Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

Sudden appearance by the police but Arturo’s shrug was serene. Bragging rights of the innocent. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“The woman you just served—”

Serenity exited. Indignation walked onstage. “Her,” he said. “She did something wrong?”

“She’s a person of interest.”

“Not to me,” said Arturo. “Then again, she’s a lawyer, they’re capable of anything.”

We laughed. He joined in. It made him look younger.

Milo said, “She’s a regular, huh?”

“Not too regular, thank God. Maybe once a month. Twice, if I’ve offended The Good Lord.”

“Not much in the way of tipping.”

“Five percent?” said Arturo. “Who does that? Even when I started out, it was ten.”

“Five,” said Milo. “That is nuts.”

“Nuts and cheap. Plus, she’s boring, the same thing every time, two Grasshoppers — who drinks that, anymore? — and the shrimp salad.”

He winked. “Frozen shrimp, not our tour de force. We got great steak, sometimes excellent fresh fish. Years ago, before I got to know her, I tried to steer her away from the shrimp. Try the Dover sole except on Sunday. No fish on Sunday, period. No deliveries since Friday. You have to have shellfish, do the crab salad, it starts out fresh, it’s chilled real cold. Frozen shrimp? We defrost and throw in a bunch of spice and oil. So what does she order?”

“Not an adventurous type.”

“Two Grasshoppers, you ever taste one of them? Even for a female, there’s all these good brandies and fruit stuff, or just toss in the simple syrup. My daughters drank that crap when they were in college, it’s like she’s living in the old days.”

He shook his head. “Five per cent. When did anyone do five? So what do you want to know about her, I can’t even tell you her name, she pays cash. All these years, you’d think she’d introduced herself. I think of her as Poodle Hair.”

Milo said, “You know she’s a lawyer.”

“She sometimes reads lawyer magazines. Or is she one a those — paralegals?”

“She’s a lawyer.”

“There you go,” said Arturo.

“Does she ever come in with anyone?”

“Only once, a guy. I remember because it’s the only time, I’m thinking, someone’s stupid enough to date her?”

“Not a business dinner?”

“Can’t swear it wasn’t, sir, but that wasn’t my impression.”

“They were lovey-dovey.”

“The way they talked — close to each other. Softly, keeping a big secret. Also, one time he had his hand on her thigh.”

“A big secret,” said Milo.

“I got five kids, I know when someone’s keeping secrets. But what it was, I can’t tell you.”

“Who paid?”

“Him, the tip was ten, which isn’t great but it’s better. Also with cash. I’m thinking what, they’re members of a cash-only club?”

Milo said, “How long ago was this?”

Arturo straightened his bow tie. “Months — maybe two. Or three. Not four. So what’d she do? Cheat a client?”

“Sorry, can’t say,” said Milo. “Can you describe the guy she was with?”

“Not really, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Black, white—”

“White. Older than her, younger than me. I’m seventy-nine.”

“No way,” said Milo.

“Genetics,” said Arturo. “And eating right. She ever gets to seventy-nine on frozen shrimp and toothpaste we’ll be talking hag in a bag, right?”

“What about the guy? Good shape?”

“I honestly don’t remember. You want, he comes in again, I’ll call you.”

Milo handed him a card and a twenty.

“You don’t need to do that, sir.”

“Enjoy, friend.”

“Appreciate it,” said Arturo. “Today, you’re the lottery.”

Walking back to the unmarked, I said, “Ex-spouses and disgruntled waiters, let’s hear it for resentment.”

Milo said, “Five percent. He’s right, who does that?”

“Someone who’s not big on social relations.”

“In her own way, kinda like Dr. Belinda? Two social Grandpas and they end up with dodgy prodge.”

“It’s a gene pool, ” I said. “All kinds of things swimming beneath the surface.”

We got in the unmarked. I said, “Sylvester eats by herself except for one dinner out with an older man. On the surface, not much, but you know what I’m wondering.”

“A blast from the past shows up and connects with her,” he said.

My phone rang. Ruben calling in response to my text.

I switched to speaker.

He said, “Yes, she’s pretty unique. I didn’t tell you much because I figured, let you form your own impressions.” A beat. “Also, I like her, didn’t want to reduce her to an odd personality.”

I said, “How does she deal with patients?”

“Really well, Alex. When she was a resident, she was among the kids’ favorites. Super-gentle, took the time to listen, endless patience.”

“What about parents?”

“Initially, some of them thought she was odd. But she was so good with diagnosis and treatment that it faded. Also, she works harder than anyone I’ve ever trained. No one takes calls for her, she’s available twenty-four seven.” A beat. “I suppose that’s easier when you’re a loner. You’re not going to tell me she’s done something wrong, are you?”

“No.”

“That’s a relief. I’ve always thought of her as a true innocent, Alex. A savant, I suppose.”

“What do you know about her background?”

“Just what I told you, something in show business. I’m really glad she’s not in trouble.”

I thanked him and hung up.

Milo said, “Mother Teresa with personality issues. You forgot to ask him if she tips well.”

“You’re not buying it.”

“I’m genetically engineered to be suspicious. But if you tell me he’s righteous, I’ll go with that.”

A block later. “Unless I learn different.”

Two more days passed with no progress. Bad for Milo, a mixed blessing for me because a legal consult came in that could be handled quickly: reviewing the case files of a nine-year-old boy who’d fallen off a defective bicycle, broken several bones, and incurred a closed head injury.

A year later, the child’s tibia, fibula, and femur had mended, as had a hairline fracture of the skull. But psych testing revealed minor learning deficits and my mandate was to judge the quality of that evaluation — first-rate, as it turned out — and to offer an opinion about the durability of the problems.

The honest answer was No Way to Tell.

The judge who’d sent the case said, “You can’t do better?”

“If someone else says they can, they’re lying.”

“Oh, boy. All right, Alex, ambiguity will have to do. But I need someone like you to provide it.”

On the morning of the third day, Milo and I were reviewing Thalia Mars’s far-too-thin murder book, searching for a hidden nugget of data that might energize the investigation.

An hour later: nothing.

Blanche had settled next to Milo, following the gloomy repartee with a suitably grave expression.

“Finding a lead on this is like looking for Bigfoot,” he said. “You know it’s hopeless but you wanna believe.”

My phone rang.

The judge in the bicycle eval, saying he’d gotten my report, didn’t need anything more. For the time being. But he was reserving the right to amend that. If necessary.

Blanche trotted out of the office, into the kitchen, and out to the back door, where she sat, serene and lady-like. I took her to the garden and she favored a particularly hospitable azalea bush with attention.

When we returned, Milo was on his feet. “Just got a text from the pathologist who did Thalia’s autopsy. Something I should see, no details. Haven’t been able to reach her so I’m going over there.”