Free Compulsion by Jonathan Kellerman Page A

listened, wrote something down, clicked off. “That was a message from one of Ella’s allegedly noninvolved cousins, wants to talk to me. He’s close, works at a lamp store on Olympic and Barrington. Maybe the gods are smiling.”
     
    Brilliant Crystal and Lighting was a thousand square feet of glare.
    Aaron Hochswelder met us at the door and announced that he owned the place, had sent his employees on a coffee break. He walked us to the rear of his showroom. Heat from scores of chandeliers seared the back of my neck. Blinding light evoked a near-death experience.
    Hochswelder was in his sixties but still dark-haired, tall and gaunt with a horse-face and fox-eyes. He wore a green short-sleeved shirt, pleated khakis, spit-shined oxfords.
    He said, “Thanks for coming quickly. I could be out of line here but I felt I should talk to you. I still can’t believe what happened to Ella.”
    Milo said, “She was your cousin.”
    “First cousin. Her father was my father’s older brother. She used to babysit me.” His attention was snagged by an unlit bulb in a Venetian chandelier. He reached up, twisted, brought forth a twinkle. “You have any idea who did it?”
    “Not yet. Anything you can tell us would be helpful, sir.”
    Aaron Hochswelder chewed his cheek. “I’m not really sure I should be saying this but have you met her son, Tony?”
    “We have.”
    “What do you think?”
    “About what?”
    “His… personality.”
    “He seems to be down on his luck.”
    “That assumes he ever had any luck.”
    “Tough life?” said Milo.
    “Self-imposed.” Hochswelder’s bony forearms tightened. “I don’t want to stir anything up, but…”
    “Something about Tony bothers you?”
    “It’s hard to talk about family this way but you might want to look at him.”
    “As the killer?”
    “It’s a painful thought. I’m not saying he’d actually do anything like that…”
    “But,” said Milo.
    “He might
know
someone bad? I’m not saying he
does.
It’s just… this is really tough. I feel like a turncoat.” Hochswelder inhaled through his nose, breathed out through his mouth. “All I’m saying is Tony is the only one I can think of. In the family.”
    “Tony told us there wasn’t much family, period.”
    “Because he chooses to have nothing to do with anyone.”
    “Who’s anyone?”
    “Me and my wife and our kids, my brother Len and his wife and their kids. My brother’s a dentist, lives in Palos Verdes. None of the kids are close to Tony. Which, frankly, was okay.”
    “Bad influence?”
    Hochswelder cracked his knuckles. “I don’t want you to think I’ve got some kind of vendetta against Tony. It’s just… he called me this morning to tell me about his mother. That’s how I found out. First time I’ve heard from him in years. He said he had no energy to call anyone else, I should do it. Shunting responsibility. He also hinted that he wanted me to take care of the funeral. Financially and otherwise.”
    “What was his demeanor when he called?”
    “Not crying or weeping. More like… off.”
    “Off, how?”
    “Off in space.”
    “Does Tony have a drug history?”
    “He did as a kid,” said Hochswelder. “According to
my
kids. I also think – the family thinks – he might be gay, so there’s all sorts of issues here.”
    “Why does the family think that?”
    “He never dated any girls we ever heard about, never got married. And sometimes he – he’s not a sissy but he can get – I don’t know how to say it – all of a sudden he’ll do something pansyish, you know? A mannerism? We used to talk about it. How one second Tony would do one of those things – throw his hair, bat his eyelashes. And then
bam
he’d be just like a normal person.”
    “When’s the last time you saw him?”
    “That would have to be Thanksgiving four years ago. My brother had a family get-together and Tony showed up with Ella. He looked like he didn’t wash his clothes regularly. Put on quite a