“Okay.”
“Okay,” said Briggs. “He didn’t need to be a perv, chicks liked him.”
As if that mattered. Milo and I waited.
Briggs said, “I’m just saying his way wouldn’t be mine.” His cheeks ballooned. He let the air out slowly. “He liked to get them a little... relaxed. Then, once they were in the mood... already doing it... he liked to stand them up. Sometimes in... both ways, you know?”
I said, “Anal sex by surprise.”
“That makes it sound twisted, he never really forced anyone, they were already in the groove.” Briggs unlaced his hands and waved them. “It was more like... he called it shifting gears.”
“How’d his dates react?”
“He never said they had problems with it.”
“Not your thing,” said Milo.
“I mean... I like to know where I’m going so I assume a chick does, too.” Small smile. “Not that I been doing much. Between the job and hitting the waves. Also I try to do some volleyball.”
I said, “Ricky’s sport was women.”
Emphatic nod. “In school, he was never a jock, so I guess for him...”
Milo said, “What did he use to relax his dates?”
“Nothing weird,” said Briggs. “Sweet drinks, he said chicks always went for the sugar, liked to pretend they were doing 7UP or something.”
“He mixed them sweet cocktails.”
“No, he’d buy them. Getting them to try stuff during dinner. Or at the bar.”
I said, “Stuff with parasols.”
“He said little paper things.”
“He didn’t party here?”
“He brought a few home but I can’t tell you who. I’d only know the next day, I’d come home he’d be washing sheets, giving me the V-sign. Like I said, I work nights. Even on the weekend.”
Milo said, “Seven-day job.”
“Professor Van Ness needs me. Also, I need the money, got loans.” Briggs’s head dropped. “I didn’t want to talk smack about Ricky like he’s some sort of freak. He was just a friendly dude who liked to have fun.”
“Sure,” said Milo. “Okay, tell us what else you know, Jay.”
“Nothing,” said Briggs. “A couple of times, he bragged. Like the few times when we were both home. I’d be in my room, Ricky would have the door closed. I’d be getting ready to leave and he opens it, does this.”
Hushing himself with a finger on his lips.
“Someone’s sleeping.”
“Exactly. But not him. He’d open his robe and peel off his rubber and give this big smile.”
“Mission accomplished,” said Milo.
“What can I say, it made him happy,” said Briggs. “Nothing wrong with happy, right?”
“Ever see who he was with?”
“Never.”
“Deep sleepers.”
“I guess.”
“Think they were unconscious?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. I don’t want you to think of Ricky as a bad person. ’Specially now that he’s — this is freaking me out. This is the last thing I expected to hear.”
Milo said, “You okay with us seeing Ricky’s room?”
“Sure.” Briggs pushed himself upright. “You need my permission?”
“You’re the sole occupant now.”
“Yeah. That sucks.”
First door up the hall.
Moderate bedroom, small en-suite bathroom with a tub-shower combo. The walls of Rick Gurnsey’s sleeping quarters were painted maroon, the ceiling, white, the floors faded oak laminate partially covered by an imitation Persian rug. Bare-topped wicker nightstand, king bed with a white spread tucked tight, both facing a sixty-inch streaming-compatible flat-screen.
In the skimpy closet two navy suits with a Saks Fifth Avenue Men’s Store label shared space with a charcoal suit from Neiman Marcus, a black leather jacket with no label, three pairs of black, Diesel slim-cut jeans, same number of dress slacks: black, navy, cream linen. Dress shirts in blue, pink, and white. On the floor, two pairs of Nike runners, black and brown calfskin loafers, intentionally scuffed brown suede boots, red rubber beach sandals. The top shelf held a Dodgers cap, a gray knit stocking cap, and a cheap-looking panama.
The top drawer of a wicker dresser under the TV was filled with Calvin Klein briefs and socks rolled inside out. In the middle drawer, polo shirts, tees, a black silk Nat Nast bowling shirt with golden saxophones embroidered on the front.
In the bottom drawer, twelve packages of Ultra-Sleek XL ribbed and lubed condoms (“For her pleasure and yours”). One package opened, three rubbers missing.
“The simple life,” said Milo. “Long as it’s ultra-sleek and lubed.”
He checked the bathroom. White tile and towels. The toilet seat lid was shut.
Milo said, “Endearing himself to his visitors,” and opened the medicine cabinet. A couple of Speed Sticks, OTC analgesics and cold remedies, a boar-bristle shaving brush, cream from Truefitt in London, a walnut-handled razor and a week’s worth of blades. Off to the right, given its own space, sat a small blue glass canister. Milo squinted at the label, handed it to me.
Cannabis blended with “a host of other botanicals.” Inside, a waxy, fragrant paste the color of beer.
The entire top shelf was more condoms. Another ten packages.
Milo said, “His date comes in here, sees that, what’s she gonna think?”
I said, “Sounds like Ricky arranged things so they wouldn’t be thinking much.”
“Then he shifts gears.”
“A woman’s caught off guard, thinks about it later, doesn’t like the memory. Could be a motive.”
“So what about the other three victims?”
I shrugged.
He laughed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
Jay Briggs was across the hall, in his own quarters, smoking. Two-thirds the size of Gurnsey’s room, set up with a plastic carton for a nightstand and a mattress on the floor that dipped under Briggs’s weight. He’d put on a crushed-looking gray T-shirt. Piles of equally tortured-looking clothing littered the floor randomly.
Briggs stood. “Anything?”
Milo said, “Just doing our thing, Jay. I know I can trust you to stay out of Ricky’s room until our forensics crew gets here.”
“They’re coming here? When?”
“Probably sometime today, they’ll call first so give me your number, please.”
Briggs recited, Milo copied. “Thanks. They’ll also take your fingerprints.”
“Mine? What for?”
“To eliminate you from any prints we find in Ricky’s room.”
“I never went in there.”
“Then your prints won’t come up.”
“I have to do that?”
“Any reason you wouldn’t want to?” said Milo.
Briggs’s lips twisted. His eyes raced to the right, then back.
“They use a little computerized gizmo, Jay, you won’t even get your fingers dirty.”
Briggs chewed his cheek. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been busted. A long time ago. DUI. Twice.”
“Couldn’t care less, Jay.”
“But here’s the thing. Sir. I lied about it when I applied for the job with Professor Van Ness. I need the job.”
“No background check, huh?”
“They said they did,” said Briggs. “I was figuring, Oh, shit, I’m screwed. But then they hired me so I figured it didn’t come up.”
“How long ago were your busts?”
“Like... fifteen years ago.”
“Sometimes minor stuff doesn’t make it to the files, Jay. Sometimes they’re wiped off the record.”
“Really? Cool.”
“Whatever the situation, same answer: Couldn’t care less, this is about homicide.”
“Okay, sure, I’ll do it. Sure, thanks, anything to help.”
“There you go,” said Milo. “Now give us contact information for Ricky’s parents.”