Open Season (Alex Delaware #40)

Chapter 14

Chapter

14

Thursday at eight fifty a.m., I met Milo on Sunset Boulevard just east of San Vicente in the heart of the Strip.

Like any district that feeds on nightlife, the Strip turns tawdry in daylight. I’ve always imagined that as the street’s empathy with the clubs, bars, and comedy stores that sadden when the sun threatens.

L.A. was streaming another episode of blue skies and crisp air and that helped a bit. But when we entered the Tidy Tavern things got predictably dingy.

The place was narrow, dim, devoid of customers. Tables and chairs were scattered randomly, as if pushed aside in haste. The blue vinyl floor was speckled with trash. A broom and dustpan leaned against a wall painted a repellent, lumpy red-brown.

Before we’d stepped in, Milo had shown me a photo of the man we were meeting. That turned out to be unnecessary. He was the only one in the room, standing behind the bar wiping the cloudy top sluggishly.

He heard us, then saw us. His mouth opened and formed a cartoonish oval. The rag in his hand began making frantic circles.

His name was Martin Kehoe and he’d changed his mind about talking to the police, phoning Milo at six thirty a.m. to say so.

Milo had ignored the message.

“Mr. Kehoe? Lieutenant Sturgis.”

Kehoe said, “Oh no.”

We took stools at the bar. Mine was rickety. Milo’s seemed secure. Or maybe burdened into immobility. He’d bellied up, doing his best to enter Martin Kehoe’s personal space.

“Oh no, what, sir?”

“I don’t want to do this. I called.”

“When was that, sir?”

“Early,” said Martin Kehoe. “Like six thirty.”

Milo said, “By then I was out in the field. Sorry for the inconvenience but as long as we made the trip, why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind.”

“Nothing,” said Kehoe. Even a bass voice can sound small when tremoloed by anxiety.

We gave him time to think. He used the opportunity to grip the rag tighter, creating white knuckles the size of brussels sprouts.

Big, broad man, with the same kind of bulk as Paul O’Brien. Unlike O’Brien he made no effort to show it off. Just the opposite; he wore a baggy white button-down shirt with the sleeves buttoned at the wrists.

The same diffidence applied to his cranium. When men lose their hair young they often shave their heads rather than emphasize pattern baldness. I’d scanned Kehoe’s license and knew him to be thirty-eight. His dome was bare except where it was girdled by gray-flecked brown fuzz. What some of my patients call the Dad Look.

Kehoe’s rough-hewn face was shelved by a huge chin and fronted by a beak that supported steel-framed eyeglasses. Wrinkles had set long enough ago to deepen.

Not yet forty but aging quickly. Our drop-by wasn’t helping matters.

He shrank back as Milo leaned in further. “Really, sir. It’s a mistake.”

“Hmm. I’m confused, Mr. Kehoe. You phoned and said you had important information about Paul O’Brien.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

Kehoe transferred the bar rag to his other hand, half turned, and pretended to study a mirrored wall full of bottles.

“Before what, sir?” said Milo.

“Before I talked to my girlfriend,” said Kehoe, swiveling back but avoiding eye contact.

“She said you shouldn’t talk to us.”

“She watches all those true-crime shows, reads crap on the internet. She said even when you’re trying to be righteous it can come back to bite you in the ass.”

“How so, Mr. Kehoe?”

“The person who comes forward. You know.”

“Know what, sir?”

Kehoe turned back to us. “They sometimes get suspected.”

“Your girlfriend told you that.”

“Caitlin’s smart.”

“I’m sure she is,” said Milo. “And what she said has some truth to it. But it doesn’t apply to people with the good sense and the moral fiber to phone in tips.”

Martin Kehoe took no comfort from the compliment. “Whatever.”

“What Caitlin’s talking about can happen when someone finds a body in a strange way. Or when a person injects themselves way too much into an investigation.”

“Whatever.”

“Honestly, Martin—can I call you that?”

“Marty.”

“I’m being straight with you, Marty.”

“Sure, yeah…but…I really don’t think I have anything. I was just trying to be helpful when I heard.”

“About Paul O’Brien.”

“Yeah,” said Kehoe.

“You were friends with Paul.”

“Not really…we used to room together. He owes me money. That’s how I found out.”

“That he’d been murdered.”

Kehoe winced. “Caitlin’s been telling me I should call him, tell him to finally pay up. I called but he didn’t answer so she went online to find out if he’d moved somewhere and it was there. What happened. What he did.”

The door to the bar swung open, letting in light and noise before hissing shut. A small, bandy-legged man limped in waving his arms and shouting.

“Life is marvelous, Marty Martian! Here’s your chance to make it stu pen dous!”

Kehoe reached into his pocket and drew out a ten.

Milo gave me a small nod and I took the bill from between Kehoe’s fingers and walked toward the new arrival. As I got near, his aroma took over. Months of unwashed laundry mixed with long-term avoidance of dental care.

I gave him the money.

“Who’re you?”

Milo said, “Someone making Marty’s life easier.”

“Oh. Good for you, man, good for you. He makes my life easier. I’m putting him up for saintliness at the Vatican. Even though I’m a Martin Lutheran.”

A brief staring contest ensued. Milo won and the man tottered out.

Kehoe said, “Clayton sometimes helps me clean up so I tip him. But the owners don’t know. And don’t think I do that for everyone.”

“If you did, we wouldn’t think less of you, Marty.”

“Whatever.”

“Marty, you’re obviously a stand-up guy with a big heart. You roomed with Paul and now he’s been murdered. No one suspects you of anything. We need people to give us information. Without that, we’re screwed, and so far on Paul’s case we’re super-screwed.”

Kehoe’s lips folded inward, emphasizing the size of his chin.

He said, “Whatever, okay. But it’s no big deal.”

“Thanks, Marty. Now what did you want to tell us?”

“Paul,” said Kehoe. “He wasn’t a good person.”

—

We coaxed Kehoe from behind the bar and over to one of the tables and sat down facing him.

Milo smiled and said, “Go on, Marty.”

“We used to room together,” said Kehoe. “At first it was okay, then I learned about him and knew I had to get out of there. Problem was I couldn’t afford my own place. But as soon as I could, I was out of there.”

Milo said, “How long ago are we talking?”

Kehoe gave the question serious consideration. “I think…we started…like four years ago? I left like two years ago?”

“And he’s owed you money all that time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I ask how much?”

“A lot,” said Kehoe. “Like eighteen hundred dollars. Actually, seventeen hundred eighty-five.”

“That is a lot,” said Milo.

“Not in one bunch, he’d ask for twenty, fifty at a time, then a hundred, then fifty, even ten. That kind of thing. When I’d ask him for it back he’d tell me to keep a record so we’d both know. So I did. That’s how I know.”

“He pay any of it back?”

Kehoe shook his head.

“So how’d you guys meet?”

“We were both at the Roxy, working the door. Then we found out we had both done stunt work. I stopped because I tore my ACL but Paul did a little more. He was even in a couple of movies but he didn’t get paid much.”

“You do any acting?”

“Nah,” said Kehoe. “I don’t like being looked at. After my ACL surgery, I started doing this and that’s what I still do.”

“Tending bar.”

“And waiting tables. Busing and maintenance when there’s nothing else. Here I work the bar and do maintenance. Caitlin says I should go to school and study landscaping.”

“You like plants?”

“Those orchids you get at the supermarket?” said Kehoe. “I get a lot of them to rebloom. Caitlin can’t do it, she says I’ve got a knack.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a green thumb, Marty.”

Kehoe shrugged.

“So where’d you and Paul live when you were rooming together?”

“Culver City. We got a sublet near Fox Hills, some old guy whose family put him in a home and they wanted rent money. Two bedrooms, two baths.”

“Nice.”

“Not really,” said Kehoe. “Actually it was a dump but we could afford it. I still live there. Not in the apartment, near Culver City. Mar Vista, me and Caitlin have a nice place. She’s a massage therapist.”

“Sounds great,” said Milo. “So what bothered you about Paul?”

“A lot, sir. But not all at once. It was like…”

I said, “It took time to get the whole picture.”

“Exactly, yes, sir.”

“Paul could behave badly.”

“Oh yes,” said Kehoe. “Real bad…okay…it was like this…We both liked girls. We met them at the Roxy or the Viper Club, any other doors we’d work and sometimes…nothing weird, sometimes someone would like you and you got to…recreate.”

“Sure,” I said. “Makes total sense.”

“So that was it. For me. A couple of dates, one of them, a nice girl named Jacqui, we dated for like half a year. But Paul…how do I say this…Paul liked the girls too much.”

His eyes dropped to the tabletop. He’d left the rag on the bar, looked at his hand and used it to simulate wiping. Faster and faster.

I said, “Paul came on too strong?”

“Yeah. Yes, sir. You could say that.”

Milo pulled out his pad and wrote.

Kehoe said, “You need to do that?”

“I do, Marty, but don’t worry, it won’t mention you. So how did Paul come on strong?”

“It was…” said Kehoe. “Okay. Like, we’d be working a door? And after closing there’d be some girls hanging around? Mostly I’d be tired and want to go home. Not Paul, he was always looking. He’d…sometimes bring them home.”

His lips folded inward again, pumping the big chin upward. It lowered as he released his lips. Press, release, over and over, like a die-stamping machine.

I said, “Paul would bring them home and…”

Final release. Trembling lips.

Marty Kehoe said, “Sometimes they wouldn’t be awake.”

“When he brought them home?”

“Both times,” said Kehoe. “Bringing them in and bringing them out. He’d carry them out. If I saw it, I’d say what’s going on, dude, and he’d laugh and say, ‘I did her so good she fell asleep.’?”

One hand kept frantically wiping. The other covered his eyes.

I said, “They didn’t just look asleep.”

“They looked…okay, yes, sir, they looked out of it. If I saw it I’d say, ‘Is she okay?’ and Paul would laugh and say, ‘She’s fine, what’re you, a fucking EMT?’ Then he’d carry her out.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to them?”

Kehoe lowered the shielding hand but avoided eye contact. “I should have. When I read what he did to that girl, it hit me. I was like one of those…people who pretend to be moral but they don’t go the extra step, you know? Caitlin says it wasn’t my fault, what could I do? But maybe I could’ve. I don’t know.”

Milo said, “Any idea where Paul would take them?”

“I mean it didn’t happen all the time, some of them were okay,” said Kehoe. “They’d come out in the morning and he’d give them an energy bar or something and call them an Uber.”

“But others got carried out in the middle of the night.”

Slow nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Those women,” said Milo, “where did he take them?”

“I don’t know, sir. Honestly. If I asked, he’d laugh. One time, it was bugging me, seeing him carry them and they’re looking so out of it, I kind of demanded it. ‘Where are you taking her, dude?’ His face got all red, he put her down on the couch—more like dropped her—and he was in my face and his fists were up. I put mine up and told him, ‘Go ahead, dude, that won’t change the question.’ I knew I could handle him, had taken him down in an arm wrestle plus I knew some mixed martial arts. And he knew it, too. So he laughed—he laughed a lot, he was always laughing but not at things I thought were funny—he laughed and said, ‘You worry like an old woman. I’m taking her home, okay? Door-to-door service. Now shut the fuck up and go back to bed.’ So I did.”

Milo said, “How old were the women he brought home?”

“Young,” said Kehoe. “What you get in clubs.”

“Did he have any racial preferences?”

“Did he dig Asians or something like that? No, sir, they were all types. He’d laugh—he’d tell me, ‘I’m the fucking United Nations. They’ve got pussies, they get membership.’?”

I said, “You suspected he was drugging them.”

“Why would they be knocked out like that just from…no way. Doing it doesn’t do that to you.”

“What drugs did you see in Paul’s possession?”

“Just weed. We both smoked. A lot. We drank also. I don’t do any of that anymore.” He glanced at the bar. “Makes my job easier.”

Milo said, “You never saw Paul do anything but weed or booze?”

“At the club,” said Kehoe, “he’d sometimes do a little Molly. It was all around the clubs.”

“What about at home?”

“Never saw nothing, sir. He kept his bedroom locked.”

“When he had women over.”

“Uh-uh, always.”

I said, “Which made you even more suspicious.”

“Yes, sir. Who does that?”

“During your time living with Paul, how many women would you say left unconscious?”

“Maybe…fifteen? Twelve? I wasn’t counting.”

“Did any of the women ever show up more than once?”

“Never.”

“No girlfriends?”

“No, sir. Paul wasn’t into relationships. Said relationships were like cancer, you had to cut them out to be healthy.”

“Any reason he’d feel that way?”

Kehoe shrugged. “He was married, maybe he got burned?”

“Married to who?”

“No idea, sir. Way before I met him. He called her The Bitch, that’s all I know.”

“Did he have any children?”

“Not that he talked about.”

I looked at Milo. He paused in his writing and gave me the nod.

I said, “Was Paul from L.A. or somewhere else?”

“He said somewhere in the East, that’s all I know.”

“He didn’t talk much about himself?”

“Just about how good he was…with sex. He said he’d worked as a dancer. Doing bachelorette parties. Said he ended up doing a bunch of women at those. That’s all I know. We didn’t talk much. Just when we were doing doors and it got slow. But not about us. As people, you know? All Paul wanted to talk about was sex.”

He squirmed. “He did a couple of pornos. Showed them to me on his phone.”

Milo said, “Anything unusual about the films?”

“You mean weird stuff?” said Kehoe. “Nah, what I saw was just the usual. They were old. I could tell ’cause he was younger and they were kind of blurry. He said he could do it again, they were using all types. Said we both could be mature studs and make some buck.”

He shook his head.

I said, “He tried to recruit you.”

“I told him no way, too many diseases. He laughed and called me a pussy and said he was just kidding anyway.”

“Speaking of bucks,” said Milo, “what’d he borrow for?”

“Not the rent,” said Kehoe. “He always had his half.” Another eye shield. Big shoulders quaked.

Milo said, “What’s the matter, Marty?”

“I been thinking about that. Did he use my money to dope them? I don’t want to be part of that. I hope I wasn’t.”

He let both arms drop. His face was flushed, his breathing rapid.

Milo said, “Marty—”

“That’s the real reason Caitlin didn’t want me to talk to you. She says you could try to mess me up for not stopping it.”

Milo said, “Tell her don’t worry, Marty. All we care about is homicide.”

Kehoe’s eyes bulged. “Yeah, but what if one of them homicided? Look what happened to the one on the internet.”

“We’ve got no evidence of that, Marty. And even if it did happen you’ve got absolutely no culpability.”

Silence.

Milo said, “Okay?”

Kehoe shook his head frantically. “Caitlin says—I hope you’re right.” He shuddered. Sweat flew. Another Newfoundland lumbering ashore.

“Do not worry, Marty. You’ve done nothing that could be considered criminal and the fact that you came forward to give us information shows you’re a good person.”

Kehoe looked at him. “Thanks for saying that.”

“Anything else you can tell us about Paul?”

“Like what?”

“Like who’d want to kill him.”

“Caitlin says a lot of people,” said Kehoe. “Because of what I told her about Paul. But I don’t know who.”

Milo showed him Jamarcus Parmenter’s photo.

Kehoe said, “He did it?”

“No, he’s a victim of an older homicide. Know him?”

“Never seen him before.”

“Could he be a guy Paul mighta known?”

“Sure,” said Kehoe. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“Why?”

“He could be a club dude and Paul kept doing clubs after I quit.”

Milo kept the photo at Kehoe’s eye level. “You’re sure you’ve never seen him.”

“If I did, I’d tell you. Believe me, I’d tell you.”

—

We followed the usual routine, asking the same questions rephrased. Sometimes people get spooked because they realize they’re being played. The process calmed Marty Kehoe, loosening his voice, his phrasing, and his posture.

For all that, nothing new to say.

Milo looked at me. I shook my head. We stood.

“Thanks, Marty. If you think of anything else, here’s my card.”

“Yes, sir.” Kehoe retrieved the broom. As we left, he swept. More circles.

—

Out on the sidewalk, I said, “That question about racial preferences. You’re wondering about if O’Brien came on to Keisha. Or another woman Boykins cared about.”

“You bet. Yeah, it’s a racially narrow approach, why would I think Boykins wouldn’t care equally about a White woman? But all I give a damn about is doing the damn job.” He glanced at his Timex. “Time for your job. The one that pays.”