Stuart Kaminsky - Bright Futures

“Your car?”

“I bought it this morning.”

“The Saturn McKinney was working on?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a gem.”

“Thanks. It moves at its own pace.”

“Two questions,” said Viviase. “First, what did Berrigan say he wanted?”

“He didn’t have time to tell me.”

“Thin, Fonesca. Very thin. Third question: Why did you leave the scene of a murder?”

“Because we didn’t want to get involved.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Civic duty, right?”

“I knew you’d find us.”

Ames emerged from the bathroom and joined us.

“I’ll talk to McKinney now,” said Viviase. “Let’s see if he remembers it the way you do.”

Ames did. We had gone over the story as we clunked our way home. Ames got it down perfectly. He told it tersely.

“This have anything to do with the Horvecki murder you’ve been asking about?”

“Don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t, though it was more than likely that the two were related.

“Since I’m here, would you like to tell me how you got involved in the Horvecki business?”

I didn’t want to tell him for many reasons, not the least of which was that I had been recommended for the job by Viviase’s own daughter, Elisabeth, but I had to tell him something.

“Two kids just came to me. Friends of Gerall.”

“Why you?”

I shrugged and said, “Ask them.”

“I will,” he said. “Fix your car. Stop trying to get the Gerall kid off. Lighten up this room. I’ll get back to you. You listening?”

“Yes,” I said.

“But you won’t back off, will you?”

“No.”

“All right, give me the names of the two kids,” he said. “And don’t tell me it’s confidential. You’re not even a private investigator.”

I gave him Greg and Winn’s names. He wrote them down and said, “They visited Gerall in juvie,” Viviase said putting the notebook away. “I knew who they were.”

“Just trapping the coyote,” said Ames.

“Very colorful,” Viviase said.

“Anything new on the Horvecki daughter?” I asked.

“Nothing I plan to share.”

Which, I concluded, meant that he had nothing more than what Dixie had given me and probably a lot less.

Viviase left.

Seconds after he was gone, the door to my bedroom opened and Victor Woo came out with a girl. She was no more than fifteen, dark, cute, still holding onto a little baby fat. She wore faded jeans and a white tucked-in short-sleeved blouse with a flower stitched over her left breast.

“Is my father gone?” she asked, standing back in case Viviase decided to return. His footsteps had clacked down the stairs and, unless he had taken off his shoes and tip-toed back up, he was gone, at least for now.

“He’s gone,” I said. “How did you find me?”

“Your name is in my father’s address book. I went to where you were supposed to be, but there was no building.”

Victor moved to the floor in the corner. Elisabeth Viviase glanced at him.

“I asked a sad fat man in the car rental place. He told me where you live. Why is that man sitting on the floor in the corner?”

She sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of my desk.

“Penance,” I said, sitting.

“For what?”

“Ask him.”

She turned to Victor and said, “Why are you doing penance?”

“Murder,” he said softly.

With a veteran policeman as a father, the possibility of murder in close proximity was not confined to CSI on television.

“Why here?” she asked. “Why do penance here?”

“I killed his wife,” Victor said flatly.

Elisabeth turned back to me, tried to figure out if this was some comic routine with her as the butt of the joke. Whatever she saw in my face, she decided to change the subject.

“Ronnie didn’t kill Horvecki.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he was with me,” she said.

“When?”

“A week ago on Saturday,” she said.

“What time?”

“From seven till midnight.”

She sat with back straight and false sincerity masking her face.

“The murder took place after midnight,” I said.

“Well, I may have left Ronnie’s at one or later.”

“I was just testing you,” I said. “Horvecki was actually killed no later than noon.”

“Well,” she said, sliding back as far as she could go. “Now that I think of it, I was with Ronnie from seven to midnight on the day before the murder. On the day of the murder, I was with him as early as eleven in the morning, maybe earl… You’re testing me again.”

She looked away.

She returned to the self-certain statement of “Ronnie didn’t do it.”

“You didn’t go to the police with your alibi for Gerall,” I said.

“You kidding? My father would find out in five minutes. I wanted to tell you so you could find the real killer without telling my father about, you know, my coming here.”

Victor suddenly stood, and asked, “Would you like a Coke?” The move reminded me of James Coburn when he tilted his hat back and suddenly stood erect, ready for a showdown with his knife against a gun.

“Diet Coke,” she said.

Victor looked at me.

“Nothing for me,” I said.

Victor left. Elisabeth and I listened to his footsteps on the stairs.

“Gerall’s your boyfriend?”

“I wish,” she said eyes looking upward.

“You told Greg Legerman and Winn Graeme about me.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Greg is kind of electric-cute, super-smart, dancing around, adjusting his glasses, a walking public service ad for hyperactives anonymous.”

“He get in a lot of fights?”

“No. He just talks, makes people nervous. Winn is his only friend. He takes a lot from Greg.”

“But they stay friends?” I asked.

“Go figure,” she said.

“Greg talks. What does he talk about?”

“You think I pay that much attention to Long-winded Legerman?”

“I think you pay attention to a lot of things.”

She gave me a questioning look.

“That’s a compliment,” I said.

The quizzical look was replaced by a minimally appreciative smile.

The door opened. Victor and Ames entered together. Victor moved to my desk with an offering of Diet Coke for Elisabeth who said, “Thank you.”

“It’s warm,” he said.

I knew a twelve-pack of Diet Coke was in the back of his car.

“That’s okay,” she said.

She popped the tab and drank from the can.

Victor went back to his bedroll and Ames leaned against the wall.

“Anything else you can tell me?” I asked.

“About what?” she said, looking over her shoulder at Ames and Victor.

“Greg, Winn, Ronnie, Horvecki. A man named Blue Berrigan.”

“Blue Berrigan? I can tell you about him. I have his three CDs. Haven’t listened to them in a long time. I was a big fan. I’ve still got my Blue Bunny night slippers, but if you tell anyone, I’ll come back here and claim you raped me.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said.

She took a big gulp from her Diet Coke.

“Hot Coke is gross. Am I through?” she asked, placing the can on the desk.

“How’d you get here?”

“Walked from school. I can catch a bus home.”

“Victor can drive you home.”

She looked at Victor who had returned to his place in the corner.

“No, thanks,” she said, looking at the man who had called himself a murderer.

“Ames can give you a lift on the back of his scooter.”

I looked at Ames. He had a strong avuncular feeling for children.

“Has he murdered anyone?” she asked.

“Not recently,” I said.