“So you returned with your video and your dinner to your room. What time was this?”
“Six or seven.”
“Then what?”
“I watched TV.”
“What’d you watch?”
“MTV, I think.”
“What was on?”
Kenny laughed. “I dunno, videos, all kinds of shit.”
“Did you go out again that night?”
“Nope.”
“Quiet night, huh?”
“Yeah. I got sunburned at the beach, didn’t feel so good.” Smiling, but an uneasiness ruffled the last few words.
“You do anything that night besides watch TV?” said Milo.
Pause. “Nope.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
The boy glanced at his father.
“Kenny?” said Milo.
“Basically that was it.”
“Basically?”
Senior turned to his son and scowled.
“Basically?” Milo repeated.
Kenny touched the pimple on his neck.
“Don’t pick at it,” said Senior.
“What else did you do that night?” said Milo.
Junior’s answer was nearly inaudible. “Beer.”
“You had a beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Just one?”
“A couple.”
“How many?”
Another glance at Dad. “A couple.”
“Meaning two?” said Milo.
“Maybe three.”
“Or four?”
“Maybe.”
“You get high, son?”
“Nope.” The small eyes were active, now.
“Do anything besides beer?”
“No!”
“Four beers,” said Milo. “Maybe a six-pack?”
“No, there were two left over.”
“So definitely four.”
“Probably.”
“Probably.”
“Maybe I had another in the morning.”
Senior stared at his son, shook his head very slowly.
“Breakfast of champions,” said Milo.
The boy didn’t answer.
“Dinner, TV,” said Milo. “Then four beers. What time did you drink the fourth beer?”
“I dunno, maybe eight.”
Leaving enough time for the two-hour ride to L.A. and an hour of stalking. But the dog had turned ill earlier in the evening.
“Then what?” said Milo.
“Then nothing.”
“You went to sleep at eight?”
“No, I . . . more TV.”
“TV all night?”
“Basically.”
“Be nice to have someone who saw you there, son.”
“It’s a small room,” said Kenny, as if that explained it.
“Make any phone calls?”
“Um . . . I dunno.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s easy to get a look at your phone records.”
The boy glanced at Bateman.
Bateman said, “We’ll have to explore that, Detective.”
“Explore away,” said Milo. “But with no alibi and Kenny’s hostile exchange with Professor Devane I’ll have no trouble getting a warrant.”
The boy sat higher, then his shoulders fell and he blurted, “I—can I talk to you in private, sir?”
“Kenny?” said his father.
“Sure,” said Milo.
“No way,” said his father. “Pierre?”
“Kenny,” said the lawyer, “if there’s something you need to—”
The boy shot to his feet, waving his fists. “I need privacy!”
“I’m here to safeguard your privacy and your—”
“I mean real privacy, not legal bullshi—”
“Ken!” barked Senior.
“This is a murder, Dad, they can do what they want!”
“Shut up!”
“It’s no big deal, Dad! I just want some fucking privacy, okay!”
Bateman said, “Kenny, there are obviously some things you and I need to—”
“No!” shouted the boy. “I’m not saying I killed her or anything crazy like that! I just made a phone call, okay? A fucking phone call but they’re gonna find out so can I have some privacy?”
Silence.
Finally, Senior said, “What the hell did you do, call a whore?”
The boy blanched, sat down heavily, covered his face.
“Great,” said his father. “Great judgment, Kenny.”
The boy began sobbing. Talking between gasps: “All . . . I . . . wanted . . . fucking . . . pri . . . vacy.”
Senior ground out his cigar. “With all the diseases going around. Jesus . . .”
“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you!”
“Great,” said his father. “Very smart.”
Kenny lowered his hand. His lips trembled.
Senior said, “If you were so concerned about what I’d think, why’d you do it in the first place?”
“I used a skin!”
Senior shook his head.
Milo said, “What you do on your own time doesn’t concern me, Kenny. In fact, it could help you. Who exactly did you call?”
“Some service.”
“Name?”
“I don’t remember.” Despondent, soft voice.
“Had you used it before?”
Silence.
Senior turned away.
“Kenny?” said Milo.
“Once.”
“Once before?”
Nod.
“But you don’t remember the name?”
“Starr Escorts. Two r’s.”