Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [71]
Marge said, “I hope he didn’t hide them under his mattress.”
Oliver said, “If he did, the people who cleaned up would have found them and given them to the mother, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, probably.” Marge shrugged. “Want to do another round?”
“Why not?”
The next half hour of searching proved fruitless. Oliver said, “Unless there’s a secret compartment in the walls or floor, the camera and the camcorder aren’t here.”
Marge said, “Kevin Stanger told Decker that Greg was supposedly working on something that would turn Bell and Wakefield on its head. First thing that comes to mind is a sex scandal, considering he had pictures of blow jobs on his computer.”
“Yes, but Kevin also said that the next time Greg spoke to him, he was less enthusiastic about his secret project.”
“Maybe it was a student-teacher sex scandal. But then someone paid off Hesse with a blow job.”
“Even if that was the case, did it have anything to do with Gregory Hesse putting a gun to his head? And is any of this police business?”
“It is if we stumble across something illegal going on—like an adult having sex with a minor.”
“That’s true,” Oliver said. “What next?”
“Someone stole Greg’s computer,” Marge said. “That’s really the only tangible crime we have. But I will tell you this. When the Loo and I were at Myra’s death scene, we couldn’t find her computer. Could be we missed it . . . or maybe not.”
Oliver drummed his fingers. “There were a couple of months between Hesse’s death and the theft. But the theft happened only two weeks after Myra Gelb’s death.”
“Yeah, they could be related,” Marge said. “Whatever the case, it’s time to pay Udonis Gelb a visit.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Two A.M. Thursday morning, Gabe was up, cruising Facebook, staring at Yasmine’s profile of course, but also looking at other sites just to prove to himself that he really did once have friends. It was interesting for Gabe to see who was doing who, who had done X or meth or crack or who had even tried skag—pretty ballsy. They posted in code so they couldn’t be called on it, but since Gabe read “innuendo,” he knew what the dudes were talking about. There were new pictures, the guys looking older and bigger. And while Gabe had grown taller, he was still thin and wiry. His arms and fingers were disproportionately long for his torso due to years of piano playing. He looked like an anorexic ape.
His buds were now displaying a good deal of body art and pierces. Gabe didn’t go for pierces, but he wouldn’t have minded a couple of tats. What really irked him was that a few of the older guys already had their licenses. He, being so young, was forced to take buses in a town built for convertibles.
With their driver’s licenses for the lucky few over seventeen came the cars. And with the cars came the girls—ergo the screwing. He knew he’d never contact any of them again even if he did go back east to Juilliard. Those days were long gone.
He used to sulk about all the sex he was missing. But now that Yasmine was part of his life, he didn’t think about the parties too often. They weren’t doing all that much, but since he really had the hots for her, everything they did do registered nuclear. As pathetic as it was, he’d rather do small shit with her than big shit with anyone else. He knew he was obsessed with her. And he knew he’d never get her. It was doomed from the start and he was in for a crash. He could take the heartache, but thinking of how it would affect her drove him crazy. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being sad.
An IM registered on his computer.
Hi.
Gabe groaned inwardly. He loved his mother, but he truly wished she’d stop bugging him. Her contact left him off balance. How’s my sister?
A little cranky. She’s getting a tooth.
Gabe cracked a small smile, thinking about the baby. He hated that his mother deserted him, but he did like the idea of having a sibling.
Give her a hug and kiss for me.
I will.
Can you send a picture of her?
Of course. A pause. Can you send me a picture of yourself?
He wanted to type like you give a shit, but deep down