Faye Kellerman - Serpent’s Tooth

Decker said, “I understand he worked here for a while.”

Fine said, “You’ve been misinformed.”

Decker rolled his tongue in his mouth. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Fine?”

“Seven years.”

“And you’re saying that Harlan Manz never worked here?”

“To the best of my recollection, that is correct.”

“To the best of your recollection?” Decker waited a beat. “Sir, this isn’t a grand jury.”

Fine didn’t flinch. “I always try to be as specific as possible.”

“Perhaps you knew him under a different name—”

“Don’t think so.” Fine stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

Decker remained seated. “Mr. Fine, are you honestly telling me that Harlan Manz never worked in this country club?”

“Never heard of the man until he hit the news,” Fine said. “Not that I’m about to do it, but if push came to shove, I’d open my books and show you. Never had a Harlan Manz on the payroll.”

“Ah …” Decker licked his lips. “You paid him in cash.”

Fine’s smile turned hard. “Lieutenant, I don’t have to talk to you. You get pushy, I call the owners. The owners get upset and they call their lawyers. The lawyers get upset, they call your captain. Gets you a black mark on your record.”

Decker stared him down. “Are you threatening me, sir?”

The tip of Fine’s nose turned red. He stammered, “No, I’m just pointing out a logical chain of events.”

Decker lied straight-faced. “Harlan Manz had listed income from Greenvale Country Club on his 1040 federal tax forms—”

“You’re bluffing,” Fine busted in.

“As well as state—”

“What is this? A shakedown?”

“No, Mr. Fine, this is a simple fact-finding mission. Quiet, discreet, friendly. Be a shame if damaging information was leaked to the press, that an insane mass murderer once worked here as staff.”

Fine raised his voice. “He was never on staff!”

“You explain that distinction to the press.”

“Now who’s threatening whom?”

“I’m not threatening you, I’m telling you. Press wants information about Harlan, I’m more than happy to oblige. You want to sue me for false allegations, go right ahead. Only in court, you can’t bluff. Because if you do, that’s perjury.”

Fine started to protest, but turned quiet. He buried his head in his hands. “The stupid idiot ! I told him it was strictly off the record. He promised me …” He looked up at Decker. “I can’t read your face. Ever play poker?”

Decker took out a notebook and pen. “Tell me about Harlan.”

Fine let out a gush of air. “Worked here about two years ago. Used the name Hart Mansfield … supposedly his stage name, though I’ve never seen him on any sort of a screen. A summer fill-in. All cash. Nothing on the books. That’s it.”

“What were his assignments?”

“Not much. Which was why he wasn’t on staff. He taught tennis when we were short-staffed. In the summertime, our regular instructors go on vacation.”

“I was told he tended bar as well.”

“He was an extra pair of hands when we had a big event.”

“And you paid him in cash for bartending as well?”

“Yep.” Fine bit his lip, ran a hand through his curly hair. “Not that I was doing funny business with the books. The cash-out was listed under miscellaneous expenses. I just never bothered to put him on the payroll.”

“Owners know he worked here?”

Fine rubbed his face. “Hasn’t come up … yet.”

“You haven’t received phone calls from some of the membership?”

“Sure I got a few phone calls. People asking ‘Was that asshole at Estelle’s the guy who used to work here?’ kind of thing. Names were different. I told them no.”

“You lied?”

“If it should come back to haunt me, I simply made a mistake because the names were different.”

Fine grimaced.

“You want to know something, Lieutenant? The people who called me … far from being squeamish … they hung up from the conversation disappointed. It was an exciting notion to them … a safe brush with the dark side. Personally, I think it’s sick. But then again, I just cater to the rich. I don’t really understand them.”

“They accepted your denials?”

“I tell them it’s not the same guy, they don’t have the conviction of character to debate me.”

“And the owners don’t know about Harlan working here?”

“No. Owners know a great deal about the membership, but not too much about staff. They don’t want to be bothered with business details. That’s what they pay me for. And like I said before, I’ve accounted for Harlan’s expenses. Just not on the payroll—”

“Avoiding taxes and Social Security—”

“Hired him as freelance. Club’s only responsible for the taxes and Social Security of its full-time employees. And Harlan never worked enough hours to warrant putting him on the payroll. Our books are clean. You find cause to subpoena our books, you won’t find a hint of an irregularity.”

“Owners won’t be happy if Harlan’s alias is publicized.”

“No, they won’t be. I’ll probably be blamed. And I’ll probably lose my job.”

“That’s not my goal, sir.”

“But it still may be an end result.” Fine blew out air. “Hell with it. What else do you want to know, Lieutenant?”

“Harlan taught tennis?”

“Yes.”

“Groups? Individuals?”

“Mostly private lessons.”

“How was Harlan with his tennis students?”

“Never had a complaint. If I had, Harlan would have been out on his ass.” Fine smiled, but it lacked warmth. “I wish someone had complained. It would play a lot better with the bosses if I had fired the guy.”

“Why didn’t you hire him on as a regular?”

“’Cause he was a jerk. Sure, he was okay for an occasional lesson, but that’s about all. All these wannabes.” He shook his head. “If I hired tennis instructors and bartenders on the basis of stability, I wouldn’t have much of a roster. Harlan was also chronically late and drank a lot. But …”

The manager paused, held a finger in the air.

“He usually showed up when called. And that’s about as much as you can hope for in a temp. You have no idea how flaky a summer staff can be.”

“I’ve heard that Harlan had some potential as a tennis player.”

“Actually, he wasn’t bad. Wasn’t pro quality, of course, but he had some power serves. Good speed. A natural athlete. But that isn’t enough. You want to make it big, you’ve got to work … train. We’ve got a couple of members on the circuits. They train here every single day, usually start at something like six in the morning. They’re talented, but even more, they’re dedicated. Harlan? Sure, he had some talent, but he lacked drive. Takes a heap of both to make it in the pros.”

“Did Harlan have any regular students when he worked here?”

“Strictly fill-in. His schedule changed daily depending on who was on vacation or who called in sick.”

“Did he ever get chummy with any of his students?”

“If he did, I never heard about it.”

But Decker wasn’t so sure that Fine was being up front. “If you didn’t get complaints about him, did you ever get compliments about him?”

A fire lit in Fine’s eye, smoldered quickly. “No.”

“None of your ladies ever say to you what a fine teacher he was?”

“Are you implying something?”

“Asking a question, sir.”

Fine said, “It was a long time ago, Lieutenant. I don’t remember so well.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me names?”