerk and then took off. The clerk was wounded, but he
survived. That’s how we know what happened.”

“And they didn’t get him?”

“No, they did. But the police screwed it up.
They didn’t read him his rights, or something. The man made a
confession, but the court threw it out. It was a big mess. He never
went to jail.”

“No wonder you don’t like the police.”

Tony had been looking straight ahead out the
car window at the house, but Shahla was silent so long that he
stole a look at her. In the moonlight he could see tears running
down her cheeks. He felt very awkward. He should do something to
comfort her, but what?

She laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t
dare move. He felt tense and uncomfortable. He had never felt that
way with a girl before. After what seemed like an eternity, but was
probably no more than five minutes, she lifted her head and said,
“I have to go.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and
got out of the car. After she entered the house and closed the
door, Tony sat for a minute, with conflicting emotions. Then he
started the car, revved the engine, and backed out of the
driveway.

CHAPTER 11

Nobody stopped Tony as he walked through the
door into the gymnasium. He knew that a visitor entering the high
school campus was supposed to report to the administration office
first, but school was over for the day and, anyway, the gymnasium
was next to the parking lot, somewhat removed from the
classrooms.

The inside of the building immediately
brought back memories of every gymnasium he had ever been in, with
its wooden pull-out bleachers and the basketball nets at either
end. And perhaps a faint odor of sweat, or was that his
imagination? Tony could remember his own days on his high school
basketball team, vividly, although his memories consisted mostly of
him riding the bench while the taller, quicker and more talented
players received the playing time.

A volleyball net dominated the center of the
floor. A couple of dozen fans were scattered throughout the
bleachers, some students, some parents. A few may have been
grandparents. He was too old to be a student and too young to be a
parent. Where did he fit in? Feeling self-conscious, Tony picked a
seat near the door of the gym and put his cell phone on vibrate. If
he received a call, he would run outside and take the call there.
He didn’t want to have the background noise of a sporting event if
Mona, his boss, called. And since it was 3:30 in the afternoon,
that was a real possibility.

Tony hadn’t responded positively to Shahla’s
feeling that Martha might be Joy’s killer, thinking that it sounded
more like jealousy on Shahla’s part. Martha and Joy had enjoyed a
certain amount of intimacy over the years, in spite of the supposed
differences in their ability. He had decided, however, that if he
was going to actively assist in the investigation, every lead was
worth following up, to determine if it should be reported to
Detective Croyden. But he didn’t want Shahla present to color his
judgment.