The Lifeguards(43)

“The Yellow Rose?” he said. “You mean you think she was a stripper?”

“I don’t know anything,” said Jay in an insinuating tone.

“What makes you think she may have worked in the clubs?”

“Nothing,” said Jay. “Nothing. A lot of these girls, though…” His voice trailed off. He looked at Salvatore pointedly, though what the point was, exactly, Salvatore wasn’t sure. Was he claiming that most waitresses were strippers? Or that many strippers lived in this particular condo complex?

Salvatore waited, but Jay shrugged and said no more. Salvatore made a mental note to speak with him again, maybe at the station. “Thanks for your time,” he said.

“Well, just let me know when you’re done,” said Jay. “Her family’s coming to get her stuff this afternoon. They’re from Sugar Land.”

“Have you ever met them?”

“Me? No. I think she’d come to Austin to grow up, be an adult,” said the man. “You know? Austin…it’s everybody’s dream to get here.”

Salvatore nodded, considering. He got the sense that Jay Cutler knew Lucy better than he was letting on, but direct questioning hadn’t seemed to work. “I guess so,” he said.

“Yeah,” said the landlord. “Doesn’t always turn out like you think it will, though.”

“How long have you been here?” said Salvatore, trying the “buddy” approach.

“Twenty years,” said Jay. “Came from upstate New York to go to UT and never left.”

“Seems like a common story,” said Salvatore.

“Not Lucy, though. She went to Austin Community College.”

“Hm,” said Salvatore. “Any idea what she was studying?”

“I’d guess physical therapy, from all the books,” said the landlord. “You’ll see.”

Salvatore swallowed. So Jay had been in the apartment, had checked out Lucy’s bookshelf. “She was an exercise fanatic,” Jay went on. “Asked me to run with her once, but I knew I couldn’t keep up.”

Salvatore decided to go for broke. “Did you ever suspect Lucy was using drugs?” he asked.

“Is that what happened?” said Jay. “She OD’d?”

“We’re not certain yet,” said Salvatore.

“I don’t know anything for sure…” said Jay, leaning toward Salvatore.

“Any info you could give me would really help,” said Salvatore.

“She wasn’t a junkie,” said Jay. “I don’t want to give her a bad name, you know? She was a nice girl, studying at ACC, like I said. I went to Chuy’s, sometimes, to have the Chuy’s Special, keep her company.”

Jay was clearly a lot more informed than he’d originally let on. Salvatore switched into his “I’m an idiot” mode. He used it with defensive or angry suspects. In the interrogation room, he’d blather on about anything but the crime—the Longhorns game, the weather, his own bad back. Many suspects would warm up, and eventually sing like birds. Most people want to connect. Many murderers want to confess. The “I’m an idiot” mode continued to surprise Salvatore with its effectiveness.

“I love Tex-Mex,” said Salvatore. “What’s the Chuy’s Special?”

“Oh, man, it’s blue-corn tortillas, chicken, cheese, and tomatillo sauce,” said Jay.

“Sounds incredible,” said Salvatore. He stretched and grimaced. “Jesus, I need to get in shape,” he said. “Maybe jog.”

Jay said, “I go to Gold’s Gym.”

“I should, too,” said Salvatore. “You said Lucy worked out?”

“Not at Gold’s,” said Jay. “She was a famous gymnast, but in high school. Did her own workouts.”

Salvatore nodded. “Maybe she had an injury,” he said, fishing. “A lot of gymnasts, they end up hurt.”

“She did!” said Jay. “She told me she had a shoulder problem. Asked me once if I had any pain pills. For her shoulder. I had some old Percocet from when I got my wisdom teeth out. She just…didn’t have insurance.”

Salvatore nodded. “Yeah,” he said.

“I maybe shouldn’t have given them to her,” said Jay.

“When was this?” asked Salvatore.

“She had just moved in,” said Jay. “Last August. I thought…It sounds ridiculous now. I thought maybe she liked me.”

So he’d been wrong about Jay being gay. Maybe he was bi. “What happened?” said Salvatore.

“She said she’d cook me dinner. Spaghetti. With homemade sauce; it was delicious. And garlic bread.” Jay looked utterly forlorn, and Salvatore had to prod to keep him talking.

“Sounds great,” said Salvatore.

“It was. It was so great. And then she told me about her shoulder, and I got the Percocet. And…well, I tried to kiss her, which was obviously stupid. I misread the situation. But I mean, homemade spaghetti sauce! It seemed like more than friends.”

“I’ve been there,” Salvatore lied. He’d had a few dates since Jacquie’s death, but he’d always been the one who stopped calling. He wasn’t ready to love anyone new. He might not ever be ready.