Sara Paretsky - A Woman’s Eye

What a perfect setup they’d created, those two! Real pros, capable of deceiving a pro like myself. Or am I such a pro after all? Maybe I’m just picking daisies.

Then we went to the pavilion, me and the maid. The dog wasn’t there either, of course, but it gave me a chance to lift a scarf without her noticing.

“Maybe she’ll come home on her own,” I said, all discouraged. “Listen, I’d rather they didn’t know that I’ve lost the dog, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, of course,” the maid said. “I won’t say a word, and if she shows up, I’ll let you know.”

I started the car and two blocks away I let the dog out of the trunk, where she was having a nice nap.

I raced toward Blue Sea. They had already started the construction and it was a bees’ nest of machines and people. Shit, I’d have to wait until Sunday. On Sunday it was deserted. Sleeping machines, but they’d already torn up the earth. Displaced cliffs, holes, piles, and puddles all over the place. It was a crime to see such a gorgeous landscape so mistreated. A real rape.

I put the scarf to the dog’s nose. The animal barked, then she looked at me astonished, and it even seemed she remembered. She went crazy sniffing. She ran wild. I could hardly follow her. The coast went uphill, forming cliffs and little sandless beaches you could only get to by sea, at least for the moment. The dog was on top of a rock, quite a few feet below me: she was howling and trying to find a way to get down. I called her, but she didn’t hear me. Or she heard but didn’t pay any attention. In any case, she found a way to keep going down and I lost sight of her. I could still hear her whiny yelps.

I had to rescue her with a boat. She was soaked, exhausted, hoarse. We didn’t find what the two of us were looking for. But at least she’d found a piece of crepe-heeled shoe.

It all meshed.

I didn’t ask for permission to go into Victor’s office. I opened the door softly and said with my very best smile:

“Hi!”

I saw again the same surprised look I saw the first day he came to my office. Then, the same charming smile.

“I just came to tell you that Monica really was going to a psychiatrist. I thought you might be interested.”

“I know that, it’s in your report.”

“I put it in my report because Patricia told me that But it was a story you and she made up. A lie that turns out to be true, how about that! Only one thing is different: the motive. She didn’t go to a psychiatrist because she was a lesbian, she went because you forced her to make love with you whether she wanted to or not. Naturally, she felt raped, So she didn’t want you to develop the place she loved most. It’s as if she wanted to save the land from being raped, since she wasn’t able to save herself from it.”

He was listening to me with a sarcastic smile, but I could see a spark of fear in his eyes.

“What’s all this about? Where did you dream up a story like that? What are you getting at?”

He spoke with a harsh voice, the voice of a secure man. Too harsh and too secure to be real,

I put Monica’s pendant on his desk.

“I saw Monica in London. She was wearing the pendant. But what do you know! I just happened to find it in Patricia’s apartment in Paris, By the way, Monica doesn’t look much like this picture, does she?”

He repressed himself perfectly when I showed him the magazine.

“Besides, you were in such a rush to burn those pictures you made me believe were of Monica, but in fact were of Patricia,”

“Now you’re really getting embroiled, honey. The profession’s gone to your head!”

“Were you aware that Monica’s dog whined and got scared whenever she came across crepe-soled shoes? My colleague’s, for example. And she completely chewed up one of mine, a real old one. Then the poor old hound helped me find the crepe sole that drove her crazy in the first place,”

I set the piece of shoe on his desk, Monica’s, that is, the real Monica, Victor paled.

“They’re the shoes Monica was wearing when this picture was taken, this picture I found in your in-laws’ album, I found this one, too, Monica and Patricia together. Monica was prettier than Pat, but I have to admit that Pat carried off the part of Monica real well, and even better when she played herself in that dark Paris apartment. Oh, yeah, I found this in Paris, too!”

A very curly, mahogany-colored wig.

He sank into his chair with sagging shoulders. He looked so vulnerable I felt sorry for him. But I had to be strong now, I couldn’t allow myself to be deceived again.

“It was an accident, Lònia… I was so enraged, and I-I loved her, I loved Monica, but sometimes she drove me wild. She was so harsh!”

“You’re a disgusting liar. You loved Patricia. That’s why Patricia agreed to pass for Monica. Or what?”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He was recovering little by little. “Patricia did it for the money. She was real palsy with Monica, but only because of what she could get out of it. No, they weren’t lesbians, of course, but Monica did have a weird weakness for Pat, and after the accident, I schemed the whole thing and Pat agreed to take on the role…”

“So in fact, what you wanted was a report from a pro and a letter from Monica obtained by that pro so that Mr. Pradell would reject his daughter as a pervert, right? That way, you’d be the victim and get your in-laws’ sympathy, plus the permit to begin the development.”

“You’ve done a terrific job, Lònia. Seems like I should hire you foll time, so you’ll work just for me!”

The nerve! He took out his checkbook and raised his mocking eyes:

“What will your monthly salary be?” he smiled.

“I guess you’ll have to ask Mr. Pradell that. He’s just outside, waiting for me to open the door. I consider myself well paid with what I’ve learned. Now I know for sure that if I want to stay in this profession I’ll have to get thicker skin. And that I can’t trust male clients, no matter how good-looking and nice they are, when they tell me I’ll do a better job because I’m a woman.”

Mr. Pradell was waiting by the door, looking pretty grim.

I waited outdoors, with the dog in my arms. When Victor came out handcuffed, between two guys in raincoats, I still felt a touch of pity.

SARA PARETSKY’s private eye V, I. Warshawski helped to define the “new” female sleuth in modern American crime fiction. Each of the Warshawski books published to date- Bitter Medicine, Killing Orders, Deadlock, Indemnity Only, Blood Shot, and Burn Marks -has attracted a larger readership, with the last-named novel making a number of national and regional best-seller lists. Ms. Paretsky and her creation both live and work in Chicago.

“It’s such a difficult concept to deal with. I just don’t like to use that word.” Paul Servino turned to me, his mobile mouth pursed consideringly. “I put it to you, Victoria: you’re a lawyer. Would you not agree?”

“I agree that the law defines responsibility differently than we do when we’re talking about social or moral relations,” I said carefully. “No state’s attorney is going to try to get Mrs. Hampton arrested, but does that-”

“You see,” Servino interrupted. “That’s just my point.

” “But it’s not mine,” Lotty said fiercely, her thick dark brows forming a forbidding line across her forehead. “And if you had seen Claudia with her guts torn out by lye, perhaps you would think a little differently.”