Jonathan Kellerman - Victims

“Who told you about it?”

“Ralph-here he is, let him tell you himself.”

Ralph Veronese was no older than thirty, tall and borderline-emaciated with long, thick dark hair, a rock star’s cheekbones and slouchy stance. He wore a black bowling shirt, low-slung skinny jeans, work boots, a diamond stud in his left lobe. One arm was brocaded in blue ink.

His hands were rough, his voice soft. He asked if we could speak outside and when Milo assented, voiced his thanks profusely and guided us through the cafe to a rear alley. A red van occupied the single parking slot.

“Hedy just told me about Vita. I can’t believe it.”

“You don’t see anyone wanting to hurt her?”

“No, it’s not that. I mean I’m not saying someone would hurt her, it’s just… someone you know. She was here a couple of days ago.”

“She was a regular?”

“Two, three times a week.”

“Big fan of the food.”

Veronese didn’t answer.

Milo said, “Something must’ve drawn her here.”

“She could walk from her house. That’s what she told me once. ‘It’s not like you’re a great chef, I don’t have to waste gas.’ I said, ‘And hopefully we won’t give you any.’ She didn’t laugh. She never laughed.”

“Cranky lady.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Mr. Lipschitz said she’d had some kind of confrontation here a few days ago.”

Veronese rotated his earring. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“Why’s that, Mr. Veronese?”

“Mr. Veronese was my grandfather, Ralph’s fine… yeah, Vita had a tough personality but I just can’t see anything that happened here being relevant.”

“Tell us about the confrontation, Ralph.”

He sighed. “There was no excuse for her behavior but I don’t even know the people’s names, it was the first time they were here!”

“What happened?”

“These people came in with their kid. Vita was already here, reading the Times that she always borrows from us and eating away.”

“How many people?”

“Mom, dad, the kid was little-four, five, I’m not good with ages.” Veronese tugged at a forelock, positioned it over his left eyebrow. “Bald. The kid. Skinny, these humongous eyes. Like you see on those ads for starving kids?” He tapped the crook of one arm. “Big bandage here. Like she got stuck with a shot, it was a she, a little girl.”

I said, “Sounds like a sick little girl.”

“Exactly, I figured cancer or something,” said Veronese. He sighed. “See something like that, makes you want to cry.”

I said, “Vita didn’t cry.”

“Oh, man.” His voice tightened. “I knew she was a pain in the ass but no way I figured something like that would happen. If I had, I’da seated them far from her. I seated them right next to her, make it easy for Hedy, you know?”

“Vita wasn’t happy about that?”

“At first she didn’t seem to notice them, she’s reading and eating, everything’s copacetic. Then the kid starts making noises. Not being annoying, like a moan, you know? Like she’s hurting, like something hurts. The parents are leaning over, whispering. Trying to comfort her, I guess. It goes on for a while. The moaning. Then the kid quiets down. Then she moans again and Vita puts down her paper, gives her the eye, you know?”

“Angry.”

“Angry with sharp eyes,” said Veronese. “What do they call it, dagger eyes? Like you can stab someone with them? My grandmother used to say that, ‘Don’t be shooting me those dagger eyes, you gonna draw my blood.’ Vita’s doing that, the dagger eyes. Right at the kid. The parents aren’t noticing, they’re concentrating on the kid. Finally, she quiets down again, Hedy takes their order, offers the kid a donut but the parents say the kid’s stomach can’t take it. Vita mutters something, the father looks over, Vita glares at him, goes back behind her paper. Then the kid starts moaning again, a little louder. The father walks to the counter and asks me for some ice cream. Like he’s figuring that might calm the kid down. I say you bet and fix a double scoop, he goes back, tries to feed the kid the ice cream, she tastes it but then she’s not having it. Starts crying again. All of a sudden, Vita’s out of her booth, like this.” He clamped a hand on each hip. “Looking down at them, like they’re evil. Then she says something, then the kid’s father is up on his feet, too, and they’re going at each other.”

“Going how?”

“Arguing, I couldn’t hear what, ’cause I had gone back to the kitchen, same for Hedy, so all we heard was some kind of commotion. I thought something had happened to the kid, a medical emergency. So I rush back and the father and Vita are in each other’s faces and he looks ready to-he’s really pissed off but his wife grabs his arm, holds him back. Vita says something that makes him pull his arm free, he raises a fist. Just holds it there. Shaking. All of him is shaking. Then he calms down, swoops up the kid, and they head for the door. Funny thing is, now the kid’s calm. Like nothing ever happened.”

Another earring-tug. “I rush out, ask if there’s something I can do. I felt like shit, a sick kid, you know? It wasn’t her fault she didn’t feel good. Father looks at me, shakes his head, they drive off. I go back inside, Vita’s back in her booth, smiling. Says, ‘Some people have no class, I told them why would you people think the rest of the world wants to see your sick little brat, ruin their appetite? Sick people belong in hospitals, not restaurants.’ ”

Milo said, “Describe these people.”

“Thirty-five, forty,” said Veronese. “Nicely dressed.” Looking away.

I said, “Something else?”

“Black.”

“That ‘you people’ part probably didn’t go over well.”

“Yeah,” said Veronese, “that was evil.”

“Did Vita show other signs of racism?”

“Nah, she hated everyone.” He frowned. “Would’ve loved to toss her but she sues people, it’s all I can do to keep this place afloat, last thing I need is to be sued.”

“Who’d she sue?”

“The place she used to work, some kind of discrimination, they paid her off, that’s how she lives.”

“Who told you?”

“She did. Bragging.”

Milo said, “The people she had a to-do with. Thirty-five to forty, well dressed, and black. What else?”

“They drove a Mercedes. Not a big one, small station wagon.” Veronese scratched at his hairline. “Silver. I think. I’m sure they had nothing to do with it.”

“Why’s that?”

“How would they know who she was, where to find her?”

“Maybe they knew her before.”

“Didn’t seem that way,” said Veronese. “I mean they didn’t use names or anything.”

“Who else has Vita had words with?”

“Everyone leaves her alone.”

“Big tipper, huh?”

“You kidding? — oh, yeah, you are. Her top rate’s ten percent and for each thing that pisses her off, she drops a percent. And tells you. Hedy laughs about it, only reason she’s here is to do me a favor, her main thing’s singing, she sings in a band. I play bass behind her.” Smiling. “I like looking at the back of her.”

We drove back to the crime scene. The coroner’s van had taken the body. Sakura and Flores were still busy at work, scraping, diluting, bagging, tagging.

“Lots of prints,” said Sakura, “where you’d expect them to be. Nothing on the doorknob, that’s wiped clean. We got a few hairs off the towels, gray, consistent with hers. We did find more blood on the towels-tiny little specks tucked into the nap. Same for the carpet, we’ll cut out squares. If he nicked himself operating on her, you could get lucky.”