Jonathan Kellerman - Twisted

“I know it’s been difficult, sir, and I’m sorry- ”

“Sure, let’s talk,” said Kurt Doebbler. “Why not?”

He took one of the black armchairs, sat all tight and hunched up, long legs drawn up close. Bony knees. Shiny brown doubleknit slacks; when was the last time she’d seen that?

She said, “This is going to sound like a stupid question, but is there anything you’ve thought of, concerning Marta, that you didn’t tell the original detective six years ago?”

“Conrad Ballou,” said Doebbler. He recited a phone number that Petra recognized as a station extension. “I called Ballou often. Sometimes he even called me back.”

Even seated he was tall enough to gaze well over Petra’s line of vision. It made her feel small.

“Was there anything- ”

“He was a drunk,” said Doebbler. “I could smell it on him. The night he came to tell me, he reeked. I should’ve complained. Is he still working as a detective?”

“No, sir. He’s retired.”

Doebbler didn’t budge or blink.

Petra said, “Did you feel better about Detective Martinez?”

“Who?”

“The other detective assigned to the case.”

“The only one I ever talked to was Ballou. And not very often.” Doebbler’s lips shifted suddenly to a very unpleasant smile. You couldn’t even call it a smile. “Obviously, you people are well-organized.”

Petra said, “I know this is tough, Mr. Doebbler- ”

“Not tough. Futile.”

Petra said, “The day your wife disappeared, you were here.”

Doebbler didn’t answer.

“Sir?”

“That was a statement, not a question.”

“Is it a true statement?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing?”

“Homework,” said Doebbler.

“With your daughter?”

“She was sleeping. My homework.”

“You were in school?”

“I take work home. My job isn’t limited to nine-to-five.”

“You work with computers.”

“I develop aerospace software.”

“What kind of software?”

“Aircraft guidance systems, integrated spacecraft landing systems.” Doebbler’s tone said she couldn’t hope to understand.

Isaac said, “Circular wave guides? Storage rings?”

Doebbler turned toward the kid. “Aerospace physicists and engineers design storage rings. I write the instructions that enable them to be used in a human-to-machine context.”

“Human factors,” said Isaac.

Doebbler’s hand waved. “That’s psychology.” To Petra: “Have you or haven’t you learned something new about Marta?”

One knee bounced. His mouth was set tight.

Petra said, “It would help me if I had a feel for what Marta was like.”

“Like?”

“As a person.”

“Are you asking what kind of music she liked? Her taste in clothes?”

“That kind of thing,” said Petra.

“She liked soft rock and bright colors. She liked the stars.”

“Astronomy.”

“That, and she regarded the stars as aesthetic objects,” said Doebbler. “She wanted the world to be pretty. She was smart, but that was stupid.”

“Naive?”

“Stupid.” Doebbler stared at her.

She pulled out her pad and made a show of writing stuff down.

Soft rock. Bright colors.

Kurt Doebbler said, “Why are you here?”

“We’re looking into some of our open cases, trying to see if we can resolve them.”

“Ballou’s cases. You’re looking at them because he was a drunk and he made serious errors and now you’re afraid of scandal.”

“No, sir. Just open cases, in general. Only Marta’s was Ballou’s.”

“Open,” said Doebbler. “That’s a euphemism for failure. To you, Marta’s a statistic.”

“No, sir. She’s… was a person. That’s why I’d like to know more about her.”

Doebbler seemed to consider that. He shook his head. “It’s been a long time. I can’t see her face anymore.”

“The night she went out,” said Petra, “what was her mood?”

“Her mood? She was in a fine mood.”

“And she gave no indication of planning anything but seeing a play.”

“That’s what she told me,” said Doebbler. His knee pumped faster. The hands grasping them were white-knuckled.

That question had gotten to him.

“What she told you,” Petra echoed.

No answer.

“June 28,” she said.

“What about it?”

“Does the date have any significance- ”

“It’s the date my wife was murdered. What is this, some kind of game?”

“Sir- ”

Doebbler sprang up, made it to the stairs in three long strides. Ascending the flight, two steps at a time, he stopped midway. “I have to help my daughter. See yourselves out.”

He disappeared. Isaac began to get up but when he saw Petra remain in place, he plopped back down. Finally, she got up and he watched as she paced around Doebbler’s living room, widened her circle, peered down the passageway to the kitchen. Took in as many details as she could before footsteps sounded on the stairs and she motioned Isaac to the front door.

Her hand was on the knob when Thad Doebbler said, “Sorry. Kurt’s been under stress.”

“New stress?” said Petra, turning to face him.

“Work. It’s a high-pressure job. Really, there’s nothing more he can tell you about Marta.”

“Did he just tell you that?”

Thad shook his head. “He didn’t say a thing, just went into his room and closed the door. I’m sorry if he’s a bit… Kurt’s done his grieving.”

“How’s your niece?”

Thad blinked. “Kurt works hard for her.”

Petra said, “The whole single-father thing.” On some topics she was an expert. Professor Kenneth Connor had been a jewel of a single dad. She could only imagine what growing up with Kurt Doebbler would be like.

Thad said, “Exactly.”

Petra turned the knob and stepped outside.

Thad called after them: “I’m sure he’ll want to know if you learn anything.”

Even outside, walking to the car, the broiled-meat smell hung in her nostrils and she craved dinner. Isaac had called Mama, letting her know he’d be missing his home-cooked meal, but Petra had an inkling Mama would leave something out for her golden boy.

“Do I drop you back off or should we hit a coffee shop for some grub?”

He said, “I’m not really hungry but I’ll tag along.”

Not hungry? Petra realized she’d never seen him eat. Then she remembered: This one rode the bus, wore the same three shirts over and over.

Eating out was probably a once-in-a-while McDonald’s jaunt.

She said, “Let’s go.”

She upgraded to a steak-and-seafood place near the Encino-Tarzana border, because it looked unpretentious and not too expensive. When she examined the menu she found it higher-priced than she would’ve cared for. But so what, she was in the mood for substance.

The dining room beyond the busy bar was cozy and dark, set up with red booths, dark wood walls, and thirty-year-old head-shots of near-celebrities. The waitress who came to serve them was a strawberry blonde, young and cute and buxom, and Petra saw her give Isaac the once over. Then she studied Petra and curiosity sharpened her eyes.

Wondering: What’s the relationship here?

When Isaac slid as far from Petra in the booth as was possible, and Petra ordered for him, the way you do with a child, the waitress smiled. After that, she flirted shamelessly with the kid.

He seemed oblivious to all the smiles and hair flipping and back-arching and arm-brushing with an ample bosom. Smiling politely and thanking Strawberry Shortcake profusely for every smidge of service. When the food came, he kept his head low, studied his steak, finally cut into it.