Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [74]
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Myra is a good writer.”
“Did she ever take any journalism classes?” Marge asked her.
“She took one in the ninth grade. That’s when she began to cartoon. She liked the teacher, Mr. Hinton.”
“Gregory Hesse also liked Mr. Hinton,” Marge mentioned.
Udonis said, “They wouldn’t have taken the class together. She was a year older. Did Gregory work on the paper?”
“I don’t know exactly how active he was, but he did write at least one article.”
Udonis sipped coffee and made a face. “This is terrible! I can’t believe I served you this swill.” Angrily, she took the cups away and marched off to the kitchen. She came back a moment later. “Do you think this has something to do with the school paper?”
“We don’t know,” Oliver said.
Marge said, “Gregory’s friends told us that he was working on something. Unfortunately, we don’t know what it was. Wendy Hesse thought his laptop could give us some clues, but that was stolen last Sunday night.”
“Stolen?”
“Somebody broke into the apartment and took it,” Marge said.
“It was the only thing the thief took,” Oliver said.
“Which is why we thought about Myra’s laptop,” Marge answered. “You don’t know where it is, right?”
Udonis nodded.
“When we were in the room, we noticed Myra’s phone and her iPod. Do you know if those items are still in her room?”
“They’re not,” Udonis said. “They’re in the kitchen drawer. Eric put them away for safekeeping.”
“Eric is very wise,” Marge said.
“That is true.” Wordlessly, Udonis got up and retrieved the items, giving them to Marge. “If these will help you, take them. But please give them back.”
“Thank you.” Marge slipped them inside a paper bag located in her oversized purse. “Do I have your permission to go through your daughter’s calls and texts?”
“Yes. You think that the theft of Gregory Hesse’s laptop is related to my daughter’s missing laptop, don’t you?”
“We don’t know,” Marge said. “The phone might help.”
“Udonis, do you have any idea how Myra got hold of a stolen gun?”
“No, Sergeant, I don’t know.” The woman sighed. “Knowing how Myra was, we’d never keep a gun in the house. Where would she get any kind of a gun—stolen or not?”
“Does the name Dylan Lashay sound familiar?” Oliver asked.
“No . . .” She shook her head. “Who is he?”
“What about Jarrod Lovelace, Stance O’Brien, Kyle Kerkin, JJ Little, or Nate Asaroff?”
“I don’t recognize any of those names. Who are these people?”
“Some kids at B and W,” Oliver said.
Marge quickly changed the subject before she asked too many questions about the B and W Mafia. She said, “We’ll ask around. Maybe someone in Narcotics has a lead. Guns usually go hand in hand with drugs.”
Oliver stood. “We’d like to take a look at her room now, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind.” The woman got up. “I’m going to put on a fresh pot of coffee for myself. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I think we’re okay for now.” Oliver put his hand on her shoulder. “But if you don’t mind, after we’re done, I’ll take a cup.”
Udonis nodded. She started to tear up and then abruptly let go with a gut-wrenching cry. She grabbed Oliver’s hand and held it, squeezing it until the tips of the detective’s fingers were bright red. Her lifeline to sanity—if such a word even existed for her anymore.
Chapter Twenty-three
Myra’s mobile phone routinely held the most fifty recent calls—received, dialed, and missed. It also had saved forty texts. For the most part, the texts and calls could be assigned to six people: Udonis Gelb, Eric Gelb, Heddy Kramer, Ramona Stephen, Debra Locks, and Madison Blakely. All those people were in her contact list. There were six numbers that Marge had to dial to find out the source: two were from the prerecorded service Movie Phone, two were connected to Saul Hinton’s voice mail, one was Macy’s Department Store, and the last unknown number had been disconnected. That call had been placed well over two months ago.
The texts were more interesting