Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

Harriman took a half step back. Without missing a beat, he said, “Which one?”

“The shorter one.”

“That does me no good. The Mexican or the El Salvadorian?”

“I have no idea. I don’t speak Spanish. I think someone called him Alex.”

“Then you know more about his identity than I do. You should talk to the police.”

“I do on a daily basis. I’ve got to go. I’m keeping my jury waiting.”

“So Decker is your husband?” Harriman said.

“You shouldn’t be asking personal questions. But I do know that Lieutenant Decker speaks fluent Spanish. So maybe he can help you out.”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. If you’re needed, Lieutenant Decker will call you.” Rina hurried off to her proper line.

She wasn’t the last one to show up, so technically she didn’t hold up anything, but she was late enough and breathing hard enough for Joy to make a wisecrack.

“You look disheveled.” She lowered her eyes and stared at Rina. “Just what did you do during your lunch break?”

Cheeky girl. “I wish.” Rina hoped she was being casual. The case would probably conclude this afternoon and she would never see any of them again anyway. She hoped this would end the conversation, but Ally had been more observant.

“She was talking to Smiling Tom,” she remarked.

“You were?” Joy’s eyebrows arched. “What were you and Smilin’ talking about-again?”

“Since he can’t see, he asked me the time.” Rina rolled her eyes and tried to act annoyed. “Ah, Chronically Late Kent is here. I think we’re ready to go into the courtroom.”

Ally asked her, “Do you know him?”

“Who?” Rina asked.

“Mr. Smiles.”

“No, I don’t know him.” She turned to Ally. “Why would I know him?”

“I guess you wouldn’t,” Ally told her. “Too bad. I thought maybe you can introduce him to me.”

“What?” Rina said.

Ally pinkened. “It’s hard meeting people these days and I think he’s kinda cute.”

WHEN DECKER SAW his wife’s cell number flash, he picked up immediately. “It’s over?”

“It’s over.”

“Thank God. Did you fry the guy?”

“How do you know it was a guy?”

“Fifty percent chance of being right. More than a 50 percent chance. Most of the defendants are men. I don’t really care about the case, but I do care about who hangs around the halls of justice.

Did you see them again?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Shit! Sorry. Tell me they didn’t notice you.”

“This time I made myself very scarce. I was well hidden.”

“Thank you, Rina, for saying that.”

“But there’s more. Harriman was eavesdropping again. This time one of the cholos caught on and the two of them exchanged words. Harriman went to the men’s room and the cholo started in that direction, but someone called him back before anything happened. Peter, I’m a little concerned.”

Decker felt a sour taste ride up in his mouth. “I’ll give him a call.”

Rina took a deep breath. “The cholo had a scar and a snake tattoo. Someone called him Alex.”

As in Alejandro Brand. Decker said, “Thanks.”

“I got a better look at both this time. I’d like to look through the books again.”

The sour taste turned bitter. What choice did he have? “All right. I’ll set something up. When do you think you’ll be home?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, let’s go out for dinner. Hannah is at Aviva’s studying for finals so she won’t be home. Let’s take advantage.”

“Great. How about if you go visit your parents and I’ll come into the city. I have to meet someone at eight anyway.”

“Great idea. Where should we go?”

“As long as I can get a steak, I’ll be happy.”

“I can arrange that.”

“You can even invite your parents. It’s been a while.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I like your parents.” He really did. After all these years, he felt there was mutual respect. “And tell your dad that I insist on paying this time.”

Rina laughed. “You know he won’t let you do that.”

“Ah, gee, then,” Decker said. “If it makes him happy, I’ll let him pick up the check. And if it makes him deliriously joyful, he can even leave the tip.”

THE APARTMENT WAS on the border between Hollywood and West Hollywood in a beige French Regency-styled apartment building with blue-patina mansard eaves. The lobby gleamed with mirrors and marble decorated with new brown velvet furniture and black coffee tables. The uniformed doorman directed Decker to a set of brass art deco elevator doors and told him to take it to the seventh floor.

Antoine Resseur had a Christmas lights southern view of L.A. from two picture windows, giving punch to the boxy living room. Red leather sofas complemented bird’s-eye maple tables and shelving units. The black granite floors melded into a fireplace hearth. The recess lighting was dim and soft, and there was classical music on the stereo.

Dressed in jeans, a blue oxford button-down shirt, and boat shoes, Resseur was holding a glass of red wine. He was short and slight, with propositional features, dark hair, and hazel eyes that looked like agate marbles. “Can I get you something, Lieutenant?”

“I’m fine, but thanks. I appreciate your talking to me.”

Resseur’s voice was low and soft. He sat down and pointed for Decker to do the same. “This has been a nightmare.”

“You’re still close to Gil?”

“We’re the best of friends.” He took a sip of wine.

“It was very nice of you to offer to look after him.”

Resseur looked down. “I’m the only one who Gil trusts right now.”

“Not his brother?”

“Grant wasn’t shot, was he?” Resseur sighed. “That sounds horrible. Gil’s being a little paranoid, I think.”

“Once you’re shot, there’s no such thing as paranoia. Is that what Gil told you? He doesn’t trust Grant?”

“What he told me is that he doesn’t trust anyone except me.”

Decker took out a pen and a notepad. In the back of his mind, he never trusted the hero of the story and that’s how Resseur was presenting himself. “How long were you and Gil an item?”

“About six years.”

“That’s a long time. What broke you two up?”

Resseur swirled the wine in his glass. “Gil was a very busy man. His dad made sure of that. He didn’t have a lot of time for personal relationships.”

Decker nodded.

“Always busy, busy, busy.” Another swirl, then Resseur took a sip. “But things got frenetic once Guy and Mace started suing each other. I thought things would quiet down once the lawsuit was resolved, but it just got crazier.”

“How so?”

“Mace was shipped back east, and a huge truckload of work was dumped on Gil. It was terrible for him.”

“Could we talk a little about that? Like why Mace was kept in the company when he was caught embezzling funds?”

Resseur rolled his tongue inside his cheek. “How should I say this? There isn’t anything about Kaffey Industries that Guy didn’t know about.”

“Guy knew that Mace was embezzling?”

“It’s not embezzling if the boss knows about it, is it.” A shrug. “That’s what rich people do for pocket change…dip into the slush fund and why not. It’s their money.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “So why the lawsuit?”

“Kaffey got into trouble with the IRS. Mace took the brunt of the fall. On the surface, it looked like Mace got hammered, but actually he was rewarded by Greenridge.” Resseur took a sip of his wine.

“I talk too much when I drink.”

Decker assured him that the information wouldn’t be used against him, but it got him thinking in another direction. Though still high on the list of suspects, Mace dropped from the top spot. “How did Mace and Guy get along?”