Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

Milo led the bald man to a relatively clean spot near the center of the lot, away from the cars.

“This is Robert Gabray,” he said to me. “Mixologist extraordinaire.” To the bartender: “You’ve got fast hands, Robert.”

The barkeep wiggled his fingers. “Gotta work.”

“The old Protestant ethic?”

Blank look.

“You like working, Robert?”

“Gotta. They keep a record a everything.”

“Who’s they?”

“The owners.”

“They in there watching you?”

“No. But they got eyes.”

“Sounds like the CIA, Robert.”

The bartender didn’t answer.

“Who pays your salary, Robert?”

“Some guys.”

“Which guys?”

“They own the building.”

“What’s the name on your payroll check?”

“Ain’t no checks.”

“Cash deal, Robert?”

Nod.

“You holding out on the Internal Revenue?”

Gabray crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders. “C’mon, what’d I do?”

“You’d know that better than me, wouldn’t you, Robert?”

“Bunch a A-rabs, the owners.”

“Names.”

“Fahrizad, Nahrizhad, Nahrishit, whatever.”

“Sounds Iranian, not Arab.”

“Whatever.”

“How long you been working here?”

“Couple of months.”

Milo shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, Robert. Wanna give it another try?”

“What?” Gabray looked puzzled.

“Think back where you really were a couple of months ago, Robert.”

Gabray rubbed his shoulders some more.

“Cold, Robert?”

“I’m okay... Okay, yeah, it’s been a couple of weeks. ”

“Ah,” said Milo, “that’s better.”

“Whatever.”

“Weeks, months, it’s all the same to you?”

Gabray didn’t answer.

“It just seemed like months?”

“Whatever.”

“Time goes quickly when you’re having fun?”

“Whatever.”

“Two weeks,” said Milo. “That makes a lot more sense, Robert. Probably what you meant to say. You wouldn’t think of giving me a hard time — you were just making an honest error, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You forgot that two months ago you weren’t working anywhere because you were at County lockup on a pissanty mary-joo-anna rap.”

The bartender shrugged.

“Really bright, Robert, running those red lights with that brick in the trunk of your car.”

“It wasn’t my stuff.”

“Ah.”

“It’s true, man.”

“You took the heat for someone else?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re just a nice guy, huh? Real hero.”

Shrug. Another rub of the shoulders. One of Gabray’s arms rose higher and he scratched the bare skin atop his head.

“Got an itch, Robert?”

“I’m fine, man.”

“Sure you’re not dope-chilled?”

“I’m okay, man.”

Milo looked at me. “Robert mixes powders as well as fluids. Quite an amateur chemist — isn’t that right, Robert?”

Another shrug.

“Got a day job, Robert?”

Shake of the head.

“Your P.O. know you’re working here?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Milo leaned in closer and smiled patiently. “Because you, as a habitual although petty felon, are supposed to stay away from bad influences, and those folks in there don’t look any too wholesome.”

Gabray sucked his teeth and looked at the ground. “Who told you I was here?”

Milo said, “Spare me the questions, Robert.”

“It was that bitch, wasn’t it?”

“What bitch is that?”

“You know.”

“Do I?”

“You musta — you knew I was here.”

“Angry at her, Robert?”

“Nah.”

“Not at all?”

“I don’t get mad.”

“What do you get?”

“Nothing.”

“You get even?”

Gabray said, “Can I smoke?”

“She paid your bail, Robert. In my book that makes her the hero.”

“I’ll marry her. Can I smoke?”

“Sure, Robert, you’re a free man. Least till your trial. ’Cause the bitch made your bail.”

Gabray pulled a pack of Kools out of his p.j. pants. Milo was ready with a match.

“Let’s talk about where you were three months ago, Robert.”

Gabray smoked and gave another foggy look.

“A month before you got busted, Robert. March.”

“What about it?”

“The Mayan Mortgage.”

Gabray smoked and looked at the sky.

“Remember it, Robert?”

“What about it?”

“This.”

Milo slid something out of his shirt pocket. Penlight and a color photo. He held the picture in front of Gabray’s eyes and shined the light on it. I stepped behind Gabray and peered over his shoulder.

Same face as in the snapshot the Murtaughs had given me. Below the hairline. Above it, the skull was flattened to something that was incapable of holding a brain. What was left of the hair was a matted red-black cloud. Eggshell-colored skin. A black-red necklace encircled the throat. The eyes were two purple eggplants.

Gabray looked at it, smoked, said, “So?”

“Remember her, Robert?”

“Should I?”

“Her name’s Dawn Herbert. She was offed near the Mayan and you told some detectives you saw her with some guy.”

Gabray flicked ashes and smiled. “ That’s what this is about? Yeah, I told them. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It was a long time ago, man.”

“Three months.”

“That’s a long time, man.”

Milo moved closer to Gabray and stared down at the smaller man. “You gonna help me on this? Yes or no?” Waving the homicide photo.

“What happened to the other cops? One a them was a beaner, I think.”

“They took early retirement.”

Gabray laughed. “Where? In Tia Wanna?”

“Talk to me, Robert.”

“I don’t know nothing.”

“You saw her with a guy.”

Shrug.

“Did you lie to those poor hardworking detectives, Robert?”

“Me? Never.” Smile. “Perish my thoughts.”

“Tell me what you told them.”

“Didn’t they write it down?”

“Tell me anyway.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Three months.”

“That’s long, man.”

“Sure is, Robert. Ninety whole days, and think about this: Your record, even a little weed could put you away for two, three times that long. Think of three hundred cold days — that was a lot of grass in your trunk.”

Gabray looked at the photo, turned his head, and smoked.

“It wasn’t mine. The weed.”

Milo’s turn to laugh. “That gonna be your defense?”

Gabray frowned, pinched his cigarette, sucked smoke through it. “You’re saying you can help me?”

“Depends on what you come up with.”

“I seen her.”

“With a guy?”

Nod.

“Tell me the whole thing, Robert.”

“That’s it.”

“Tell it like a story. Once upon a time.”

Gabray snickered. “Yeah, sure. Once upon a time... I seen her with a guy. The end.”

“In the club?”

“Outside.”

“Where outside?”

“Like... a block away.”

“That the only time you saw her?”

Gabray contemplated. “Maybe I seen her another time, inside.”

“Was she a regular?”

“Whatever.”

Milo sighed and patted the barkeep’s shoulder. “Robert, Robert, Robert.”

Gabray flinched with each mention of his name. “What?”

“That’s not much of a story.”

Gabray ground out his cigarette and produced another. He waited for Milo to light it and when that didn’t happen, pulled out a book of matches and did it himself.

“I seen her maybe one more time,” he said. “That’s it. I only worked there a couple of weeks.”