“Maybe he figured we’d find out eventually and wanted to take some control—make it sound minimal.”
“Okay.”
“What’s the problem?”
“O’Brien’s picture didn’t set him off, as opposed to when he saw Parmenter’s. Did Buxby interview him extensively about Parmenter?”
“Why?”
“Maybe we brought back bad memories.”
“Was what we just saw Parmenter-related PTSD? Nope, nothing prolonged. There was one sit-down in Boykins’s lawyer’s office where they covered the basics, then the lawyer cut the whole thing off and that was it. Basically, the guy was untouchable.”
“Drinking milk,” I said. “What’s that, Crip-talk for murder?”
“You got it. Guy may be working hard at respectable but when he’s threatened, he digs back to his roots. And what’s more threatening than having a murder you thought you got away with reopened? Meanwhile his kid’s being tutored for the Ivy League, lots at stake.”
I said, “The Ivy League has always welcomed the offspring of dictators and robber barons.”
“Huh…anyway, I can’t eliminate Boykins for O’Brien just because he stayed cool. O’Brien’s a fresh hit, maybe Boykins had mentally prepped for a visit. Parmenter, on the other hand, was ancient history he thought was over. One more thing: Why does he need a rent-a-cop unless he’s still got ties to the bad old days?”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but when you showed him O’Brien’s picture I was looking for the slightest tell and he gave none. Not a blink. And he’s not exactly stoic, so hiding a reaction would’ve been next to impossible. To me that says Parmenter’s case may threaten him but O’Brien’s doesn’t.”
“Two victims with links to Boykins just happen to get shot with the same rifle?”
“Can you tolerate an alternative theory?”
He sighed. “What?”
“Suppose Parmenter and O’Brien were at that showcase but it wasn’t Boykins they angered, it was someone else.”
“Some random partygoer gets dissed by the two of them and takes nearly two years to finish the job?”
The time-lag issue could apply to Gerald Boykins as a dual death contractor. No sense getting into that; Milo’s shoulders had bunched higher.
I said, “Okay, alternative two: Parmenter and O’Brien were at separate events, months apart, where they got on the same person’s bad side.”
“C’mon, Alex.”
“It’s not as unlikely as it sounds. O’Brien freelanced as a bouncer and Parmenter could’ve gotten on those invitation lists Marissa’s friends talked about.”
“BeThere.com,” he said. “Tried to reach them, their headquarters are in Thailand. Talk about not keeping it local. Anyway, Parmenter being the gifted vocal artist he was, I went looking for his music like Buxby did, found only one YouTube video. Recorded live in some dive, bad sound and lighting, he’s rubbing his crotch and doing unpleasant things with the mic. The song title was ‘Fold Over Bitch.’ ”
“Which could lead us right back to sex crimes by each of them.”
“Mr. Sniper’s a knight-errant avenging victims of abuse and O’Brien just happens to get nailed the night he O.D.’s his last victim? Talk about poetic justice.”
“Sometimes the stars are in alignment.”
“Not in my world, for the most part.”
I said nothing.
He said, “In the movies, I’d say good riddance to bad rubbish and not bother to work the case.”
“In the movies, cheesy music would be playing right around now.”
He cracked up. Lowered his shoulders, freed his hands from the wheel, shook himself off like a water dog. Big, heavy dog—a Newfoundland.
