Jonathan Kellerman - Deception

I thought about that. "Doubt it. She'd hold out for a lot more than a steady job. Another reason could be Rico. Unlike the other two, he describes a prolonged affair. Maybe Elise decided making love beat making war."

"She falls for Senor Stud, decides not to drag him into the muck?"

"And if things went bad, she always had the disc."

"Best-laid plans," he said. "So to speak."

"Which brings us back to Fidella," I said. "If he was involved in the scheme, he'd lose twice: another jackpot dashed and his girlfriend's making a fool of him with another man. I keep going back to his having a key to her house. What if he dropped in one night, found Elise and Hauer together but left without a scene?"

"He stews, builds up the rage, finally accepts the fact that Elise won't go forward with her threats."

"He also was aware of Elise's binge-drinking. Who better to lace her vodka with some kind of opiate? He waits until she's wasted and helpless, lowers her into the tub, packs her like crab legs at the fish market."

He grimaced. "And here I was thinking seafood for dinner. Wonder where that waitress hangs out when she's not drinking at Arnie Joseph's."

The octogenarian bartender held a glass to the light. "That's Doris, she does the three-to-eleven shift at Fat Boy."

"Where's Fat Boy?"

"Two blocks north. If you're thinking Doris had a thing with Sal, she didn't."

"Who did?" said Milo.

"Some blonde."

Milo showed him a snap of Elise Freeman.

"That's her."

"She in here a lot?"

"A few times. Grey Goose, up. Sometimes a twist, sometimes nothing."

"Not an ice freak," said Milo.

"Nope."

"Heavy drinker?"

"One drink, period. Thank God most ain't like her."

"What else do you know about her?"

"Nothing, I know drinks, not people." Studying Milo. "You're beer." To me: "Blended scotch, maybe a high-end single malt if you're feeling flush. Both of you drink wine when your wives want you to."

"Let's hear it for the wives," said Milo. "You're an oracle."

"Been doing this for fifty-three years, nothing changes."

"What does your crystal ball tell you about Sal?"

"Beer, same as you. Only difference is you I might let run a tab."

"Sal's not a good risk?"

"I'm a trusting sort," said the old man. "But jerk me around enough and it's cash on the barrel."

"Sal has trouble meeting his obligations?"

The bartender laid down his towel, folded it neatly. "What kind of dumb-ass empties a slot machine of ten grand and blows it the same day? When it comes to settling up, he's always got a sad story. So now it's cash on the barrel."

"Sal react okay to that?" said Milo.

"What do you mean?"

"He have a temper?"

"People don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Fuss when I read 'em the law." He reached behind the bar, hefted a Louisville Slugger. Black worn to gray, same for the tape around the handle.

Milo said, "It came to that with Sal?"

"Nah, but he knows it's here. Everyone does. Got robbed twenty-eight years ago, coupla cholos pistol-whipped me, my skull was like eggshell. I got smart."

"A bat's enough?"

The old man winked. Watery eyes dropped to a spot behind the bar. "Gotta be seeing as how normal people can't get carry permits for firearms, only rich dumb-asses who know the mayor."

"You got that right," said Milo. "Sal ever hit you up with easy-money schemes?"

"People don't do that with me."

"He ever hit up your patrons?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"People drink, their lips flap. Sal flaps a lot even before the first beer. But he never impresses anyone. I ignore all that noise and think about my grandchildren."

"Hear no evil?"

"Crap floats by me, why would I touch it?"

"Still," said Milo, "you smell it. What kinds of things is Sal into?"

"Mostly he bitches about how he used to have money. Stocks, bonds, real estate. Back when kids played instruments. You believe that, I'll sell you GM. Want anything, a soft drink? On the house."

"No, thanks. Tell us about the blonde."

"Not much to tell," said the barkeep. "Quiet, but not friendly quiet, more like nose in the air, she was too good for the place. She'd drink her one Goose, get all fidgety, make Sal leave. He followed her like a puppy dog."

Lifting the towel with deft fingers, he snapped it midair. "You want Doris, she's on shift right around now. Don't tell her I sent you."

" Doris likes her privacy?"

The old man returned the bat to its hiding place. "I don't give a rat's ass what she or anyone else likes. My age, I keep things simple."

Fat Boy was a holdout against franchise fever, a glass-fronted fifties cube with an upwardly thrusting roof that evoked manned space travel. Breakfast special banner taped to the glass, breakfast smells late in the afternoon. Blue Naugahyde booths, counter stools, and aqua carpeting had long conceded the war against dirt and wear.

The place was empty but for two bearded truckers inhaling bacon and eggs at the counter and a young Hispanic woman tending to them with good cheer and banter. Same unflattering pink uniform as Doris but she made it work.

"You guys can sit up here."

No sign of Doris. Then she emerged through rear doors, carrying a two-foot stack of yellow paper napkins.

Milo waved.

She ignored him and began filling dispensers. Her name tag said Dorrie.

"Afternoon, Dorrie."

"To you it's Doris," she said. "What now?"

"A few more questions about Sal."

"I already told you what I know." Moving on to the next booth, she spotted a crumb, flicked it away before dry-wiping the Formica, pressed the spring-latch of the dispenser, crammed in paper.

Letting go with an audible snap, she did the same at the neighboring booth.

"Soon as you're done, Doris."

"I'll be done in five hours."

"Doesn't look too crowded."

"Rub it in."

"How about we help you load the napkins, you spare us a few minutes."

"Soon you'll be wanting to split tips."

The truckers turned. Milo stared them down and they returned to their food.

Doris said, "How'd you find out I was here? Adolph told you, right?"

"Who's Adolph?"

"The mummy pours drinks at Arnie's."

"Just a few questions," said Milo.

"Damn Adolph-look, it's not like me and Sal are buddies."

"You mentioned get-rich-quick schemes. What kind?"

"That card you handed out said homicide, not con stuff. What, Sal killed his girlfriend over money?"

"What girlfriend is that?"

"Some blonde. Was it her?"

Milo produced Freeman's picture.

"That's the one," said Doris. "He really did her? Jesus, I never woulda thought."

"He's not a suspect at this time."

She snorted. "You're here for your health."

"A woman dies, we look at her boyfriend, Doris. If you've got information about their relationship, that would be helpful."

"He brought her to Arnie's, that's all."

"Often?"

"Sometimes. She never talked to no one, wasn't exactly fun in the drinking department."

"Timid drinker."

"One vodka she sometimes didn't even finish." She scowled. "Expensive stuff-Grey Goose. Making like she was superior."

"A snob," said Milo.

Doris put her napkins down. "The way she talked, overly pronouncing her words, you know? Like I went to college and you didn't. Like anyone gives a rat at a place like Arnie's."

"Why'd she hang with Sal?"

"How should I know? The other guy I saw her with was a lot cuter. Too young for her, but maybe she was one of those Goldilocks girls, know what I mean? One day it's too hot, the next too cold. No nose for just-right."

"Tell us about the other guy, Doris."

"He's the one killed her, not Sal?"

"We don't know who killed her, Doris. That's why we're here."