Milo said, “Attitude.”
“Oh, boy, he’s got attitude.” Mendoza swigged coffee, narrowly missed sloshing liquid onto his white shirt. He inspected the placket. Flicked off a speck of dust. “Lucky, I only got one more clean in my locker.” Another glance at his watch. “I got to go, they need me.”
I said, “How long did Martin stay in Texas the second time?”
“Same thing, three days, that time Gisella put him on the bus ’cause I told her no more airplane.”
“There’s no chance he returned to Gisella’s?”
“Gisella never lies.”
Milo said, “Could we have her phone number, please?”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course we do, sir. But just in case Martin shows up sometime in the future.”
“You think he could?” said Mendoza.
“Kids do all sorts of things.”
“That would be good. His mother could stop throwing up.”
Milo copied as he recited.
I said, “You’re sure Martin doesn’t have any friends he could find refuge with?”
“That’s part of the problem, he didn’t like the kids there. Too rich, too snobby, too white—even the Latino kids and the black kids were white according to him. I say you’re the one being a snob. Judge people by what they do not by who their parents are. He laughs, like you’d understand. I say you’re a star athlete, good-looking guy, you’re smart, what’s not to like? He gets really mad with the attitude, starts screaming.”
“About what?”
“About everything nice I said. I’m a star athlete? He shakes his bad shoulder. This is an athlete? He pinches his cheek, stretches the skin out. This is good-looking? Martin’s dark, not like me, his mother’s side, sometimes her brother—the basketball player—gets taken for a Brazilian. I say calm down. He keeps going. You think this is good-looking at a place like that? I’m a fucking outcast. Excuse the language, that’s how he said it.”
“He was pretty upset.”
“He’s waving his arms, gonna hurt that rotator cuff. He walks out but this time he comes back. With the D term paper. Rips it up, starts eating it.” Still incredulous. “Chewing the paper, swallowing, I’m screaming now, what are you doing, fool, you’ll get sick. He says since you stuck me in that place, I been eating shit, what’s a little paper for dessert? Then he leaves the house, I don’t see him until I get home from work the next day.”
“Where’d he go?”
“He never says where he goes.”
“He didn’t want to be tutored but he showed up.”
“He’s a good boy,” said Emilio Mendoza.
“How did he like it?”
“He says it’s a waste of time and money, she doesn’t care about him, all she wants is the money, all she does is sit there while he reads and writes, then she gives him extra homework that no way he’s going to do.” Mendoza’s eyes shot to the sky.
I said, “Anything else about her bother him?”
“Not really.” He gripped his cup with both hands, dented the cardboard.
“What is it, Mr. Mendoza?”
“Look,” he said, “Martin can think things that are wrong. Like one time, he knew one of Gisella’s friends was interested in him. But she wasn’t. Gisella told him, they had a fight.”
“Martin thought something about Ms. Freeman that you don’t think was true.”
“He said she touched him too much. Nothing sexy, his arm, his hand. I say what’s the big deal, she’s friendly. He says, what the hell, Papi, does touching have to do with English? I say you’re making a big deal, she’s there to help you.”
I said, “Ms. Freeman tutored English and history. What about Martin’s science and math grades?”
“In science—biology—he’s better, got the B’s. He hates writing, said Ms. Freeman figured that out and that’s why she gave him extra writing. I say she’s trying to fix what you need to be fixed.”
“Then he walked out.”
“You got it,” said Mendoza. “He’s a good boy, please don’t think he did anything. The whole thing with her—Ms. Freeman—it’s no big deal, he went three times, maybe four. Martin’s a good boy, he has a lot of pressure, maybe I did the wrong thing by putting him in Prep, my wife says I did.”
Split second of reflection. “But no, I don’t think so, you need a challenge, without a challenge, you dress up in a bow tie and serve rich people who look at you like you’re a piece of furniture. Now I have to go, please don’t say a little more, Emilio. I have to go.”
CHAPTER
22
Mendoza’s white Hyundai rolled down to PCH.
Milo said, “He started off protective but ended up giving up info. Way I see it, one of two things happened: Elise came on to Martin and it creeped him out. She got pissed at being rejected, he got pissed that she was pissed, it escalated and Martin bore a grudge. Or he succumbed to her charms but she made him feel inadequate. Or played around with him and rejected him later.”
“There’s a third possibility: He had nothing to do with killing her.”
“He rabbited, Alex. That’s his pattern, when the tension piles up, he leaves.”
“Like you said, a teen with a short fuse still doesn’t sync with the planning that went into the murder and nothing Martin’s father told us depicts Martin as a good planner. Just the opposite, he’s impulsive.”
“True, but I’ve got to listen to my victim, even a lying victim like Elise. Martin scared her, enough for her to tell Trey Franck about it. Time to find this kid.”
He found Gisella Mendoza’s number in his pad.
“Ms. Mendoza? This is Lieutenant Sturgis from the Los Angeles Police Department. Your parents are worried about your brother, Martin, and I’m checking his whereabouts… yes, your father told me he wasn’t but I was wondering if Martin’s shown up since then… yes, of course you’d call your parents and that’s still the first thing you should do. But if you don’t mind, please let me know, too, because once I close the file on Martin I can pay attention to other missing kids… yes, unfortunately, we’ve got lots… I’m sure you are… yes, I know it’s anxiety-provoking, though your dad does say Martin has left before and he always comes back quickly… yes, that was good of you, your parents really appreciated your convincing Martin to return. Let me ask you something, Gisella. The second time Martin showed up, your dad said he had issues with a teacher… right, a tutor. Did Martin mention anything about what bothered him about this tutor?… because maybe the same thing happened and it’ll help us find him… that’s it? Okay, thanks for your time—oh, yeah, could I have your address for the file?”
He clicked off. “Nice girl. I’m gonna ask San Antonio PD to do a drive-by at her place.”
“What did Martin tell her about Elise?”
“He felt she didn’t care about him. That could mean she blew him off sexually. Wonder if he’s fluent in Spanish—shoulda asked his dad about that.”
“Dr. Rollins might know,” I said.
“Like she’d tell me.”
I pulled out my phone, called Prep, asked for Rollins, got put on hold.
He said, “You’re kidding.”
“Nothing ventured.”
Four minutes later, I had the answer, provided by a borderline-hostile headmaster eager to get me off the line. When I thanked her, she said, “Please note: Once again, I’ve been fully cooperative. Repay the kindness by respecting Prep’s privacy?”
Milo said, “You gotta give me some charm lessons. So does he habla Español?”
“Well enough to pass out of the foreign-language requirement.”