Kiss of Death

I pull into the curb outside number 922.

Sloan unbuckles her seat belt. “We’re looking for Mr. Heeler.”

The house is a gray weatherboard, with white easels and window frames. It’s set back from the road a little more than some of the other houses, with a large concrete driveway leading to a double garage under the main residence. We walk along the driveway, up the two porch steps and knock on the white door.

A man in his late fifties answers. “Yes?” With one word, one breath, the stench of stale alcohol hits me. Great.

“This is Agent Anderson, and I’m Detective Sloan from the LAPD.” We both show our IDs.

“Of course.” He gives them a cursory glance with bloodshot eyes. “I’m Andrew Heeler. Please come in.”

Heeler is wearing khaki pants, a black shirt and bare feet. His graying hair is short, accentuating his round face and dark brown eyes. He takes us past a staircase and a living room on the right, into a large kitchen and open-plan space that looks out onto a deck…and the park.

“Wow,” I say. “What a view.”

He stops and looks out the windows. “Yes. It’s magnificent.” He sighs. “Except when kids are fooling around down there.”

“The people you saw were young?” Sloan asks.

“I don’t know. I’m just assuming.” He turns around to us. “Tea, coffee?”

Sloan and I both accept the offer of a coffee.

“Take a seat if you like.” Heeler motions toward a large black leather couch.

Once we’re both sitting, Sloan asks Heeler how long he’s lived here.

“Over fifteen years now.”

We start off with idle chitchat, ready to move to the more serious questions as soon as is polite and strategic. There’s no reason why Mr. Heeler would be on edge, but it doesn’t do any harm to make sure he feels at ease despite the official presence.

Sloan leans back into the couch. “You married, Mr. Heeler? Kids?”

“Widowed.” He flicks the brewer on and comes over to sit opposite us. “And I’ve got one son who’s twenty-five.”

I eye the telescope on the deck. “You’re a star-gazer?”

“Sometimes, yes. Although it only tends to be a couple of times a month these days. Just laziness, I guess.”

I smile. “Is that what you were doing last night?”

A few beats of silence go by before he responds. “Yeah.” He seems uncertain, like he’s trying to piece the events together. “I think it was around midnight…I went out to use the telescope, but then the lights in the park caught my attention.”

“Can you take us through exactly what you saw, Mr. Heeler?” Sloan asks.

“Um.” He stares out the window. “I went out to have a look at the stars—” he points toward the balcony “—and was adjusting my telescope’s position when I saw something out the corner of my eye.” He waves his left hand off to the side. “There were about six or seven lights.” Another pause. “Looked like torches. They were moving. I went to take a closer look, but it was too dark, despite the full moon. All I could see were lights and shapes…figures.”

“Your telescope looks pretty powerful, Mr. Heeler,” I say. “You couldn’t see any more detail?” The telescope is very thick, and my understanding is that the larger the diameter the more magnification.

“Oh, I wasn’t looking with my telescope. It’s far too powerful for that. I got out my binoculars.” He moves back into the kitchen. “I can’t believe…” He pauses midsentence, a cupboard door open and one coffee mug in his hand. “I can’t believe a girl was murdered.” He shakes his head and gets another two coffee cups out. “I thought it was kids, fooling around. I never thought…”

“Of course, Mr. Heeler. We understand.”

We wait in silence for a few minutes while he organizes the coffee and then heads back over to us.

Sloan takes the cup he hands her. “So could you see if the figures were male or female?”

He hands me my coffee. “No. Too dark, too far away.” He starts to sit down but then bounces back up. “Sorry, cream and sugar?”

“Cream for me,” I reply.

“Both for me.”

He places his cup on the coffee table and grabs a bowl of sugar and some milk from the kitchen, putting them both out on the table. “Where was I?”

Sloan empties a heaped teaspoon into her coffee and stirs. “You couldn’t see if the figures were male or female. It was too dark, too far away.”

“Ah, yes.” He takes a sip of coffee. “I figured there was no point calling the police just for some kids playing around in the park. I gave up on the stars because of the cloud cover, but finished my drink on the deck before coming back inside to watch TV.”

“What were you drinking last night, Mr. Heeler?”

Sloan’s question seems to take him by surprise. Eventually he tells us it was vodka.

Sloan leaves it for the time being. “You told the park ranger that you saw a circle of lights?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up around quarter after two. When I was locking the balcony door I saw the lights. I actually think it was candles rather than torches the second time.”

Candles? A circle of candles is an instant, striking visual.

He stares at his coffee, mesmerized. “Although I was half asleep at that point.”

We have to ask ourselves the question a defense lawyer would ask Heeler if we put him on the stand—half asleep or in a drunken stupor?

He takes another sip of coffee. “This morning I started thinking about the lights and decided maybe I should call the park and let them know.” He shakes his head. “But I didn’t think it was serious. I thought maybe there’d be beer bottles or other trash that the rangers might want to clean up.”

Sloan gives him a nod. “Mind if we have a look from your deck?”

“Sure.”

The view is even more spectacular when we make our way out, with an expanse of trees and greenery stretching for miles. Just looking at the valley makes me take a deep breath—clean air in L.A. At least, it feels clean.

“That’s where I saw the lights.” Heeler points down, right about where I’d expect our crime scene to be from this angle. Maybe he wasn’t that drunk after all.

“Have you got those binoculars, Mr. Heeler?” Sloan asks. “I’d like to see what you saw.”

“Sure,” he says and heads inside.

Sloan leans on the deck railing, facing me. “What do you make of him?”