“You say he’d ‘settled down.’ What does that mean?”
Again the exchanged glances. Bryce said, “After high school, he had some problems that needed to be worked through-one of the reasons we moved north. But he’s been fine for at least five years now.”
“Could you be more specific about these problems?”
“Well, Troy was using drugs.”
“Marijuana? Cocaine?”
“Both. When we moved to Oregon, we put him into a good treatment facility. He made excellent progress. After he was release, he went to school at Eugene, but three years ago he decided to come back to San Diego.”
“A mistake,” Mari said.
“He was a grown man; we couldn’t stop him,” her husband responded defensively. “Besides, he was doing well, making good grades. There was no way we could have predicted that…this would happen.”
Mari shrugged.
I asked, “Where was Troy living?”
“He shared a house on Point Loma with another student.”
“I’ll need the address and the roommate’s name. What else can you tell me about Troy?”
Bryce said, “Well, he is…was athletic. He liked to sail and play tennis.” He looked at his wife.
“He was very articulate,” she added. “He had a beautiful voice and would have done well in radio or television.”
“Do you know any of his friends here?”
“…No. I’m not even sure of the roommate’s name.”
“What about women? Was he going with anyone? Engaged?”
Head shakes.
“Anything else?”
Silence.
“Well,” Bryce said after a moment, “he was a very private person. He didn’t share many of the details of his life with us, and we respected that.”
I was willing to bet that the parents hadn’t shared many details of their life with Troy either. The Winslips struck me as one of those couple who have formed a closed circle that admits no one, not even their own offspring. The shared glances, their body language, the way they consulted nonverbally before answering my questions-all that pointed to a self-sufficient system. I doubted they’d know their son very well at all, and probably hadn’t even realized they were shutting him out.
Bryce Winslip leaned forward, obviously awaiting some response on my part to what he and Mari had told me.
I said, “I have to be frank with you. Finding out what happened to Troy doesn’t look promising. But I’ll give it a try. John explained about my fee?”
They nodded.
“You’ll need to sign one of my standard contracts, as well as a release giving me permission to enter Troy’s home and go through his personal effects. I took the forms from my briefcase and began filling them in.
After they’d put their signatures on the forms and Bryce had written me a check as a retainer, the Winslips left for their hotel. John had fetched me another glass of wine and a beer for himself and sat in the place Mari had vacated, propping his feet on the raised hearth.
“So,” he said, “how’re we going to go about this?”
“You mean how am
“That dumb-looking friend of Joey’s from high school?”
All of our brother Joey’s friends had been dumb-looking. “Sandy-haired guy, one of the auto shop crowd.”
“Oh, yeah. He used to work on Joey’s car in front of the house and ogle you when he thought you weren’t looking.”
I grinned. “That’s the one. He used to ogle me during cheerleading, too. When I was down here on that kidnapping case a couple of years ago, he told me I had the prettiest bikini pants of anybody on the squad.”
John scowled indignantly, like a proper big brother. “So what’s this underwear freak got to do with the Winslip case?”
“Gary’s on Homicide with the SDPD now. It’s always best to check in with the local authorities when you’re working a case on their turf, so I’ll stop by his office in the morning, see what he’s got from the TJ police.”
“Well, just don’t wear a short skirt. What should I do while you’re seeing him?”
“Nothing. Afterward, I will visit Troy’s house, talk with the roommate, try to get a list of his friends and find out more about him. Plus go to State and see what I can dig up there.”
“What about me?”
“You will tend to Mr. Paint.” Mr. Paint was the contracting business he operated out of his home shop and office.
John’s lower lip pushed out sulkily.
I said, “How about dinner? I’m starving.”
He brightened some. “Mexican?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll drive.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll pay.”
“John!”
“Consider it a finder’s fee.”
Gary Viner hadn’t changed since I’d seen him a couple of years earlier, but he was very different from the high school kid I remembered. Gaining weight and filling out had made him more attractive; he’d stopped hiding his keen intelligence and learned to tone down his ogling to subtle looks that actually flattered me. Unfortunately, he had no more information on the Winslip murder than what John had already told me.
“Is it okay if I look into this for the parents?” I asked him.
“Feel free. It’s not our case, anyway. You go down there”-he motioned in the general direction of Baja California-“you might want to check in with the TJ authorities.”
“I won’t be going down unless I come up with something damned good up here.”
“Well, good luck, and keep me posted.” As I started out of his cubicle, Gary added, “Hey, McCone-the last time I saw you, you never did answer my question.”
“Which is?”
“Can you still turn a cartwheel?”
I grinned at him. “You bet I can. And my bikini pants are still the prettiest ever.”
It made me feel god to see a tough homicide cop blush.
My first surprise of the day was Troy Winslip’s house. It was enormous, sprawling over a double lot that commanded an impressive view of San Diego Bay and Coronado Island. Stucco and brick and half-timbers, with a terraced yard landscaped in brilliantly flowering iceplant, it must have been at least six thousand feet, give or take a few.
A rich roommate? Many rich roommates? Whatever, it sure didn’t resemble the ramshackle brown-shingled house that I’d shared with what had seemed a cast of thousands when I was at UC Berkeley.
I rang the bell several times and got no response, so I decided to canvass the neighbors. No one was at the houses to either side, but across the street I got luck. The stoop-shouldered man who came to the door was around seventy and proved to like the sound of his own voice.
“Winslip? Sure, I know him. Nice young fellow. He’s owned the place for about a year now.”
