The apple falls close to the tree
Saturday 20th May 11:00
From the body language between Mark and Corrine, Steve could tell that they'd developed quite a rapport. He cleared his throat to announce his presence as he entered the lounge, and Corrine signalled for him to take a seat beside his father.
There was a pause and Mark looked between his host and his son. "I had my chat with Luis, do you want to speak with him now" he asked Steve.
"If you both think he's up to it."
Corrine nodded slowly, "Yes, I think it's best he gets this over with. You'll go with him Mark, now that Luis knows you?"
"Certainly" he replied, and rose to follow Steve as he made his way from the lounge into the marbled hallway. As they began to climb the stairs Mark probed "you learn anything this morning that I should know about?"
"Checked out the housekeepers alibi, it's solid. It was her day off so there's really very little she can help us with. She and Max got on well but I got the impression from her yesterday that she isn't a fan of Mrs Simmons, or her daughter." Steve paused as they reached the top of the stairs and Mark signalled for him to turn left down the passageway. Steve continued in hushed tones "her main concern was the effect all this will have on Luis".
"It's his mothers too" Mark replied.
"What d'you think? Is he really up to talking to me now?"
Mark scowled. "Luis is very quiet, he's still obviously in shock. He's not your typical brash teenage boy." They stopped at a doorway bearing a small wooden name plaque. "You'll just need to take it real easy on him son."
Steve nodded towards the door and Mark knocked gently "Luis, it's Mark Sloan again, I have my son Steve with me, he wants to…"
The door opened before Mark could finish the sentence and the young boy stepped back into the room to let the two men enter. Steve smiled and did a quick visual inventory of his surroundings. 'Not a typical teenage boy' he thought; there were no sports posters or pin-ups of the latest teen temptress, no Marilyn Manson CD's, no clothes on the floor. In fact the place was barrack room tidy; schoolbooks neatly in place on a shelf above a tidy desk, only two posters on the wall; one a colour print of Yosemite National Park and the other a black and white of Dizzy Gillespie. Mark had made himself comfortable in a chair by the window and Luis perched on the foot of his bed. Not wanting to tower over the boy Steve pulled the chair away from the desk and turned to face him.
Luis looked younger than his fourteen years. His dark wavy hair hung around his ears without conforming to any particular style, and Steve guessed his height at about 5'5". Though his features and his frame were rounded he wasn't fat, and Steve guessed that pretty soon he'd start to grow and become another gangly youth. The boy had obviously inherited both his colouring and his build from his father.
"You like jazz?" Steve asked pointing towards the black and white poster. The icebreaker brought only a nod in reply. "I hear you play the trumpet;" another slow nod. Steve waited a moment then asked "Luis, is it OK if we talk about what happened?"
The boy wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, "I guess so." It was the first time Steve had heard him speak and the voice was low and croaky.
"If you can, just tell me in your own words what happened."
Luis looked up then dropped his eyes to the floor. Mark and Steve waited and after a pause Luis took a breath and began slowly and steadily. "I'd been to trumpet practice and Mrs Lippman, my friend David's mother, dropped me off out front. She waited until I'd opened the door then I waved goodbye and they drove off." He stopped and placed his hands either side of himself on the bed. He scrunched a ball of sheets up in each hand then took another deep breath. "I shouted that I was home, but nobody replied. It's not unusual for everyone to be out at that time of day and it was Alyson's day off so I headed to the kitchen to get a drink". Another pause and more balling up of the sheets. "I…" Luis started but stopped again, swallowed hard. Steve noticed his eyes beginning to redden.
"It's OK" he assured him "you're doing well just take your time, no hurry."
Luis nodded and continued "I….I went into the study and at first, from the doorway, I couldn't see him." He stopped again and tears welled in his eyes, but before Steve could speak Luis picked up the story. Gone was the slow and steady pace "I saw the safe door was open and I knew that was weird so I walked into the room and that's when I saw him lying there and so I rushed over and knelt beside him and…" Mark reached out and touched Luis on the arm.
"It's OK," he told him "just take a breath and slow down a little."
Luis did as he was told "I knelt beside him and there was blood on the front of his shirt and on the carpet, and the gun was right there next to him. I tried to remember my first aid so I put my fingers here to find a pulse" he demonstrated on his own neck then shook his head "but there was nothing. I leant over to hear if he was breathing but.." he shook his head again. "I called 911 and told them where we lived then I just…..I just stayed with him until the paramedics and police arrived."
Steve waited a while but Luis seemed to have finished and was staring off into space. Now came the hard part. "Luis" Steve began and the boy flinched a little. "When you came home did you notice anything unusual, a strange car, anybody hanging about?"
"Nothing" he whispered in reply.
"And when you came into the house, was the door locked or unlocked?"
"Locked" he fired back "the door is always locked, we never leave it open."
"So you put down your trumpet case…."
"By the stairs so I could bring it up to my room later"
Steve smiled and continued "then you went to the kitchen?"
Luis nodded quickly and Steve threw a glance towards his father. "You got a drink and then you went to the study, is that right?" Steve asked calmly and again Luis nodded. "But you thought you were home alone, so why didn't you go to your room or to watch TV? Why did you go to your father's study if you thought he wasn't there?"
Mark shot a stern glance at Steve as Luis sat in silence. Slowly a look of recognition crept across the old mans face "did you hear something Luis?" he asked "a noise from the study maybe?" Steve raised his eyebrows to tell Mark to back off and Luis continued to ponder the question. After a long while Steve probed again
"What made you go to the study Luis?"
"I liked it there" he croaked "all my dad's stuff's there, his big leather chair" he shrugged "it's….I mean it was his place, you know what I mean?"
"I know" Steve replied softly. "You and your dad were close," it was meant more as an observation than a question but Luis replied non-the less.
"He loved jazz" there was a hint of a smile as he nodded towards the poster. "He liked most kinds of music in fact. He played the trumpet too, when he was younger, he was a very talented guy."
"I hear you are too" Mark pointed to the trumpet case in the corner.
The smile dropped from Luis' face "No, I'm lousy. Lexie is the gifted one; they say she's got mom's looks and dad's talent. I'm a lousy actor and a lousy musician."
"You get good grades" Mark retorted.
Luis huffed "like that helps me. Everybody at school thinks I'm a dork; I'm useless at sports and I look like I should be in kindergarten."
"So you get a rough time at school" Steve observed sympathetically.
Luis shrugged "but dad says…said….none of that stuff matters. He says he was the ugly duckling at school and all the kids picked on him. But he ignored it and he wound up with all this" he raised his palms "ah, God, I shouldn't be whining about this now, none of matters anymore." He shook his head.
"For what it's worth" Mark leant forward "your dad was right. Everybody goes through rough patches at school for being smart or dumb or just plain old different. Your dad was one in a million wasn't he?" Luis nodded "and that's why everybody loved him." Luis stiffened but Mark continued, "you may not be like the other kids at school Luis, but a lot of people have told me you are just like your father and I think that's something to be proud of."
Tears began streaming down the young boys face and he nodded slowly. "He said that to me just before he died" Luis whispered, "he said 'son, you and me are the nice guys of the world'". As Luis stared up at the poster in front of him Mark and Steve said their goodbyes and left the boy to mourn his father.
Saturday 20th May 12:05
Steve felt decidedly uncomfortable as he sat down the corridor in Lexie Simmons' bedroom. Though she was only sixteen Steve knew enough about teenage girls not to let her age fool him. She reclined on her bed clutching a stuffed toy to her chest. The sobbing spells of the last forty minutes had left her with trails of smudged mascara down her cheeks.
He thought about the dozens of girls he'd seen, Lexie's age and younger, brought in to the precinct on prostitution or drugs charges, sitting in an interview room crying the same black rivers. The girls usually fell into two categories; the tough talkers who were screaming "I'm a child, help me!" while nobody listened, or the ones who shed the crocodile tears and pleaded for mercy while inside they laughed and sneered at those they were fooling. He'd made a snap judgement about Lexie the moment he met her.
This was one of the many lulls in the conversation due to Lexie's theatrics, and Steve was starting to lose patience with the young girl. She looked up at him with doe eyes and sniffed a little. Her brother had been right when he'd said she'd inherited her mother's looks. However she hadn't inherited her mother's subtle style, her pleasant features were hidden beneath too much make up, her nails bright pink talons. Steve shifted in his seat and wished his father were here, wished anybody were here, to chaperone this little performance. As it was, Lexie had insisted on speaking to Steve alone and now her reasons were becoming clear.
"Anything else you want to tell me?" Steve asked flatly.
A long sigh was followed by the wringing of hands "it's so difficult" she told him breathlessly "so difficult".
Steve decided to take the bait. "What's difficult?" he asked, and barely had time to blink before the response came.
"Mom" she cried, shuffling forward on the bed and planting her feet on the floor.
"What about your mom?" Steve prodded gently and Lexie leant forward, her big doe eyes looking up at him again.
"Mom…..she, she….."
Steve tried to hide his anger as another bout of sobbing ensued. Lexie had already confessed to him her desire to take up acting, but from the show she was putting on today her brother had been more than generous when he described her as talented. Steve flinched as Lexie placed a hand on his knee,
"Oh detective, I'm so sorry, I'm no use to you at all."
Steve picked up her hand and removed it from his knee trying discreetly to shuffle his chair backwards to make some space between them.
"You've been a great help Lexie" he lied "but if there is anything else you want to tell me, relevant or not, then I'm here to listen." He forced a smile and it appeared that Lexie wasn't just a bad actress; she was pretty hopeless at spotting a poor actor too.
"It's just mom has……she's had others, you know, other men. Lovers."
"How do you know?" Steve asked.
Lexie raised her eyebrows and with some venom informed him, "she's not exactly discreet. She brings them here you know, to our family home. Daddy knew, Alyson knew, you'd have to be blind or stupid not to know. That's probably why Luis never figured it out, he may be smart at school but he's got a lot to learn about life" she sneered. For the first time Steve felt a real pang of sympathy for Lexie and thought that maybe he'd judged her too harshly. He let her talk some more then stood to leave, handing her his card as he did so. She scrutinized it as she walked to the door and opened it slightly. As Steve made his way towards the gap she grabbed his hand,
"This only has your office number on it detective, shouldn't you give me your home number too in case I need to get a hold of you?"
Steve quickly disentangled his fingers and stepped into the passageway. "If you need me somebody at the precinct will be able to put you through." He wondered again what had prevented Lexie from joining the masses out on the street, selling their bodies and drugs. He took a last look through the doorway into her room; was it that she had what she wanted already? Did she believe that if she kept up this charade, then with daddy's money and reputation behind her she'd make it into the big time? Or maybe, Steve thought, she's just not there yet; maybe in six months time he'd be running into Lexie Simmons' in less palatial surrounding.