Faye Kellerman - Double Homicide

They parked next to each other on the gravel pad. Val had left her front door unlocked and she shoved it open. Katz quelled the reflex to lecture her and followed her inside, accepting the cold Sam Adams she offered. She sat down on her bed, and Katz tried to ignore the terrible abstractions that filled the space like blemishes.

She stood inches from him, got out of her clothes quickly, said, “What are you waiting for?”

A good question. It was hard and fast and great, and Katz had to clench his jaws so as not to scream.

Later, lying naked in bed, she said, “I was in his Palm Pilot because he wanted me.”

“Oh,” said Katz.

“Not sexually,” she said. “I mean, that was there, too. Even though he was mostly gay. But not totally. There was a hetero vibe, too-a woman can tell. What he wanted was for me to leave Sarah and come work for him.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a genius.” She laughed. “He was planning to branch out to Pueblo pottery. He told me Indian art was getting big on the East Coast. With his New York connections, he could triple the business Sarah does. He was also planning to go online. He’d use the auction services for the cheaper stuff and get on the art sites for the higher-end, as well as do some advertising on his own site. He had plans to really build up the market. He said within a year, Sarah would be hurting and that six months after that, she’d be finished.”

“Nice guy.”

“Terrible guy.” Val traced a circle around Katz’s left nipple. “I think that was the primary appeal for him. Not just succeeding but causing Sarah to fail.”

“What was your incentive to leave?”

“Fifty percent raise and eventual partnership. The raise I figured he’d come through with, at least in the beginning. The partnership was bullshit. He’d use me to get established, then get rid of me and bring in some lackey.”

“You turned him down.”

“I told him I’d think about it. Then I proceeded to ignore him.” She played with Katz’s mustache. “A week later, he called me. I didn’t return the call. A few days after that, he called again. I told him I was still thinking about it. He got a little huffy, obviously used to having his way. The third call didn’t come until two weeks later. I told him I was busy with a customer, would get back to him. When I did, he started off all indignant. Didn’t I know who he was ? Didn’t I know what he had the power to do to me?”

She lay back, her heavy breasts flattened and spread. “I didn’t play his game. I stayed really sweet and said I’d considered his very generous offer and would continue to consider it but for the time being, I couldn’t commit. He was so shocked he just hung up without saying a word.

Soon after, I saw him walking in the Plaza right toward me. He saw me, too, and crossed the street.“

“Why didn’t you just tell him no?”

She smiled. “You know me, Steve. You know how I am with men.”

She cooked up some spaghetti and tofu sausage, and the two of them ate silently. As Katz washed the dishes, he saw her yawn conspicuously.

He got out of the robe she’d brought him-one of his old ones, but the smell of other men permeated the terry cloth. It didn’t bother him. He was just another man now.

He got dressed, then kissed her good night. Sweet and chaste with no promise about the future. He drove to the granite yard, figuring that tonight he might sleep okay.

Both detectives slept late and arrived at the station by ten. On their desks were identical messages-a meeting with Chief Bacon in an hour.

The session lasted two minutes: the chief asking what was up, Two Moons and Katz saying nothing so far. The victim had too many potential enemies. “Does it look like we’ll close it?” “Maybe,” Two Moons said. “Maybe not.” She thought a moment. “That wouldn’t be great, but I don’t think it’ll have any ramifications. Either tourist-wise or citizen-confidence-wise. Because he had so many enemies, it could be seen as an aberration.” Neither detective spoke.

Chief Bacon said, “Not that I’m being pessimistic, guys. Okay, go out there and do your thing.”

What was their thing? Two Moons was the one to ask. Katz said, “Let’s make sure the Skaggses’ prints get checked out.”

“Scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“You know those guys-there’s always a reason.” Two Moons got on the phone to the state crime lab and asked for a rush. He hung up, shaking his head.

“Rape case in Bernalillo’s taking their time.”

“Rape trumps murder?” said Katz.

“The victim was twelve, living in a double-wide with her drunk mother. The asshole crawled into her bedroom. Probably some former boyfriend of the mother’s- lots of candidates in that department.”

Katz told him Valerie’s story about Olafson gunning for Sarah Levy’s business.

Two Moons said, “Maybe Sarah bashed him.” He picked up a pencil, let his wrist go limp, made a feeble chopping motion.

“Her husband could’ve,” said Katz.

“Who’s that?”

“Dr. Oded Levy. He’s a plastic surgeon. He’s also Israeli and served in the army over there. Plus, he’s a big boy.”

“Bad temper?” said Darrel.

“The times I’ve met him, no. But that’s always been on pleasant occasions. You know… social situations.”

“You socialize with surgeons?”

“Once,” said Katz. “After Val started working for Sarah, Sarah invited her to a dinner party at their house. Val needed a date, so she asked me.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Far from it. Val had flirted with an orthopedist the entire evening. Soon after, she hooked up with the bone-jockey.

Katz said, “After that, I ran into him a couple of times. You know, like once you meet someone, you notice him. He always seemed like a mellow guy. He’s younger than Sarah, by the way.”

“And that means…”

Katz held up the palms of his hands and shrugged. “Nothing. That time at their house, he seemed pretty in love with her.”

“She’s a beautiful woman,” said Two Moons. “I know how pissed I was after Olafson criticized my wife. No telling what an army-trained Israeli might have done, finding out that Olafson had planned to stomp out his wife’s business.”

Dr. Oded Levy’s office suite occupied the entire ground floor of a medical building on St. Michael’s east of Hospital Drive, due south of St. Vincent Hospital. The waiting room was empty and discreet, with butter-colored leather sofas and Indian rugs over wide-plank oak floors, copies of Architectural Digest and Santa Fe Style fanned out carefully on granite-topped tables.

Katz categorized the rock automatically. Spotty ribbon gneiss. Slabs of the stuff stood feet from his window at home.

A pretty receptionist greeted them. When they asked to see Dr. Levy, she stayed pretty and friendly.

“He just left for lunch.”

“Any idea where?” said Darrel.

“The Palace,” she said.

They drove to the Plaza, found curbside parking, then walked to the Palace Hotel. Dr. Oded Levy was sitting in the old Victorian dining room by himself, tucked away in a red leather corner booth, eating fried trout and drinking Diet Coke.

“Steve,” he said. Even seated, his size was evident. Katz knew him to be six-four or -five, trim and broad-shouldered. He had tan skin and black curly hair cut short.

“Dr. Levy.” Katz introduced Two Moons.

“You two must be working hard,” said Levy. “You deserve a nice lunch.” The doctor had the faintest of accents. His hands were the size of baseball mitts, with long tapered fingers manicured perfectly. His crimson silk tie was knotted loosely under a spread-collared sky-blue shirt. A navy cashmere blazer was folded neatly over the top of the booth.