Suspects by Thomas Berger

allowed herself to be placated by LeBeau, whose charm for the ladies was still effective.
    â€œYes, ma’am, it’s a fact,” he said. “Trust me.… Miz Jones? Do you know or know of a man named Lloyd Howland?”
    â€œI sure do.”
    â€œTell me about him.”
    â€œHe’s Larry’s kid brother, is who he is. Well, really, half brother: same father, different mothers. He’s not much, nothing at all like Larry. Floats around. Dropped out of school as soon as he could, works now and then and here and there. I think he’s been away for a while now. When he does come to town, he mooches meals from Larry and Donna and sometimes sleeps in the guest room. They’re real good to him. I never liked the way he hangs around Donna, looking at her. She’s his sister-in-law, after all—hey, wait a minute, you don’t—”
    Moody came back on the line. “We want to talk to him, but we can’t find a working address or phone. How do you suppose we might locate him, missus?” She was silent for a moment, and he added, “Moody again, ma’am.”
    â€œI know you,” Mary Jane said waspishly. “You’re the shorter, old one. I was just trying to think, but I guess I never have had any idea where he lives unless he was staying on next door. I never cared. I never thought anything of him.”
    â€œHow old’s he supposed to be?”
    â€œEarly twenties, I imagine. He’s somewhat younger than Donna, but a lot younger than Larry.”
    â€œWhat’s he look like?”
    â€œHe’s a little runt. He’s shorter than you,” she said with a hint of insult. “Kinda muddy-looking hair, brown I guess. You know how blond kids will sometimes, in fact usually, grow up to turn brown. My own youngest is like that, but he’s a fine-looking six-footer. Eyes, I guess you want eyes, but I’m not so good at that. I’m partially color-blind, I think. Call ‘em gray. But then I see lots of things as gray.”
    â€œGive us a ring if you think of anything else about him we should know.”
    â€œI will if I feel like it,” Mary Jane said snippishly. Moody rubbed her the wrong way.
    LeBeau chimed in. “We’d really appreciate it, ma’am. You helped us a whole lot, but we can always use more.”
    â€œHow long’s that yellow ribbon gonna stay up? It’s attracting too many rubbernecks.”

6
    Larry Howland’s boss and alleged girlfriend, Paul and Gina Bisso-nette, lived in a generally expensive district not far from the Holly Hills private golf course, but their one-story house was one of the less imposing on the street, in fact not more than a mark or two higher than one currently owned by Dennis LeBeau, which Moody pointed out as they pulled up at the curb.
    â€œIt’s the neighborhood that always makes the difference,” said LeBeau. As they went up the walk past a lawn that was deeper than it had first looked, he noted, “Nice grass. It’s got a good start. Mine hasn’t recovered from that dry winter.”
    There were two front doors, an inner one of wood and an outer, which probably could be called a storm door, but what took Moody’s eye was the ornamental ironwork in front of the glass: it would not have stopped a bullet aimed through an interstice, but was a good defense against a nonprojectile weapon. He pressed the bellpush.
    He was taken by surprise when Gina Bissonette, a flagrant adulteress with a gaudy name besides, turned out to be a slightly built, elegant, and petite woman who spoke quiedy and had gracious movements.
    It was his partner who displayed the shield and introduced himself and Moody. “Miz Gina Bissonette?”
    â€œI expected you before now,” said she, opening the ironwork door. “I was almost ready to call you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œAs you obviously know, I was with Larry at the time the TV reports say