“If you don’t like what you call the new me. If you don’t like the rules around here. If you can’t become a civilized member of society. Don’t you think, Josh, that after all these years, it’s time for us to grow up? If you can’t handle that, then yes, you should move out.”
“I’ll be out of here in thirty days.” Josh turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.
Tony couldn’t sleep. He was having second thoughts about Josh moving out. For financial reasons. How was he going to make the payments on the townhouse without Josh? He might have to get another housemate. And as obnoxious as Josh was, at least Tony knew him and his habits.
He knew that although Josh might spill beer and potato chips on the living room rug, he wouldn’t completely trash the place. He had a steady job and paid his bills. He might bring in loud friends to party with, but at least they wouldn’t be drug dealers and hoods. He was a bigot, but Tony could ignore that. Most of the time. He might badmouth women, but he didn’t physically abuse them. He might belittle Tony’s job on the Hotline, but he wouldn’t actually interfere with anything Tony did.
Maybe he should talk to Josh in the morning. Well, he probably wouldn’t see him in the morning because Josh would still be in bed when he left. But tomorrow evening for sure. This thought didn’t give Tony peace. There was something else. Something unresolved. He had called Josh a misogynist. A woman hater. He had never thought of Josh as hating women before. Was this true?
Tony started remembering things. Josh aggressively pursuing women in college. But did he do it because he liked them? Sometimes it had seemed to Tony as if he had a score to settle. Josh had been his hero because he could get the girls. Tony had learned from him. Learned very well from him. But in spite of the reputation he had gained of picking them up and then dumping them, Tony’s relationships had lasted longer than Josh’s.
Tony couldn’t remember Josh ever dating the same woman for more than a month or two. When the romances fizzled, it was always the woman’s fault-never Josh’s. Tony had met many of them. They were personable, good-looking, smart. No, Tony didn’t believe that the women were always at fault. It was something about Josh.
Tony remembered things Josh had said. “Women were put on earth for our pleasure.” “A broad lying on her back with a sack over her head and her legs spread is pretty much like every other broad.” Were these the statements of a man who liked women?
And Josh’s nickname for him-Noodles. It dated from college. A bunch of the guys and gals had been eating sushi and drinking sake at a Japanese restaurant. At some point, one of the guys and one of the gals went outside to the guy’s van. The guy came back a while later and said the girl was in the van, stripped and waiting for anyone who wanted to have her. Josh had immediately volunteered.
When he returned, he tried to get Tony to go. “She’s hot to trot, Tony. Never pass up a free piece of ass.”
The prospect had sickened Tony. She was probably too drunk to know what she was doing, and the idea of following Josh and another guy almost made him puke. One or two others may have gone; Tony didn’t remember. But Josh had never let Tony forget that he had failed, in Josh’s eyes. Thus the nickname, Noodles. Tony would rather eat a bowl of noodles than get laid.
A thought struck Tony like a bolt of lightning. Did Josh hate women so much that he would murder a girl? A girl he envisioned to be part of a plot to alienate Tony from him? Impossible. But Josh did call Carol about him and that was out of character. He knew that the Hotline closed at ten p.m. because of the hours Tony had been working. Yes, but he didn’t know where it was. Or did he?
Tony turned on the lamp beside his bed and sat up, more awake than ever. He got out of bed and walked silently from his bedroom into the study across the hall. He could hear Josh snoring behind the closed door of the third bedroom. Loudly. Snore, snore, then break for a few seconds. Then snore some more. It sounded like the snort of a mad bull before he charged. Josh always seemed to snore after he had been drinking.
Tony turned on a light in the study and stood in the doorway. From here he could see his bookcase. Standing on a shelf of the bookcase, in plain sight, was his notebook for the Hotline. It contained all his notes from the class. Tony went to the bookcase, picked up the notebook, and set it on his desk. He opened it up. The first page, neatly three-hole-punched, had printed on it the address of the Hotline and a map showing how to get there.
This information had been given to the students after they graduated from the class. Tony had never thought about hiding it from Josh. As far as he knew, Josh never went into his study. But Josh had been upset when Tony wouldn’t tell him where the Hotline was. After all, they were supposed to tell each other everything, like fraternity boys. Of course, Tony had stopped telling Josh everything years ago, but he had never told Josh he wasn’t telling him everything.
Where was Josh on the night of the murder? Tony realized that he didn’t know. He hadn’t seen Josh all evening. In fact, Josh had returned home after he had. After he was in bed. And as far as Tony could remember, Josh had never said anything about that evening, which wasn’t like him. Because he still told Tony everything. Or did he?
There was nothing Tony could do about it now. Reluctantly, he went back to bed. But his mind wouldn’t shut up. He did manage to get a few minutes of restless sleep before the alarm went off.
CHAPTER 14
Tony was running on coffee. It had been a long day, with several intense sales calls and a lot of driving. That, coupled with his lack of sleep and the late summer heat, made him feel as if he couldn’t take another step. Or even get out of his car. And getting out of a Porsche was no mean feat.
He was parked in front of the Church of the Risen Lord. He had looked up the address after Nathan had said he was a member, out of curiosity more than anything else, since he had never heard of it. And today, after his last call, he had been in the neighborhood, if you could call being within five miles the neighborhood. He had gotten here with the help of his Thomas Guide. “Here” was somewhere northeast of the Los Angeles Airport.
It wasn’t much of a church. The small building had obviously been used for something else before the Risen Lord had occupied it. It had no steeple or visible cross. No stained-glass windows. It did have a crude sign on the small, weed-infested lawn in front, announcing its name and telling when it had services. There were Thursday evening services at 7 p.m., which tended to support Nathan’s story of where he had been during Joy’s murder, assuming they went on for three hours.
Since he was here, he should do more than stare at the front from his car. Tony opened the car door and laboriously lifted himself up from the seat. It was hot in the open air after the coolness of the air-conditioned car, but evening was coming and with it cooler temperatures. That was something you could always count on in Los Angeles. He shut the door and locked the car, looking around at other cars parked on the street. None were Porsches, but some were new. There was no indication that people feared that their cars would be stolen. And it was still broad daylight.
A small gravel parking lot sat beside the church, with weeds poking through the gravel. The only car in the lot was a Chevrolet that had a few miles on it. Maybe a few hundred thousand miles. Tony walked up the cracked sidewalk to the dilapidated front door. A coat of stain would help it, just as a coat of paint would help the stucco walls of the church.
Tony tried the door; it was unlocked. He opened it and stepped into the gloomy interior. The only light came from several windows along each side wall. He could make out wooden pews and a raised platform at the other end. In addition to a lectern, the platform supported a table with candlesticks and a picture of a man, probably Jesus. It was too dark to tell for sure. Some seats at one side of the platform might be for a choir. A small organ stood near them.