and a large gray knit cap squinted in our direction. The shirt was baggy and untucked, tails flapping like breakers. The jeans puddled over white sneakers. The cap was pulled down over the tops of his ears.
He walked toward us in an unsteady gait — uneven shoulders, a foot that turned outward every other step, on the verge of stumble. When he reached the gate, he studied us through iron tentacles, offered an iron-streaked view of long, gaunt face, hollow cheeks, deep-set brown eyes. A three-day stubble, mostly black, some gray, coated his face. Same for whatever cranium the cap revealed. His mouth was skewed to the left, as if set in perpetual regret. That and the rocky walk suggested some kind of neurological insult. I put him at thirty-five to forty. Young for a minor stroke, but life could be cruel.
Milo pushed his badge through the tentacles.
“Afternoon, Mr. Travis.”
“Huck. Travis Huck.”
“May we come in, Mr. Huck?”
A long-fingered hand pushed a button on a remote. The gates swung inward.
We parked in front of the nearest date palm and got out. The property was set well above its neighbors, at least five acres worth of king-of-the-mountain. Rolling lawns and beds of creeping geranium maintained a low profile. The punch line was a dead-drop bluff rimmed by an infinity pool that kissed the Pacific.
Up close, the house lost any claims to modesty. One story provided maximum ocean view, but horizontal sprawl chewed up land.
Travis Huck poked a finger under his cap, flicked moisture from behind his ear. His face was glossy. Warm day for wool. Or maybe he just perspired easily. “If there’s a message I can give to Mr.—”
“The message,” said Milo, “is that a woman named Selena Bass was found murdered and we’re talking to everyone who knew her.”
Huck blinked. His sad, crooked mouth straightened into a position of neutrality, at odds with the tension around his eyes.
He said, “Selena?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh… no.”
“You knew her.”
“She teaches music. To Kelvin. Mr. and Mrs. Vander’s son.”
“When’s the last time you saw her, Mr. Huck?”
“The last time? I don’t — like I said, she gives lessons. When he needs them.”
“To Kelvin.”
Huck blinked again. “Yes.”
“Same question, sir.”
“Pardon?”
“Last time you saw her.”
“Let me think,” said Huck. As if genuinely requesting permission. Sweat rolled down his chin, dropped to the slate. “I want to say two weeks ago…” Tugging at the cap. “No, fifteen days. Exactly fifteen.”
“You know that because…”
“Mrs. Vander and Kelvin left the day after Kelvin’s lesson. Which was fifteen days ago. Kelvin played Bartók.”
“Left for where?”
“Vacation,” said Huck. “It’s the summer.”
Reed said, “The whole family’s traveling.”
Huck nodded. “Can I ask what happened to Selena?”
Milo said, “What we can tell you at this point is it wasn’t pretty.”
No response.
“So the last time she was here was fifteen days ago exactly?”
“Yes.”
“What was her state of mind?”
“She seemed fine.” Huck’s eyes fixed on wet slate. “I let her in, saw her out. She was fine.”
Reed said, “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?”
“Hurt her? She came here to teach. Like the others.”
“What others?”
“Kelvin is homeschooled. Specialists come in. Art, gymnastics, karate. A curator from the Getty’s been tutoring him in art history.”
“Kelvin doesn’t like regular school?” said Milo.
“Kelvin’s too bright for regular school.” One of Huck’s legs buckled and he braced himself on the hood of the unmarked. His forehead was soaked.
Moe Reed said, “Bright
and
a good piano player.”
“He plays classical,” said Huck, as if that settled it.
“How long has Selena Bass been teaching him?”
“She… I want to say… a year. Give or take.”
“Where did the lessons take place?” said Milo.
“Where? Right here.”
“Never
He walked toward us in an unsteady gait — uneven shoulders, a foot that turned outward every other step, on the verge of stumble. When he reached the gate, he studied us through iron tentacles, offered an iron-streaked view of long, gaunt face, hollow cheeks, deep-set brown eyes. A three-day stubble, mostly black, some gray, coated his face. Same for whatever cranium the cap revealed. His mouth was skewed to the left, as if set in perpetual regret. That and the rocky walk suggested some kind of neurological insult. I put him at thirty-five to forty. Young for a minor stroke, but life could be cruel.
Milo pushed his badge through the tentacles.
“Afternoon, Mr. Travis.”
“Huck. Travis Huck.”
“May we come in, Mr. Huck?”
A long-fingered hand pushed a button on a remote. The gates swung inward.
We parked in front of the nearest date palm and got out. The property was set well above its neighbors, at least five acres worth of king-of-the-mountain. Rolling lawns and beds of creeping geranium maintained a low profile. The punch line was a dead-drop bluff rimmed by an infinity pool that kissed the Pacific.
Up close, the house lost any claims to modesty. One story provided maximum ocean view, but horizontal sprawl chewed up land.
Travis Huck poked a finger under his cap, flicked moisture from behind his ear. His face was glossy. Warm day for wool. Or maybe he just perspired easily. “If there’s a message I can give to Mr.—”
“The message,” said Milo, “is that a woman named Selena Bass was found murdered and we’re talking to everyone who knew her.”
Huck blinked. His sad, crooked mouth straightened into a position of neutrality, at odds with the tension around his eyes.
He said, “Selena?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh… no.”
“You knew her.”
“She teaches music. To Kelvin. Mr. and Mrs. Vander’s son.”
“When’s the last time you saw her, Mr. Huck?”
“The last time? I don’t — like I said, she gives lessons. When he needs them.”
“To Kelvin.”
Huck blinked again. “Yes.”
“Same question, sir.”
“Pardon?”
“Last time you saw her.”
“Let me think,” said Huck. As if genuinely requesting permission. Sweat rolled down his chin, dropped to the slate. “I want to say two weeks ago…” Tugging at the cap. “No, fifteen days. Exactly fifteen.”
“You know that because…”
“Mrs. Vander and Kelvin left the day after Kelvin’s lesson. Which was fifteen days ago. Kelvin played Bartók.”
“Left for where?”
“Vacation,” said Huck. “It’s the summer.”
Reed said, “The whole family’s traveling.”
Huck nodded. “Can I ask what happened to Selena?”
Milo said, “What we can tell you at this point is it wasn’t pretty.”
No response.
“So the last time she was here was fifteen days ago exactly?”
“Yes.”
“What was her state of mind?”
“She seemed fine.” Huck’s eyes fixed on wet slate. “I let her in, saw her out. She was fine.”
Reed said, “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?”
“Hurt her? She came here to teach. Like the others.”
“What others?”
“Kelvin is homeschooled. Specialists come in. Art, gymnastics, karate. A curator from the Getty’s been tutoring him in art history.”
“Kelvin doesn’t like regular school?” said Milo.
“Kelvin’s too bright for regular school.” One of Huck’s legs buckled and he braced himself on the hood of the unmarked. His forehead was soaked.
Moe Reed said, “Bright
and
a good piano player.”
“He plays classical,” said Huck, as if that settled it.
“How long has Selena Bass been teaching him?”
“She… I want to say… a year. Give or take.”
“Where did the lessons take place?” said Milo.
“Where? Right here.”
“Never
Similar Books
