Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [132]
Marge nodded.
“Too easy if you ask me. Especially for Darla. She may not have initiated the kidnapping, but she didn’t try to talk Cameron out of it.”
“I know. But she’ll be a credible witness against Cameron.”
“Like I said, we need her. We don’t need nearly as much testimony on Lashay and Kerkin. With the amount of weapons and drugs, they’re screwed.”
“What are you charging them with?”
“Everything from felony possession of drugs and firearms to kidnapping and attempted murder.”
“Yo, Margie!” It was Oliver, his face tense and taut. He was holding an evidence bag. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to the women. “Glad I caught you both.”
“How’s it going?”
Oliver took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay from a police point of view. As a person, I’m beat. We went through Cameron Cole’s bedroom. In her bottom clothing drawer, we found a bunch of jewelry, including an aquamarine ring that had been inscribed to Sydney.”
Marge sat up. “Oh my Lord! You found Sydney Holly’s ring.”
“What?” Nurit asked.
Oliver said, “Myra Gelb killed herself with a stolen gun taken from Sydney Holly’s house. The gun belonged to her mother, but the ring belonged to her.”
Marge said, “We now have a tie-in from that burglary to Cameron Cole.”
“Who claimed that Dylan Lashay gave her the ring.”
“That could be true.”
“And if it is, it’s probably the only true thing that ever came from her mouth,” Oliver said.
Nurit pulled out a notebook. “Let me write this all down.”
“That’s not the big news,” Oliver said. “We found Gregory Hesse’s stolen computer and camcorder.”
“Where?” Marge was tense.
“Brubeck found them, along with more firearms, in a cubbyhole deep in Dylan Lashay’s walk-in closet. The computer has some sex stuff on it, but it’s the camcorder that’s truly nauseating. I have it in the bag. We need a private space because there’s audio on it. My car is parked across the street.”
“Mine’s downstairs,” Nurit said.
The three of them went down to the underground garage. Oliver took up the front seat, the two women sat in back. He put on a latex glove and took the camcorder out of an evidence bag. “It’s been fingerprinted.” He handed Marge a pair of gloves and then the camcorder. “There’s no way to prepare you for this. Just push the play button when you’re ready.”
“Which one is it?”
Oliver turned around and pushed the button for her. Marge and Nurit stared at the pint-sized screen. Even in miniature size, the images were precise and clear. A smaller-than-life Gregory Hesse was leaning back on his bed, a mop of long brown hair covering his groin area. When the camera zoomed in, there was a close-up of Hesse’s penis going in and out of a mouth. There was stubble and acne on the chin.
The voice-over said, “Yeah . . . do it, do it, do it.”
“Who is that?” Nurit asked.
“Wait,” Oliver said.
There was thirty more seconds of fellatio, then Gregory climaxed. The long-haired figure disappeared from the screen, and Gregory Hesse zipped up his pants. His eyes were waxy. His lids were half closed. He looked stoned no matter what the tox said.
The voice-over said, “You’re the man.”
In a slurred voice, Gregory Hesse said, “I’m the man.”
VO said, “You really want to be the man?”
“Yeah . . . I am the man,” Hesse said.
“No, you got to be the man, dude,” VO said. When Gregory Hesse looked confused, VO said, “Now this is being the man.”
There was a loud click on the tape. Lots of things can make a click, but Marge sensed where this one was going. It turned her stomach.
The VO said, “Your turn.”
A second voice said. “Are you serious?”
VO said, “C’mon, KK, don’t wuss out on me.”
KK said, “You’re crazy!”
“I’m crazy but I’m the man. I’ve demonstrated that. It’s your turn.”
A long pause.