Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

“Trouble holding down a job, Robert?”

“I like to move around, man.”

“A ramblin’ guy.”

“Whatever.”

“Twice in a couple of weeks,” said Milo. “Sounds like she enjoyed the place.”

“Fuckheads,” said Gabray with sudden passion. “All a them, rich dumb fucks, coming down to play street-life, then running back to Rodeo Drive.”

“Dawn Herbert come across as a rich bitch?”

“They’re all the same, man.”

“Ever talk to her?”

Alarm in the barkeep’s eyes. “Nah. Like I said, I only seen her once, maybe twice. That’s it. I didn’t know her from shit — I had nothing to do with her and nothing to do with that. ” Pointing at the photo.

“You’re sure about that.”

“Real sure. Really real sure, man. That is not my thing.”

“Tell me about seeing her with this guy.”

“Like I said, once upon a time I was working there and once upon a time I went to take a smoke and seen her. Only reason I remembered was ’cause a the guy. He wasn’t one a them.”

“One of who?”

“The fuckheads. She was, but not him . He, like, stood out.”

“Stood out how?”

“Straight.”

“Businessman?”

“Nah.”

“What then?”

Gabray shrugged.

“Was he wearing a suit, Robert?”

Gabray smoked hard and thought. “Nah. Kinda like you — Sears Roebuck, that kind of jacket.” Drawing his hands across his waist.

“A windbreaker?”

“Yeah.”

“What color?”

“I dunno — dark. It was a long—”

“Time ago,” said Milo. “What else was he wearing?”

“Pants, shoes, whatever. He looked like you.” Smile. Smoke.

“In what way?”

“I dunno.”

“Heavyset?”

“Yeah.”

“My age?”

“Yeah.”

“My height?”

“Yeah.”

“Same hair as me?”

“Yeah.”

“You have two dicks?”

“Ye — Huh?”

“Cut the crap, Robert. What was his hair like?”

“Short.”

“Bald or a full head?”

Gabray frowned and touched his own bare dome. “He had hair,” he said grudgingly.

“Beard or mustache?”

“I dunno. It was far.”

“But you don’t remember any facial hair?”

“No.”

“How old was he?”

“I dunno — fifty, forty, whatever.”

“You’re twenty-nine and he was much older than you?”

“Eight. Next month I’m twenty-nine.”

“Happy birthday. He was older than you?”

“A lot older.”

“Old enough to be your father?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Nah — not old enough. Forty, forty-five.”

“Hair color?”

“I dunno — brown.”

“Maybe or definitely?”

“Probably.”

“Light or dark brown?”

“I dunno. It was nighttime.”

“What color was her hair?”

“You got the picture there.”

Milo shoved the photo in the barkeep’s face. “Is this what she looked like when you saw her?”

Gabray pulled back and licked his lips. “Uh-uh — it was... her hair was different.”

“Sure it was,” said Milo. “It was sitting on an intact skull.”

“Yeah — no — I mean the color. You know, yellow. Real yellow — like scrambled eggs. You could see it in the light.”

“She was under a light?”

“I guess... yeah. The two a them were — a streetlight. Just for a sec, till they heard me and split.”

“You didn’t tell the other detectives about any light.”

“They didn’t ask.”

Milo lowered the picture. Gabray smoked and looked away.

Milo said, “What were Ms. Herbert and this straight-looking guy doing under the light?”

“Talking.”

“His hair wasn’t blond?”

“I told you, hers was. You could see it, man — it was like a... banana.” Gabray chuckled.

“And his was brown.”

“Yeah. Hey, if this is so important, how come you’re not writing it down?”

“What else do you remember about him, Robert?”

“That’s it.”

“Middle-aged, dark windbreaker, dark hair. That’s not much to trade with, Robert.”

“I’m telling you what I saw, man.”

Milo turned his back on Gabray and looked at me. “Well, we tried to help him.”

“You got someone, like tight?” said the bartender.

Milo kept his back turned. “What do you mean, Robert?”

“Tight case , man. I don’t want to be telling you something and have some dude walk on some Miranda or something and come looking for me, you know?”

“You haven’t told me much, Robert.”

“You got someone tight?”

Milo pivoted slowly and faced him. “What I got is you, Robert, trying to jerk me around, withholding evidence on top of that brick in your trunk. I figure six months minimum — get the wrong judge, you might even be talking a year or so.”

Gabray held out his hands. “Hey, I just don’t want someone walking and coming after me. This guy was...”

“What?”

Gabray was silent.

“This guy was what, Robert?”

“A con — okay? He looked like serious business. A hard-case.”

“You could tell that from far away?”

“Some things you can tell, okay? The way he stood, I dunno. He had these shoes — big and ugly, like you get in the joint.”

“You could see his shoes?”

“Not up close — the light. But they were big — I seen shoes like that before. Whaddya want from me — I’m trying to help.”

“Well, Robert, don’t you worry. There’s no one in custody.”

“What if ?” said Gabray.

“What if what?”

“I tell you and ’cause a that you bust him? How do I know he’s not gonna get out and come looking for me?”

Milo held up the photo again. “Look what he did, Robert. What do you think? We’re gonna let him walk?”

“That don’t mean nothing to me, man. I don’t have confidence in the system.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. I see guys all the time, do bad stuff and walk on technos.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Milo. “What’s this world coming to? Listen, genius, we find him, he won’t walk. And you tell me something that’ll help me find him, you’ll walk too. With brownie points. Hell, Robert, all the points you’ll have, you’ll be able to screw up a couple more times and coast.”

Gabray smoked and tapped his foot and frowned.

“What is it, Robert?”

“ I’m thinking. ”

“Ah.” To me: “Let’s be real quiet.”

“His face,” said the bartender. “I seen it. But just for a second.”

“That so? Was he angry or anything?”

“Nah, just talking to her.”

“And what was she doing?”

“Listening. I thought when I saw it: this punk cunt’s listening to Mr. Straight. Don’t make sense.”

“Mr. Con.”

“Yeah. But he still didn’t fit the scene — all you see down there at that hour is freaks and beaners and niggers. And cops — I thought first that he was a cop. Then I thought that he looked like a con. Same difference.”

“What was he talking to her about?”

“I couldn’t hear it, man! It was—”

“Was he holding anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like anything.”

“You mean like to hurt her with? Nothing I saw. You really think he’s the one did her?”

“What did his face look like?”

“Regular... uh, kinda... square.” Gabray put the cigarette in his mouth and used his hands to frame a wobbly quadrangle. “A regular face.”

“Complexion?”

“He was white.”

“Pale, swarthy — on the dark side?”