DB leaned forward again, chewed her bottom lip, and put her pad down. “Violet, I hope you don’t mind me backtracking a little, and I hope the subject doesn’t upset you too much.”

“Go ahead, ask whatever you want.”

“Your father’s dirty business made me think of what happened about four years ago, back in the spring of 1980, at the high school—the murders. Do you remember them?”

“Sure I do. I was only a sophomore then, and I didn’t really know any of them too well. Seniors are in a different universe, and footballers are huge—like grown men.”

I tried to think back to that time—the two years since high school felt more like forty-two.

“I’m one of those people who doesn’t think of high school as the best years of my life. I don’t even know what ‘best’ means anyway. Most of the kids made my life miserable because I aced everything. I wasn’t interested in boys either; most of them had bad skin and I couldn’t stand their stink, their idiot laughter. The thought of cheerleading them on made me want to puke. I took some grief, but so did lots of other kids. It goes on in every town in every state—big or small. Kids are cruel, especially if you don’t fit a mold. I just rolled with it and kept my head down. Hey, did you ever notice how people love movies where a load of teenagers die?”

“But how did the murders affect you?”

“I mean, I was as shocked as everybody else. I couldn’t believe it. It was way beyond anything I could ever imagine. Lots of kids went for counseling after that, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what anybody could say to me that would make any difference. As bad as it was, I was kind of neutral about it. I didn’t like any of them. Most of the teachers were lame too—especially one of the math teachers. A real old perv.”

DB nodded solemnly. “Well, I bring it up because, frankly, many of the details were kept quiet. It looked like a contract job, maybe ordered by whatever mob makes and distributes child pornography—the kind it sounds like your stepfather favored. Most porn producers use adults who are thin and young looking enough to pass for adolescent or pre-adolescent, but these types recruit or kidnap kids.”

She narrowed her eyes, as if weighing the benefits of going on; she must have deemed it worth something, because she continued.

“We didn’t release what those four kids were up to. They were making homemade porn in the basements of their parents’ houses. They distributed them—mailed them out to people who put their names on lists, as buyers. We found about a hundred VHS tapes in a padlocked footlocker—all of the four of them.”

“Holy shit, that’s gross.”

The four kids’ faces swam up from a murky bottom and broke the surface. Tiffani? I didn’t really know her at all, but she’d say something bitchy to me once in a while. Stephanie sat in front of me in French class, was always playing with her hair, never turned around. Kenny, no real recollection, another dumb jock. Demo had been in my Geometry class, even dumber than Kenny. I remembered something—“Demo showed up one morning all beat up and limping. I thought he got in a fight, and I didn’t much care. He probably deserved it. They all started to look the same to me—just a bunch of pimply dicks or mean girls with fake noses. You know, the usual.”

DB said she’d always suspected they were targeted because they wouldn’t give the ring a hefty piece of the action, and if that was true, then it was a big mistake.

“Ugly thing for kids to be involved in, but not unique,” she summarized ruefully. “That’s not my end of things, but it did factor into my investigation. The tapes were turned over to vice. The kids all came from good homes, plenty of money. It didn’t make sense, what they were into, but lots of things don’t these days. I only bring this up because of what your stepfather was into. I have no idea whether it ties in or not. I just wonder if you ever heard anything—phone conversations, anything else. We’ve got people working their way through your stepfather’s stash to see if any of them are the ones your schoolmates produced—whether he, in fact, might have produced any. We know he put ads in several papers looking for actors.”

I showed no reaction, told her I wasn’t surprised by anything they found out about Dick. But Khalika had already told me about those tapes. She found them in Dick’s stash. She said she had a great time reviewing them, freeze-framing their faces at key moments, during or right after the money shots. She laughed herself sick at the two jocks’ asses going up and down in closeups, where you could even see the pimples. She left one in a dressing room somewhere, just to see what would happen. But before the crap hit the air conditioner, they were all dead.

“They couldn’t act for shit either,” Khalika added—always the critic. “And they needed a better lighting director.”

Khali thought they were all addicted to the easy money, the best drugs. They didn’t think about the future, about their families. They were greedy and dumb. They started showing up in $100 sneakers that their parents probably never questioned. Maybe the parents were making their own homemade sin or inviting the neighbors in. Not long after that, the dream was over. Khalika even entertained the idea that one or more of the parents of the fab four arranged the hits on Dick and Bianca. You know, got together and pooled their money?

“Those jocks and their girlfriends? They sure were a bad investment, weren’t they?” Khalika said, laughing that deep whiskey laugh. “Hardly worth the labor pains and stretching the old yoni.”

What I told DB was: “Dick said he bet their parents were glad they didn’t have to pay for college or weddings. Standard stuff.”

That pretty much ended the interview. She handed me her card and asked me to call her if I thought of anything else. I said I surely would.

“And Violet, if you need somebody to talk to, I’m always available. My home number is on the back. Call any time. Let me know if you remember anything else.”

Before she reached the door, she turned to me.

“By the way, give me a call when you sort out where you’re going. The house is still a crime scene for now. And don’t be surprised, given Dick’s activities, if Manhattan Vice contacts you somewhere down the line.”

I said I would, added that I’d never set foot in the house again, even if I could.

DB paused at the door, an inscrutable look on her face. She cleared her throat before proceeding.

“I wonder, Violet, why you never reported your stepfather, even after you knew what he was doing. Were you afraid?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Nope, nothing like that. I was scared I’d lose Mercutio. He’s the only reason I ever stuck around that hellhole.”