what you want to hear?”
Decker stopped to reappraise his questioning. The kid was very good. He took out his notebook and pencil. “How long were you with him?”
“’Bout an hour.”
“He told my partner he was with you all night.”
It was Ness’s turn to stop and analyze. Decker could see him thinking: Is he trying to trick me or what? The boys obviously didn’t get their story straight—or someone had changed it.
Ness said, “Eubie has trouble remembering things.”
“He didn’t sleep over your place?” Decker asked.
“No.”
“Then how long was he there?”
“I already answered that. About an hour … maybe it was two hours …”
Good old Mike giving Eubie some slack. Decker said, “What time did he arrive?”
“Late.”
“How late?”
“I don’t know. Probably after midnight.”
“And stayed until about two?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Okay.” Decker’s eyes were on his notebook. “Were you two fucking?”
Silence. Decker looked up. Ness had turned crimson. Guilt or anger?
Nostrils flaring, Ness whispered, “You expect me to answer that?”
“You have a problem answering that?”
“I wasn’t fucking him. I don’t fuck guys.”
Decker said, “So what were you two doing?”
“Talking.”
“About what?”
“Why don’t you ask Eubie since we talked about his problems.”
Decker tapped his pencil on his notebook. “Because I’m asking you.”
Ness crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Look, is this an interrogation? Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you?”
“Oh, man, you are really messing with my head. You know, I came over here out of concern for Lilah. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw Carl. He was as white as a sheet. Somehow, I gathered that something bad happened to Lilah, but she wasn’t hurt. That’s as far as I got. You ever try to get information out of Carl? The guy isn’t exactly articulate. When I tried the ranch house to talk to the boss, there was a cop at the door. I figured I’d check out the scene myself.”
Ness’s eyes drifted to the bloody rocks, to the dead horse now collecting fistfuls of black flies.
“God, what a mess! Is Lilah really okay?”
Decker regarded Ness’s expression—somber.
“She’s shaken up,” Decker said. “But she’s fine.”
“What happened?”
Decker smoothed his mustache and thought: If Ness knew what really had happened, Decker wouldn’t be revealing anything. If Ness was innocent, he was probably better off knowing the truth.
“Lilah’s horse went berserk and plowed into the mountain.”
“How’d she …? She must have jumped or something. Miracle she didn’t break her neck. Some people are kissed by God.”
“Or lucky enough to go riding with the right person. I caught her.”
Decker waited for Ness’s reaction. Just surprise, nothing else.
“You went riding with her? Why?”
“How about if I ask the questions?”
“Oooo, I hit upon something official.” Ness had a gleam in his eye. “Or personal. Talk about fucking. Maybe the cop doth protest too much.”
Decker was impassive. Ness let out a laugh.
“It’s been a while since I played weeny wag with anyone. Talk about being good, Detective.”
“Where were you this morning, Mike?”
Ness’s smile grew flippant. “So now I’m an official suspect?”
Decker waited.
“How early are we talking about?” Ness said.
“You go first.”
“Okay.” He exhaled. “I woke up. I do that every morning. Then … let’s see. Well, I made the seven o’clock hike. Had a bran muffin and tea after that. I ran the nine and ten aerobic classes. Natanya took over at eleven. I must have eaten around eleven-thirty. I was at the pool by noon.” He shrugged. “There you have it. My Life by Mike Ness. Somehow, I just can’t see it as a screenplay.”
Decker put his notebook away.
“No more questions? Did I pass, Detective?”
Decker pulled a card from his wallet. “If you learn anything about this—or about the rape—give me a call.”
“So, we’re buddies, Detective Sergeant?”
Decker laid his beefy hand on Ness’s shoulder. It was surprisingly bony. “I wouldn’t say that, Mikey. Now, even as we speak, I hear zucchinis calling your name. Why don’t you beat it before you screw up evidence?”
Ness’s eyes surveyed the scene for a final time. “How fast were you two going?”
Instead of answering, Decker cocked his thumb toward the fields. Ness started to leave, then stopped. “You must ride pretty well, Detective Sergeant.”
Decker picked up his camera and snapped another picture. “Yes, I must.”
The Sun Valley Animal Care Center was a two-story brown and tan California bungalow in the middle of scrubland. The bottom floor was leased to Dr. James Vector, Dr. Vera Mycroft, and Dr. Skip Baker—all DMVs, none of them professional corporations. The top section of the house was the animal hospital and the labs. Behind the bungalow were the barns, the kennels, and the stables. The vets made house calls—Decker had dealt with all three of them at one time or another—but sometimes animals needed surgery, extended treatment, and convalescence away from their pals. Vector, Mycroft, and Baker—VMB—was one of the few operations in the city set up to deal with large animals.
Decker stopped the unmarked on a dirt lot with no designated parking spots. Four-by-fours, flatbeds, and pickups were scattered randomly on the grounds, spaced so no one was hemmed in. He killed the
