“I’m very busy right now.”
I smiled and gestured at the chair. “Which makes me appreciate the time all the more.”
She sat and crossed her legs, her knees poking out from under the hem of her dress.
I sat on a small sofa. “I’d like to talk about Franz.”
“He died in August.”
“Tell me what happened.” Starting vague is best when you don’t know what you’re looking for.
She squinted at me, the resulting crow’s-feet the first sign she was old enough to have an adult son. She took in my shades, the empty right sleeve, the bar-fight bruise on my forehead. “Who are you? You’re not a cop, are you?”
“I used to be.”
“What do you have to do with my son?”
“I’m looking into his death.”
“Why?”
“I think he was murdered.”
Her squint narrowed to the point where I couldn’t see her eyes. “This isn’t funny. It’s time I get back to my guests.” Despite her words, she didn’t move.
“Do you believe the official story that he ODed?”
She stared at me, lips pursed, arms crossed.
“Did he have an opium problem?”
Nothing. Her left foot tapped at the air.
“Listen,” I said. “You could really help me out by being open with-”
“You want money, don’t you? This is some kind of scam.”
“I don’t want any money. What I want is the truth.”
“You want truth? Then tell me who you really are. How did you know my son? What was he to you?”
I took a deep breath. “My name is Juno Mozambe. Like I said, I used to be a cop.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m a businessman.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind you can’t talk about,” I said with finality. She wouldn’t get any more.
She fingered her necklace, pinched the pendant between her fingers. “I should throw you out.”
“But you want to know what happened to your son. You don’t believe he overdosed.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you’re still here.”
She dropped the pendant. “Tell me how you knew my son.”
“I didn’t. But somebody’s killing people, and I think he started with your son.”
“This killer, he killed somebody close to you?”
“Somebody I was responsible for.” I leaned forward in my seat. “Did your son have a drug problem?”
“He liked to party. He was only twenty-two. Nothing wrong with that at his age. But he wasn’t an addict. When the police found him and told me how he died, I refused to believe it. For a long time I refused to believe it.”
“But you eventually accepted it?”
“Until now. If this is some kind of scam, I swear I’ll-”
“It’s not. Where did he like to party?”
“He mentioned a place called the Maze a few times.”
“Did you know about the tattoo on his cheek?”
“He didn’t have a tattoo.”
“He did. It was the kind you can turn on and off. Two interlocked snakes in a circle, each one eating the tail of the other. Do you know what that’s about?”
“No.”
“Was your son gay?”
She rubbed the pendant, her face a blank mask. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way.
“Mrs. Samusaka? Was your son gay?”
“He might’ve been.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means just what I said. I didn’t pry into his private affairs.”
“Can you think of anybody who would’ve wished your son harm?”
“No.”
“What about your husband? He have any enemies?”
She shook her head no.
“This could be important,” I said.
She dropped the diamond pendant and picked it back up.
“I’m not trying to poke into your husband’s business, but I’d like to check out his enemies, see if any of them could’ve killed your son.”
“My husband doesn’t have enemies.”
“C’mon, Mrs. Samusaka, he’s a very successful businessman. You and I both know there are no angels in business.”
She looked down and smoothed the hem of her skirt. She was shutting down. My instincts said push. My instincts always said push. I leaned in as far as I could, my ass on the edge of the sofa. I upped the urgency in my voice. “Tell me who his enemies are. Who did he screw over? Tell me.”
She stood. “I will not be bullied by a stranger in my own home. You need to go.”
Not before I exhausted my arsenal. “If you loved your son, you’d tell me.” That’s right, lady. No fucking shame.
The low blow had the desired effect. Her cheeks turned red. Same with the skin under her necklace.
I stayed in my seat with the hope of coaxing her back into hers. I softened my tone. “I’m sorry I said that. I’m really sorry, but I get carried away sometimes. Listen, in business, people get screwed, right? I’m not a cop anymore. I don’t care who your husband screwed over or why. I only care about how it relates to your son’s death. Please sit and talk to me.”
I’d done it just like my fuckhead father used to do my mother. Hit her hard, then go sweet. Abuse then apologize.
I waited for her to spill. She was hiding something.
She gestured at the door. “Good-bye, sir.”
I stubbornly crossed my arms. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s time for you to go.”
I stayed, my ass cemented to the sofa.
With a huff she walked to the door and went out.
I stood to follow, ready to chase her through this house if I had to. I reached the hall and did a double take when I found the housekeeper waiting right outside the door. Had she been out there the whole time? “This way,” she said curtly.
A man rushed toward me from down the hall, tailored pants swishing over his legs. Mr. Hudson Samusaka. “Who are you?”
The housekeeper responded eagerly. “He was asking about Franz.” Damn snoop. “I called you right away.” Damn brown-nosed snoop.
“Yes, Paulina, you did the right thing.” He dished the compliment like a pat on the head. Crystal Samusaka stepped over to stand next to her husband.
“Answer my question,” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“He says he’s-”
“I’d like to hear it from him, dear. ” He grabbed his wife’s wrist and gave it a tug. She lowered her head and meekly took her place a half step behind him. The housekeeper was already positioned slightly behind. She knew
