When Last Seen Alive (The Aaron Gunner Mysteries) by Gar Anthony Haywood

Author:Gar Anthony Haywood [Haywood, Gar Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2014-05-31T11:00:00+00:00

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SILVER LAKE WAS THE LOS ANGELES CAPITAL OF Schizophrenia.

It was Caucasian and Hispanic, gay and straight, young and old. It was picturesque, and it was garish; quaint and charming here, plastic and phony there. It had outdoor cafés and 7-Elevens; health food stores and porn shops; three-story Tudor houses that dated back to 1911, and two-story towers of glass and steel that weren’t yet a year old. In short, Silver Lake was a multilingual, multicultural, architecturally diverse community that offered a little something for everybody. Including the dumb and the dumber.

Much of the community stood on a hill overlooking the city reservoir for which it was named, but no one had a better view of this glistening pool of blue than Martin Keene. His single-story, redwood-sheathed home halfway up Hidalgo Avenue’s steep climb into the hills sat on the west side of the street, where its perspective on the reservoir below and the Hollywood Hills beyond was completely unobstructed. Gunner could see that much just from the carport, a white, gable-roofed addition to the house that was functional, perhaps, but wholly unaesthetic.

He had thought about calling ahead, but decided to just drop in on Keene instead. Sometimes it was better to make a wasted trip than be rejected outright over the phone, or worse, talk to somebody who’d had time to rehearse all their answers to his questions. But it looked like this particular trip hadn’t been wasted; the two cars in the carport—a late-model Ford Taurus and an eighty-something Jeep Cherokee—suggested Keene was home.

A handsome-looking woman in her early forties answered the doorbell the first time Gunner rang it. A fine-boned redhead with a freckled complexion and dignified demeanor, she opened the door wide, unafraid, and smiled at him like she’d known he was coining all along.

“Yes?”

“Is this the Martin Keene residence?” Gunner asked.

“Yes. Mr. Keene is my husband. How can I help you?”

Gunner showed her the photostatic license in his wallet, said, “My name is Aaron Gunner, Mrs. Keene. I’m a private investigator here in Los Angeles, working a missing persons case. Your husband wouldn’t be around this afternoon, would he?”

Her smile lost something, never quite regained it. “He’s out back, on the patio. What’s this all about, Mr. Gunner?”

“Nothing serious, really. Someone your husband used to work with a few years ago has turned up missing, and the family’s hired me to find him. I was hoping Mr. Keene might be able to give me a lead or two.”

“Who is this person you’re looking for?”

“Actually, Mrs. Keene, I’d rather not say. If Mr. Keene would care to share that information with you later, I’d have no objection to that. But right now I think it would be best if I left that decision up to him.”

“I see. This is about Thomas Selmon, then.”

It wasn’t often that Gunner was caught flat-footed, but this was one of those rare occasions. Suddenly, Keene’s wife didn’t look so friendly, after all.

“That’s right,” Gunner said. Unable to see how lying now would do him any good.

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