Silent Echo

“He didn’t say a boyfriend,” says Numi impassively. He doesn’t move when he speaks. No gesture with his hands. No foot kick. No movement of his head. Nothing. Just his deep voice appears, seemingly magically. Numi thinks she’s wasting my time. “He said anyone. Did she talk about meeting with anyone?”

Karen seems to have forgotten to breathe. Finally she does so, casting my friend sidelong glances as she speaks. “I already told the police that she didn’t.”

“Thank you,” I say and, to help ease the sudden tension, I offer her one of my best smiles. Numi doesn’t care too much if he creates tension in those around me. He cares only about me and my health. “Did anyone come to the apartment while she was here?”

“I don’t think so.”

“A deliveryman? Kirby salesman? A guy looking for directions? Did anyone try to sell you something? Did anyone have the wrong address? Do you remember talking to anyone at all here at the apartment?”

As I ask these questions, Karen shakes her head and keeps shaking her head until I get to the last question. That’s when the shaking stops. Investigators know that people instinctively say “no” before a question is even out. It’s a defense mechanism, I think. A way to distance themselves from something horrific. It’s why investigators ask so many damn questions. And we keep asking them, keep plugging away, until one such question sticks.

I glance around the apartment and see the pizza box. The Pizza Hombres. Never heard of them. “Did someone deliver pizza?”

There it is. She quits shaking her head and begins nodding. At this point, I lose my energy. The act of talking, of probing, depletes me, and I slide down into Numi. All fight has left me. Numi doesn’t say a word, nor give any indication that my weight is now pressing against him. He smells of good cologne. He always smells of good cologne. His body is hard and muscular and bony, too.

“Did someone deliver this pizza?” I ask, pointing.

Her eyes follow my flaccid finger. She nods. I ask her to describe the delivery guy.

“How do you know it was a guy?” she asks.

“Because he’s fucking Nostradamus,” says Numi quickly, jumping in. “Describe him.”

Karen makes a small, scared sound. “An older guy,” she says. “I think. He sounded old, at least.”

“Sounded?” I say. “You didn’t see him?”

“No. Olivia answered the door.”

“Did you recognize his voice? I mean, was it the same deliveryman who always delivers the pizza?”

“I’ve never ordered from them before.”

I run my hand through my hair, a nervous habit. It’s my way of backing off, stepping back and thinking. Nothing is feeling right about this case. Or perhaps my instincts are dying with me.

“What day was this?” I ask.

“Last week, maybe two days before she disappeared.”

It’s now been three days since Olivia’s body was found in Laurel Canyon. “Did she talk to the delivery guy about anything other than pizza?”

She starts shaking her head. “No.”

“Did the guy appear to flirt with her?”

More shaking. “No.”

“Anything that stood out with her conversation?”

More shaking. “Nothing that I can remember.”

I look at Numi. Numi doesn’t look at me. He’s pursing his lips. I know that purse. He wants us to leave. Wants me to rest. The usual shit. I suspect Numi thinks I’m wasting my time. Back in the day, back when I was in full health, I would have trusted my instincts. I would have just known whether or not a lead was a dead end. Now, not so much. Numi thinks this is a dead end. No, he’s not a professional investigator, but I’ve run dozens, if not hundreds, of cases past him over the years.

I look at the girl. She’s looking away, clearly nervous. She’s nervous, I think, because two men are sitting on her broken couch and one of them has the shakes and the other is looking scary as hell.

My shaking seems to be worsening. I shake like this when I’m reaching the end of my strength. I notice Numi’s eyes shifting over to my hands. When it comes to my health, or lack thereof, he misses little, if anything.

“When was the last time you saw Olivia?”

“Two days before they… found her in Laurel Canyon.”

“Where was she going?”

“For a hike in Elysian Park.”

“How do you think she ended up in Laurel Canyon?” I ask. The parks are separated by most of Los Angeles.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“What was the last thing Olivia said to you—”

Instead of answering, she says, “God, you look so sick. Are you okay?”

I suck in air. I have no strength left and breathing is getting difficult. What else is new? “I am sick,” I manage to say, gasping slightly.

“I mean, you look really sick.”

“He has AIDS,” says Numi. “Complicated by cancer, which has spread to his lungs. So why don’t you answer his fucking question and quit wasting his time? What was the last thing Olivia said to you?”

Karen makes a small squeak and shrinks in on herself. “Just that she was going for a hike, I think.”

“Was she going to meet someone?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Karen brings her knees up to her chest. She stares at me like I’m something that has crawled out from beneath her bed. “I’m—I’m pretty sure she didn’t say she was going to meet someone.”

I thank her for her time and Numi helps me up. Once we are standing in the hallway, with me leaning heavily onto Numi, he says, “You really think the killer could be the deliveryman?”

“Probably not,” I say. “I have nothing else to go on.”

“That’s a lot of nothing.”

“Come on,” I say.

“Where to?”

“Let’s get some pizza.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Numi and I are in his silver Cadillac, cruising through the streets of Echo Park. Cool as cool gets. It’s evening but the day is still warm. The heat seems to rise from the pavement in waves. For some reason, I’m having a harder time than usual catching a full breath.

Numi looks at me. “You okay, cowboy?”

“Been better.”

“Need to go to the hospital?”

“Not yet.”

Numi glances at me sideways. Although I’m looking ahead and holding on to the overhead handle—anything to help open up my lungs—I know he is giving me a full body scan. If I don’t catch my breath soon and calm down, I also know that our next destination is going to be L.A. Memorial Hospital.