The Fall Moon Read online

  White was obviously the thing with Pamela Albright. Her drapes were white, the walls were white, the heavy, calico armchairs and sofa where white and the rugs on the floor, presumably to break the monotony, were cream. Both fireplaces, in the living area and in the dining area, were white marble and the heavy dining table and the six chairs that surrounded it were also white.

  She gestured us to the two overstuffed chairs and lounged on the sofa between us, angled slightly into the corner so as to look at me. Dehan sat back, discreetly put her cell on record and pulled a notepad and pen from her jacket. Pamela pulled a cigarette from a pack beside her on the sofa and lit up with a gold lighter that looked like a Cartier. She inhaled deeply, watching me through hooded eyes.

  I said, “What can you tell me about Charlie’s relationship with Amy?”

  “Amy?” She made an ugly face, with her very red mouth drawn down at the sides. “She was a pretty little thing. A bit of a hippie. Sweet and polite, little piece of nothing, really.” She breathed in sharply through her nose and her lids concealed her eyes for a moment. “You see, Charlie had a problem.”

  Dehan glanced at her. I waited a moment, then asked, “What kind of problem?”

  “He was severely dyslexic, and dyspraxic. He was very bright. Many dyslexic and dyspraxic children are. But it also made him socially very awkward. He had huge difficulty relating to other children, and though we wanted to send him to Gerald’s prep school, he didn’t make it. It was terribly humiliating for Gerald.”

  Dehan said to her notebook, “Gerald?”

  “My husband. He died when Charlie was just six.”

  Dehan raised an eyebrow at her notebook. “Aged six, he had already humiliated his father. Put that in your Oedipal pipe and smoke it.”

  Pamela turned bodily to scowl at Dehan, who focused hard on making notes on her pad. I said, “So he went to public school?”

  “I had little choice,” she said coldly. “With Gerald gone, I went to pieces. He was my rock, my strength. He was a banker, you know? He made sure the house was paid for and we had a generous income, but it was the loss of that strength, his presence, you understand?”

  She frowned at me, as though I might not understand. I nodded to reassure her that I did, so she went on.

  “My family rallied at first, as did his, but people are fickle, Mr. Stone, aren’t they? When they see that you are mourning in your own way, not in theirs, or at their pace, they grow impatient. Poor Charlie grew very attached to my mother and my sister after Gerald left, and he missed them when they went too.”

  Dehan looked at her sharply and raised an eyebrow. “They… went?”

  “Back to Miami.”

  I scratched my chin. “So all of this must have aggravated Charlie’s dyspraxia.”

  “Of course, the stress and the anxiety played havoc with him. I often wonder if I could have done more to help him. I should have done more, I know…”

  “But it sounds as though he was able to relate to Amy.”

  She leaned forward. “She was the only person he could relate to. It was distressing. Her parents were these hippie types…” She paused, gazing at the window. “They weren’t really even interesting enough to be hippies. They didn’t bake lentil bread or grow pot or anything like that. They just didn’t wash very often, and he, the father, had his hair matted into long strands. I think he did it intentionally. She seemed inoffensive enough, the mother, Cristina…?”

  “Christen.”

  “Yes, that’s it, but I didn’t like Charlie going over there. I always worried he’d catch something. And I’m sure the other parents used to look at her and Charlie and call them the odd couple.”

  “So they were friends for a long time.”

  “From the beginning. She was a sweet child, like a little fairy. White, white skin, little white face with blue, blue eyes and platinum hair. Skinny little arms and legs, always dressed in clothes that somebody had passed on, so they never quite fit. Sometimes she’d go into school and her face hadn’t been washed, or nobody had brushed her hair. So Charlie would ask me if she could come home after school, and he would wash her face, or insist that we give her a bath, and comb her hair for her. He cared for her as though she were his own sister.”

  “He had no other friends?”

  She sucked on her cigarette, drew the smoke down deep and spoke with little clouds puffing from her mouth as she crushed the butt in the ashtray. “She was the only one who didn’t torment him. She was nice to him, and they stuck together. Soon the other kids learned to leave them alone. By the time she was ten or eleven years old, I think she spent as much time here as she did at her own place. They used to play that I was going to adopt her. Poor child. Perhaps I should have.”

  She laughed and I smiled. She swung her legs off the sofa and stood.

  “I can feel dehydration threatening. Can I offer either of you a drink? I am sorely in need of a gin and tonic.”

  We told her she couldn’t and she made her way with the careful grace and dignity of an habitual drunk to a collection of bottles on a sideboard in the dining area. She spoke as she built the drink. “Of course, I imagine that they started experimenting with sex in his room. And I wasn’t sure what to do about that. I mean, he was so shy, and so awkward to talk to. If I had attempted to broach a subject like that with him…” She laughed out loud as she returned to the sofa and sat. “A child of that age can get pregnant, you know.”

  Dehan had put down her pen and was frowning hard at Pamela. “So what did you do?”

  “I had Fettuccini…”

  I shook my head. “Fettuccini?”

  She laughed again. “Oh, her name is Fernanda, but it seems to me such an absurd name for a woman that I call her Fettuccini. She is the woman who does for me. She’s been with me for years, God love her. I had her go to the clinic and get leaflets and things, and a box of condoms, and I had her leave them all in his room. The poor child never got pregnant, so it must have worked.”

  A silence fell on the room. My mind went back to the filthy bedroom Bob had found six years ago, the dirty sheets, the unwashed underwear on the floor, the closed drapes and the fetid air, the moldy corn flakes under the bed. I tried to see it all in the context of this little fairy, the sweet little hippie with Charlie bathing her and combing her hair.

  I drew breath. “So, did they have plans? Were they in love, engaged, planning to live together, get married…?”

  She pouted and spread her hands. “I don’t know. Obviously they didn’t do well at school. They barely scraped into community college. I don’t even remember what they were studying. He was studying IT, I think. They didn’t really care, as long as they were together. That was the big thing for them. She might have been studying English literature, I honestly don’t remember. They both loved poetry, and they used to read the Lord of the Rings to each other. Oh, and she was a Christian, always talking about early Christianity, Jesus, and Antioch. My God, it was tedious. But they never shared their plans with me. We didn’t discuss things as a family. They decided and I paid.”

  I sat forward, with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped, as though I were praying. “Pamela, by the time they disappeared, was she spending more time here than at home, would you say?”

  “God, yes. She was practically living here. He used to sneak her up to his room at night, thinking I didn’t notice. In the end, she was spending days on end here before going back home for a day, two at the most, then coming back here. Can’t say I blamed her.”

  “And the day he disappeared…”

  Her face became drawn. “It’s all a bit of a blur, to tell you the truth. It was very traumatic.”

  “I can imagine, but if you can help us to go over it again, we may be able to find out what happened to him, even…” I shrugged and left the words hanging.

  She gave a dry little laugh. “He ain’t coming home, Detective Stone. I don’t know what got into him, but he ain’t coming back.” She sighed, pulled a
nother cigarette from her pack and lit up. Smoke trailed from her open mouth. “He came home late on the Saturday night. I remember that. He was alone. I was already in bed. But next morning, I asked him where Amy was. He said he didn’t know.”

  I said, “Did that strike you as unusual?”

  She waved her cigarette in the air. “He was always so surly and sullen. Never gave me a civil answer. I thought nothing of it. I do remember it had been a very hectic weekend. It seemed everybody was coming or going or tramping in or tramping out…”

  “So she was here part of the weekend. Was she here Saturday?”

  She rolled her eyes, groaned, then laughed. “Like I say. It was a chaotic weekend. People coming and going.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “I haven’t always been single, you know.” She sighed when I didn’t smile. “I am pretty sure she was here, on and off on Saturday, but what time she left, or came back…” She spread her hands. “Sorry. I’m a bad girl.”

  Dehan made a question with her face and showed it to me. I ignored it and asked Pamela, “You said you’re sure Charlie isn’t coming back. Where do you think he is, Pamela?”

  She sucked on her cigarette and I saw a small tremble. I saw tears in her eyes and she shook her head, reaching quickly for a handkerchief to dab at her nose. “I think he’s dead.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t the best mom in the world, but I wasn’t the worst. I never hurt him. Never even smacked him when he was small. He always had everything he wanted. This was a home for him and for Amy. If he was alive, he would have called. He would have called to say he was OK.” She gave a sudden, wet laugh. “He would have called to ask for money.”

  The laugh died away. She tapped ash even though there was none on the tip. “I don’t know what happened that weekend. But whatever it was, it was bad. And I know it cost poor Amy her life, and I think Charlie went shortly after. Maybe he couldn’t be without her. That’s possible.”

  I thought about that. It was certainly possible, but it was also unlikely that in six years, his body wouldn’t have shown up somewhere. I put my hands on my knees and made to stand, but then stopped and frowned at her, dabbing at her nose with her handkerchief. I smiled. “Change of season, gets you every time.”

  She returned the smile with a small laugh. “Oh, no. I’m fine. It’s just the talk, it has brought it all back.”

  She still had the handkerchief to her nose. I glanced around the room, looking for the box. I didn’t see it. I said, “Do you still do it? It’s an expensive habit.”

  She kind of collapsed, sighed and laughed all at the same time. “You are determined to drag me through the mire today, aren’t you, Detective Stone? I did a lot of it at one time. It has a way of making you feel invincible and indestructible. It also has a way of making you crazy and burning a hole right through your bank account. After Charlie disappeared, several friends performed what I believe is known as an intervention on me. They made me see that if I had not been out of my mind all weekend, I might just have been able to save Charlie. So I stopped.” She held up her glass of gin and tonic. “This I am hanging onto until Charlie comes home. If he ever does, I’ll jack it in.”

  I nodded a few times. “Who sold you the coke, back in the day?”

  “Oh my god, really?” She thought for a moment. “His name was… Felix. We were never what you’d call friends, but he was at all the parties and he supplied to a lot of people. I mean, we were not the crème de la crème of New York society, but we were on the fringe, he had some pretty influential clients and he was making a great deal of money.”

  “You still in touch?”

  “No! And I really don’t want to be.”

  “Don’t worry.” I smiled. “I don’t want you to be either. Who can we talk to about tracking him down?”

  She thought about it for a minute, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I really, honestly, don’t know.”

  Her eyes were big and wet and scared, and I didn’t push. I stood. “Thank you, Pamela. You have been very helpful. We’ll let you know if we get any news. We’ll see ourselves out…”

  As we stepped into the hall, I glanced back and saw her at the dresser in the dining room again, mixing herself a strong one.

  Dehan took the stoop three steps at a time and stood looking at my burgundy beast. I followed, she tossed me the keys and I went around to the driver’s side. She leaned her chin on her arms on the roof and stared at me. I said, “What?”

  She frowned and her voice was serious. “I have ruined your Sunday, and I think the least I can do is cook you a sirloin and get you a bottle of wine. You deserve it.”

  FOUR

  It was dark. She was sitting at the wooden garden table we had on the back porch, and the flames from the barbeque were washing her face with flickering orange light. Her long, black hair was tied in a knot behind her head, she was holding a glass of wine and she was frowning at the flames.

  I had beside me a plate with two large steaks on it, which I had doused with oil and sprinkled with coarse Maldon sea salt. There is nothing else you need to do with good steak, except place it over red-hot coals. I refilled my glass and watched her a moment, thinking, not for the first or last time, that I was a very lucky man indeed, and spoke:

  “You realize that next Sunday, you will be my slave. I plan to do absolutely nothing while you cook, iron, see to my several and various needs…”

  She nodded absently. “Yes,” she said, and then, “I am giving your brain a rest, Stone. While you cook the steak, I am thinking for you.”

  “Really…?”

  She leaned back, stretched out her long legs, crossed at the ankle, and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Karl and Christen Redfern were buying dope, and when they could afford it coke, from Mr. X. Fact.”

  I dropped the steaks onto the barbeque. There was an explosion of oily flames. I stepped back, sipped my wine and nodded once. “Fact.”

  “Pamela Albright was buying coke from Felix, at the same time. Fact.”

  I nodded.

  She went on. “The night the Redferns were killed, there was a lot of activity at the Albright house: Charlie and Amy left and returned several times, and we know that Pamela was stoned much of that time.”

  “OK.”

  “So let me speculate with those facts. Let’s say that Mr. X and Felix are one and the same person.” I made a face that said I didn’t like it, but she pointed her finger at me and said, “Wait! Don’t talk. He deals direct with the almost crème de la crème of New York who hang around Pamela and her crowd, but one of his minions deals with Karl and Christen.”

  I grunted and flipped the steaks. She went on.

  “Chances are Felix would never even have heard about them, if it wasn’t for the fact that Charlie was forming a bridge. He brings Amy and her parents into Felix’s world. And Felix starts to see her—Amy—around. Now, you’ve seen the photos from the file, Amy was cute; peculiar, but cute: vulnerable, a little hippie, pixie, fairy type. A lot of guys go for that. So I am thinking that maybe Felix takes a fancy to Amy. He likes her because she is shy, retiring, submissive, and he is one of your alpha male, coke fueled ego-freaks.”

  I was nodding. “OK, that is both feasible and interesting, but where does it take us?”

  “Where does it take us?” She stretched out a little longer and laced her fingers behind her head. “It takes us to a possible connection between Felix and Amy’s parents. Does he try and make a move on her? Karl and Christen tell him to take a hike and leave their little girl alone. As a warning, he has Karl beaten up and put in hospital. They continue to oppose him, so he kills them.”

  The steaks were beginning to singe in the intense heat. I took them off and set them on the plates, which I placed on the table and removed the tinfoil from the bowl of French fries I had made earlier. Dehan sat up and smiled at the food.

  “See, this is why I married you, Stone.”

  I ignored her and sat.

  “OK, it gives us a very tenuous lin
k between Felix, drugs, Amy and the Redferns. But it’s full of holes, Dehan. And the biggest hole of all is, why does he need Karl and Christen’s blessing to have Amy? The real obstacles would be either Charlie or Amy herself. Besides which, we don’t know if this Felix has any connection with the Chupacabras, and remember, the two boys who put Karl in hospital were from the Chupacabras gang.”

  I cut into my steak. She was already chewing and spoke with her mouth full.

  “Somph, dash is de firsh ting be neechoo fime ow.”

  “That’s the first thing we need to find out? I agree.” I frowned. “You know? I’ve been thinking and, granted we’re not vice, but I have to say the name ‘Felix’ doesn’t ring any bells for me.”

  She nodded, cutting her steak, then gave a Latin shrug. “It was six, almost seven years ago, but I have to agree. Felix isn’t a name that leaps out at me. He may have been using a false name among his almost crème de la crème friends.”

  “Maybe.”

  We ate in silence for a short while. When she’d finished, she sat back and offered me a satisfied smile and drained her glass. Then she collected the plates and took them into the kitchen.

  I looked at the moon hanging over my back yard. It looked fat and smug, smiling the same smile Dehan had just shown me. It was waxing, turning from orange to silver. A cool breeze touched my face and I realized I might have had one too many. The sound of Dehan’s heel made me look up. She had a frosted bottle of tequila in her hand, a lemon and two shot glasses. I made noises of distress but she ignored me and poured two shots, then sliced the lemon with her pocket knife. After that, she did the whole salt, lemon shot thing.

  I shook my head.

  She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and raised her thumb as number one.

  “Drugs.” Then she raised a finger each for the next two words. “Christen, Amy.” She reached for the bottle and scowled at my glass. “Drink, for cryin’ out loud! Apply some cojones, partner! I’m working alone here.”