Faye Kellerman - False Prophet

“It was a bad fight?”

“Jes, very bad.”

“Does Missy Lilah fight a lot with Doctor Freddy?”

“Oh, no!” Mercedes was wide-eyed. “Missy Lilah no fight with Doctor Freddy, never. This was el otro doctor, su otro hermano.”

Decker digested that. “She has two brothers?”

“Jes.”

“And both are doctors?”

“Jes. El otro doctor come here mebbe two or three time since I work here. Missy Lilah don’ like him. He come and dey fight. Señor Carl, he chase him away last time. Jell at him, shake his shobel. Say: ‘Go away. Go away or I kill you.’”

“What’s el otro doctor’s name?”

“Missy Lilah don’ tell me. She just call him su otro hermano.”

“How do you know he’s a doctor?”

Mercedes was silent. “I don’ remember. I jus’ know he’s a doctor.”

“When Carl chased him away, how long ago was that?”

“I thin’ mebbe two years ago.”

“You haven’t seen su otro hermano in two years?”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s go back to Señor Carl. You think he’s a little crazy? Un poco loco?”

“More estupid.”

“You ever see him be crazy with Missy Lilah?”

Mercedes shook her head.

“Did he ever act crazy with you?”

Again a shake of the head.

Decker checked his watch. It was almost noon and his stomach was growling. But before lunch, he wanted to check out Señor Totes himself. Marge should have picked the stable hand’s brain by now. He’d confer with her, then ask Totes about the fight Lilah had with her other doctor brother. Maybe send Marge down to the spa to check out this Mike character. He pocketed his notepad and thanked the maid for her time.

“Be it ever so humble …” Marge smiled. “May not be much, but Totes calls it home. Makes my place look pretty high-end.”

Decker smiled, his eyes examining the horseless stall. The wooden floor was clean, most of it covered by a moth-eaten, hand-loomed rug. An army cot lay in the middle of the area, brown standard-issue blankets folded neatly at its foot. Against the back was a two-burner hot plate plugged into an electrical socket. Jammed into the corners were piles of canned goods, a broom, a mop, and a dustpan. Wooden wall knobs, ordinarily used to hang tack, held dirty denim overalls and dust-covered work shirts on the left side, a bath towel, a circular kitchen towel, and a heavy skillet on the right. Not a lot of living space, but then again, the horses never complained.

“A bit of a contrast from the main house,” Marge said. “Notice all the antiques at her place?”

Decker nodded.

“And not just the furniture—all the vases and bowls and rugs and pillows and shit. She put a lot of money into decorating. Spa must do well.”

Decker shrugged. “Is there a john here?”

“He’s got a chemical toilet out back.” Marge wrinkled her nose. “Why he bothered to put it outside, I don’t know. Whole place smells. Lord, how in the world does he eat surrounded by this stink?”

“This ain’t nothing.” Decker took a deep sniff. “He’s got fresh shavings in here. You should have gotten a whiff before he raked the stalls.”

“Lucky me.”

“Did he rake while you were interviewing him?”

“No, he just sat on the cot and answered my questions—‘Yessim. Nossim.’ But I think he understood everything I asked him, Pete. Claims he didn’t see or hear anything. Now the stable is away from the house, but I would think that sound carries pretty well in these open spaces. There were a lot of smashed items in Lilah’s bedroom. Maybe he just tuned the noise out.”

“Maybe.” Decker related the incident with Lilah and el otro hermano. “Totes was very protective of her according to the maid, threatening Lilah’s nameless brother with a shovel. If he had heard something suspicious, he might have done something. He didn’t mention anything about the fight to you?”

“Not a word. But with a guy like Carl, you’ve got to know the right questions beforehand. He doesn’t volunteer a thing and I don’t think it’s because he’s holding back. He’s just too basic to improvise. I asked him if he knew anyone who didn’t like Lilah. He said ‘nossim.’ Now if I had asked him, did Lilah have a fight with her other brother two years ago, I probably would have gotten a ‘yessim.’”

“Specificity is the name of the game.”

“And short questions,” Marge said. “Anyway, he swore he didn’t hear or see anything when he got up this morning at four-thirty.”

“That’s his usual rising time?”

“Yes. It was dark outside. He didn’t see anything.”

“You think he was being truthful?”

“I think he was, but it’s hard to say. Remember that beekeeper’s retarded son last year? Totes was wary in the same way when questioned. Both didn’t look you in the eye.”

“He’s as retarded as Earl Darcy?”

“No, Carl’s higher-functioning,” Marge said. “He takes care of himself and the horses. Besides being the stable hand, he’s the grounds keeper. Takes care of the fruit trees, maintains the huge garden out back. She’s got a few acres here. Keeping it up is a lot of responsibility.”

“You know, the maid mentioned that Lilah sends people from the spa to fix things in her house, pick stuff from the garden. She mentioned someone named Mike.”

Marge said, “I’ll check him out.”

“What about Totes as a suspect? What does your gut say?”

“Gut-speaking, probably not. You told me Lilah didn’t know who attacked her. I don’t think Carl has enough smarts to plan an assault without being recognized.”

Decker said, “How long has Carl been working out the horse?”

“He took it out maybe a half hour ago, says he tries to work out each horse for an hour. Jesus, that’s six hours in the saddle every day. Guy must have nothing but a big callus for a butt.”

Decker slapped his notepad against his palm. “You get used to it.”

“Macho Pete.”

Decker smiled, thinking that Marge wasn’t so bad in the machismo department herself. At a fit five-ten, one fifty-five, she could successfully floor most men without breaking a sweat. Her most feminine feature was her eyes. Soft and doelike, they inspired trust. Everyone told Marge their secrets.

She said, “Why don’t you take a look around while I organize my notes?”

Decker agreed, strolling the stables, taking in the scenery. Lilah had prime horses—well-muscled with straight backs and princely gaits. The Lippizaner was the jumper, the two Thoroughbreds were young with fine-looking legs. The Appaloosa in the middle stall looked to be about twelve—probably dead broke and a great trail rider. Aps were good range horses—fearless and surefooted. He returned to Totes’s stall, sniffed the towels and bedsheet.

“His clothes are dirty, but his linens are clean. The maid said she doesn’t do his laundry.”

Marge said, “He’s got a small empty washbasin outside. Next to the toilet.”

“Who buys his food?”

“He told me Lilah gives him some canned goods—tuna, chili and beans. And then there’s the garden—actually it’s more like a farm. A half acre’s worth of vegetables, most of the greens and herbs grown for the spa. VULCAN advertises homegrown fruits and vegetables. Guess Lilah needs something to justify those rates.”

Decker smiled and rolled his shoulders.

Marge said, “Totes helps himself to the veggies. To the fruits in the orchards, too. I guess if you don’t mind simple living and the smell, it’s not a terrible life.” She checked her watch. “How about we grab some lunch after you’ve spoken to Mr. Totes?”

“I want to stop off at home,” Decker said. “I’ve got some baked goods in the car that were supposed to be Rina’s breakfast. Want to come over for lunch?”