Compulsion

Sharna said, “Antoine said a couple of people called him nasty names and slammed the door in his face.”

Gordon said, “The N word. Other things along those lines.”

“Why they sent those boys into a white neighborhood,” said Sharna, “I’ll never understand. People in Crenshaw read magazines, too.”

“Supposed to be safer,” said her husband.

“Apparently it wasn’t,” she snapped.

He touched her elbow. She shifted away from contact. Ran a hand over the snapshot. “They threw those children in with strangers.”

Milo said, “Did the detectives sixteen years ago canvass the neighborhood where Antoine delivered?”

“They claimed they talked to everyone,” said Sharna. “If they didn’t, are they going to admit it?”

She folded her arms across her chest.

Milo said, “What was the name of the company that hired Antoine?”

Sharna said, “Youth In Action. They closed down after Antoine disappeared. At least in L.A.”

“Because of Antoine’s disappearance?”

“After Antoine, the schools wouldn’t let them advertise. I went to the library, used a computer to look them up, couldn’t find any mention of them. Did that yesterday, when I found out we were coming here. The only person I remember was a Mr. Zint, called to tell me how sorry he was. Sounded to me like he was worried we were going to sue him. Didn’t know anything helpful.”

I said, “Antoine worked with two friends.”

“Will and Bradley,” she said. “Wilson Good and Bradley Maisonette. Friends since kindergarten. They helped carry the coffin and cried like babies. Said Antoine was selling the most.” Reluctant smile. “Antoine had a way of talking you into anything.”

Milo wrote down the names.

Sharna Beverly picked up the photo and held it to her breast. Her fingers covered the top of Antoine’s face. His eternal smile made my eyes ache.

I said, “Did Brad or Will report anything unusual those five days?”

She said, “No, and I asked them. The van dropped them off one by one in Culver City. Antoine got off first and was supposed to be picked up last. When the time came, he wasn’t there. The van waited an hour, then drove around looking for Antoine. Then Mr. Zint took Bradley and Will back to the school, which is where he always picked them up. Then he called the police. Bradley and Will were shook up, Bradley especially. He already lived through a drive-by.”

Gordon said, “Not in our neighborhood. Visiting a cousin in Compton.”

Sharna said, “It was me, I’d go straight to Texas, put hot pokers on that devil, run one of those electrocuting lie detectors they use on the al-Qaidas at Guantanamo. That’d clear it up soon enough.”

She glared at her husband.

He fingered his flag pin.

“Lieutenant,” she said, “do you have any feeling about that story that devil’s telling?”

Milo said, “I wish I did, Mrs. Beverly. The sad truth is these lowlifes lie as easily as they breathe and they’ll do anything to get out of dying.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“This is gonna sound frustrating, ma’am, but I’m really starting at the beginning. Seeing as Bradley Masionette and Will Good were close to Antoine and the last people to see him, let’s start with them. Any idea where I can locate them?”

“It’s not in the file?”

“The file, ma’am, is rather incomplete.”

“Hmm. Well, Will coaches football at a Catholic school, don’t know which one.”

Gordon Beverly said, “St. Xavier.”

She stared at him.

“It was in the Sentinel, Shar. Few years back, he was coaching down in Riverside, moved here. I called him up, asked if he remembered anything more about Antoine. He said no.”

“Well, look at that,” she said. “What else don’t you tell me about?”

“No sense telling when there’s nothing to tell.”

Sharna Beverly said, “Bradley Maisonette did not turn out well. From what I hear, he’s spent most of his life in prison. Never did have a good family life.”

Gordon said, “We’re a tight-knit family. Antoine comes home all excited about all the big money he’s going to make, I was happy for him.”

Sharna said, “Magazines sell themselves, people love magazines more than life itself. I told him, ‘Antoine, what sounds too good to be true, is.’ I told him I needed to meet the people involved, make sure they weren’t taking advantage. Antoine threw a fit, jumping up and down, begging, pleading, ‘Trust me, Mom. Don’t embarrass me, Mom, no one else’s parents are putting their noses in.’ I said, ‘Everyone else is stupid so I should be?’ Antoine begs some more, turns on that smile of his.” Sidelong peek at the photo. She folded her lips inward.

“I told Antoine, ‘That’s the trouble today, no one gets involved.’ But the boy kept working at me, saying if I showed up Will and Brad and everyone else would be dissing him all summer. Then he brings out his report card, half A’s, half B’s, perfect in Conduct. Claiming that proved he was smart, could be trusted.”

She slumped. “So I gave in. Biggest mistake I ever made and I’ve been paying for it for sixteen years.”

Gordon said, “Honey, I keep telling you, there’s no reason to-”

Her eyes blazed. “You keep telling me and you keep telling me.” She got up, walked to the door, took care to close it silently.

Projecting more rage than if she’d slammed it.

Gordon Beverly said, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sir,” said Milo.

“She’s a good wife and mother. She didn’t deserve what she got.”

“What both of you got.”

Gordon Beverly’s face trembled. “Maybe it’s worse for a mother.”

“Well, that was fun,” said Milo, when we were alone in his office. “Now I got little fishhooks sticking into my heart and decent people tugging on them. Time to check out this Youth In Action, on the off chance they’re still in business and Mrs. B. missed it.”

She hadn’t. He got to work locating Antoine’s friends.

Wilson Good’s name pulled up several references to varsity football games at St. Xavier Preparatory High in South L.A. In addition to coaching, Good was head of the Physical Education Department.

Bradley Maisonette’s criminal record was extensive. Over a dozen narcotics convictions, plus the predictable larcenies that fed a life of addiction.

Maisonette’s last parole was eleven months ago. His downtown address was a government-financed SRO. Milo phoned his probation officer, got voice mail, left a message.

Pulling a panatela out of a shirt pocket, he peeled off the plastic and wet the tip but kept the cigar in his hand. “Something else you think I should do?”

“Why doesn’t Texas just send Jackson out here and dare him to point out the graves?”

“Because he’s a serious escape risk – tried four times, nearly succeeded once and injured a guard in the process. No way are they gonna let him out of their custody until some local department comes up with serious corroboration. So far, three of Jackson’s claims have turned out to be bogus – crimes he didn’t know were already solved. Bastard probably scans the Internet searching for open horrors he can cop to. Unfortunately, he can’t be written off yet because the stakes are high. If I could find Antoine’s damn file it might lead me somewhere.”

“Where are the detectives who worked it originally?”

“One’s dead, the other’s living somewhere in Idaho. At least that’s where his pension check goes. But he hasn’t answered my calls. Meanwhile, there’s Ella Mancusi, with a body barely cold. Why do I think I’m gonna break the Beverlys’ hearts?”