City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(57)

“Yeah,” he said. “Can’t see any reason for it to become the next big thing. But who knows? We might even get those flying cars the experts have been predicting for what, seventy years?”

I said, “Wait long enough, anyone can be an expert.”

He half swiveled toward the screen. “You feeling like being on-screen?”

“If you want me to ask questions I should be.”

“Okay, let me fool with this.” Tilting the screen. Activating the app. Tilting again.

The resulting small box in the lower right corner was nearly filled by his big pale face, with mine occupying a sliver. He adjusted some more, tried to fit both of us in, ended up with two half-faces.

I said, “Keep it mostly on yourself, you’re the star. Just introduce me at the outset so we don’t spring anything on her. She’s stressed enough.”

He said, “My face? Not exactly comforting.” But he tinkered some more, finally found the optimal angle, and called a number.

Four rings before a woman appeared on the monitor. Late twenties, pudding-faced, with short dark hair, wearing a white apron over an aqua shirt. Raw eyes, downturned lips, dark hair drawn up in a bun. Maybe stress but I suspected only partially and that frown was habitual.

Katie Ionnides was twenty-nine but already sporting wrinkles perpendicular to her mouth.

Behind her was what looked like an outdoor parking lot. Traffic hum in the background. A pickup truck crossed the screen then vanished. Pigeons pecked near a dumpster.

Katie Ionnides’s image jiggled. Using a handheld phone. Unsteady.

Milo said, “Hi, Ms. Ionnides. Can you see us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Lieutenant Sturgis and this is Alex Delaware.”

I said, “Hi.”

She nodded.

I made out a few more blurry details. An unoccupied picnic table, cups and napkins on top. Behind that, a mock-adobe building topped by a sign too distant to read.

Milo said, “Again, we are really sorry about your brother.”

She said, “Thanks. Charlie was…he didn’t deserve this.”

“Absolutely not. Is there anyone you can think of who might want to harm him?”

“No, sir.”

“When’s the last time you and Charlie had contact?”

Katie Ionnides glanced to the right and bit her lip. “He called…I want to say a little over a year ago. It was right after my anniversary. Our anniversary, me and Stavros—my husband—we’re together three years. Charlie forgot the real date but it was nice he called.”

“What about before that?”

Katie Ionnides scratched the side of her nose. Another right-hand glance. “This is going to sound bad, sir, but not for a while. Charlie and me didn’t have regular contact. He kind of…left the family. Left me, really.”

“When did that happen?”

“He actually physically left,” she said, “once my parents were gone.” She shook her head, dispelling euphemism. “Once they died. He really left, like here”—touching her heart—“way before that.”

Deep sigh. “It’s not his fault. It was really rough for Charlie. I guess you know. Do you? That he was gay?”

“We do.”

“So you get it,” she said. “It was rough for all of us. Our family. But especially for Charlie. He wanted to be himself but they weren’t hearing it.”

Milo said, “Mom and Dad didn’t want to know.”

“They didn’t want to know anything,” she said, with sudden vehemence. “They both drank all the time and got physical.”

“With Charlie?”

“With Charlie, with me and Joey—my other brother. With themselves.”

“Sounds like a tough situation.”

She shrugged. “It was what you’d call hell, sir. I was the first to get out. I had a boyfriend and then I had Stavros. Joey and Charlie stayed but then Joey had a bad accident and they put him in a home. Charlie didn’t like the place, he said there were roaches and it was filthy but they weren’t changing it because it was cheap. They started using some of Joey’s payments for themselves. Then they died from smoking and drinking and left us nothing but debt and Charlie moved Joey out to L.A. I said you’re leaving me? He said, I have to. And that was it. The anniversary is the first time he called me in a long time.”

Another chest heave. She wiped both hands on her apron.

I said, “Charlie broke off emotional contact long before.”

“He was mad at everyone,” she said. “Including me ’cause I’d escaped and he thought I’d left him holding the bag. Like I was supposed to stick around and never have a life? Like after I got pregnant and Stavros wanted to marry me I should abort and stick around and be a punching bag?”

I said, “Charlie suggested abortion?”

“He didn’t have to. He just kept telling me being a mom was going to be too much for me, I’d mess the kid up. Stavros got mad and told him to fuck off—pardon the language. I didn’t want anything to happen so I said let’s be cool, Stavros. Then Charlie left so I said let’s just book, Stavros. So we booked. We just drove west, had no idea. We ended up here, it was warm, Stavros got a job at a warehouse and even though I was pregnant, I got this job, cooking chicken, and after the baby was a year, they gave it back to me. I was always good at chicken. When we could afford it. We had jobs, we had Shiloh, everything was good.”