Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

“I dunno, just a white guy.”

“Same color as her?”

“She had on makeup — that real white shit they like? He was darker than that. Regular white. Normal.”

“Eye color?”

“I was too far away for that, man.”

“How far?”

“I dunno, half a block.”

“But you could see his shoes?”

“Maybe it was closer... I seen ’em. But I didn’t see no eye color.”

“How tall was he?”

“Taller than her.”

“Taller than you?”

“Uh... maybe. Not much.”

“What’re you?”

“Five ten.”

“So he was what, five eleven or six feet?”

“Guess so.”

“Heavy build?”

“Yeah, but not fat, you know.”

“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“Heavy — big — you know — like from working out. On the yard.”

“Muscular.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you remember this guy if you saw him again?”

“Why?” Another alarm flash. “You do got someone?”

“No. Would you remember him if you saw his picture?”

“Yeah, sure.” Flippantly. “I got a good memory. Put him in a lineup and I’ll give you a beaucoup ID, you treat me good.”

“You trying to hustle me, Robert?”

Gabray smiled and shrugged. “Taking care of biz.”

“Well,” said Milo, “let’s take care of some now.”

We took Gabray across the rear lot, walked through a rubble-filled ditch on the east side of the building, and got back on the street. The line at the front door hadn’t shrunk much. This time the bouncer noticed as we walked by.

Gabray said, “Yo, fuckin’ King Kong,” under his breath.

Milo said, “The guy with Ms. Herbert as big as James?”

Gabray laughed. “No — no way. That’s not human. That they got outa the fuckin zoo.”

Milo pushed him forward, questioning him all the way to the car without extracting anything further.

“Nice wheels,” said Gabray when we stopped at the Seville. “Get it from impound or something?”

“Hard work, Robert. That old Protestant ethic.”

“I’m Catholic, man. Used to be, anyway. All of that religion shit’s bullshit.”

Milo said, “Shut up, Robert,” and opened the trunk.

He removed the hard-shell case, put Gabray in the rear seat of the car, and got in next to him, leaving the door open for light. I stood outside and watched him open the case. Inside was a book that said IDENTIKIT. Milo showed Gabray transparencies with facial features drawn on them. Gabray selected some and put them together. When he was finished, a bland-looking Caucasian face gazed up. A face out of a Dick and Jane primer. Someone’s dad.

Milo stared at it, fixed it in place, wrote something down; then he had Gabray designate spots on a street map with a yellow marker. After a few more questions, he got out of the car. Gabray followed. Despite the warm breeze, the barkeep’s bare shoulders were fuzzed with goose bumps.

“Okay?” he said.

“For the time being, Robert. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I’m gonna anyway: Don’t change addresses. Stay where I can reach you.”

“No prob.” Gabray started to walk away.

Milo blocked him with a straight-arm. “Meanwhile, I’m gonna be writing letters. One to your P.O. saying you worked here without telling him, another to Mr. Fahrizad and his buddies informing them you finked on them and that’s why the fire department’s closing them down, and a third to the IRS telling them you’ve been taking cash for God knows how long and not declaring it.”

Gabray bent at the waist as if seized by a cramp. “Oh, man—”

“Plus a report to the prosecutor on your weed thing, letting him know you were uncooperative and obstructive and a poor risk for plea bargain. I don’t like writing letters, Robert. Writing letters makes me grumpy. If I have to waste my time looking for you, I’m gonna get even grumpier and all of those letters get hand-delivered. You behave yourself, I tear them up. Comprende?”

“Aw, man, that’s rude . I been strai—”

“No problems if you behave yourself, Robert.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I go now? I gotta work.”

“Are you hearing me, Robert?”

“I’m hearing. Stay in one place, be a fucking boy scout. No jamming, no scamming. Okay? Can I go?”

“One more thing, Robert. Your lady.”

“Yeah?” said Gabray, in a hard voice that turned him into something more than a sniveling loser. “What about her?”

“She’s gone. Flew the coop. Don’t even think about going after her. And especially don’t think about hurting her for talking to me. Because I woulda found you anyway. You’ve got no gripe with her.”

Gabray’s eyes widened. “Gone? What the — whaddya mean?”

“Gone. She wanted out, Robert.”

“Aw, shit—”

“She was packing her bags when I spoke to her. Pretty shaken up by your approach to domestic life.”

Gabray said nothing.

Milo said, “She had enough of being pounded on, Robert.”

Gabray dropped the cigarette and stomped it out hard.

“She lies ,” he said. “Fucking bitch ”

“She made your bail.”

“She owed me. She still owes me.”

“Let it go, Robert. Think of those letters.”

“Yeah,” said Gabray, tapping his foot. “Whatever. I’m cool with it. I got a good attitude about life.”

When we were out of the maze and back on San Pedro, Milo turned on his penlight and studied the Identikit face.

“Think he’s reliable?” I said.

“Not very. But in the unlikely event a real suspect ever shows up, this might help.”

I stopped for a red light and glanced at the composite. “Not very distinctive.”

“Nope.”

I leaned over and gave a closer look. “It could be Huenengarth, minus the mustache.”

“That so?”

“Huenengarth’s younger than the guy Gabray described — mid-thirties — and his face is a bit fuller. But he’s thickly built and his hair’s styled like that. His mustache could have been grown since March, and even if not, it’s very faint — might have been hard to spot from a distance. And you said he might be an ex-con.”

“Hmm.”

The light turned green, and I headed back toward the freeway.

He chuckled.

“What?”

“Just thinking. If I ever actually make sense out of the Herbert thing, my troubles will just be beginning. Sneaking her file out. Moving in on Central’s territory, offering Gabray protection I had no permission to authorize. Far as the department’s concerned, I’m a goddam clerk.”

“Solving a homicide wouldn’t impress the department?”

“Not nearly as much as rank conformity — but hell, I suppose I can work something out if it comes to that. Give a gift to Gomez and Wicker — let them take the glory and hope for half a gold star. Gabray may get sold out in the process... Hell, he’s no innocent — screw him. If his info turns out to be real, he’ll do okay.”

He closed the kit and placed it on the floor.

“Listen to me,” he said, “talking like a goddam politician.”

I drove up the ramp. All lanes were empty and the freeway looked like a giant drag strip.

He said, “Putting some bad guys out of commission should be enough satisfaction, right? What you guys call intrinsic motivation.”

“Sure,” I said. “Be good for goodness’ sake and Santa will remember you.”

We arrived back at my house just after three. He drove away in the Porsche and I slipped into bed, trying to be silent. Robin awoke anyway and reached for my hand. We locked fingers and fell asleep.