Deception: An Alex Delaware Novel (11 page)

Blink blink blink. "We went out a couple of times after work. Had a drink to unwind. Not at bars, at restaurants
with
bars. Because of me, I'm not into places where people just sit and get drunk. Even at Wellesley I wasn't much for the bar scene. Poor Elise, I can't believe anyone would do that to her. Did she suffer?"

"Sounds like you really liked her, as a person."

"I did."

He frowned. Shook his head. "That makes it a little tough, Pat."

"Makes what tough?"

"Having to tell you something that might conflict with your opinion of Elise."

"I'm not following." Moisture darkened the armpits of her jacket. Enough sweat to seep quickly through heavy twill.

Milo pulled his chair closer, leaned in close. Pat Skaggs's lower lip shook.

"Pat," he said, "the sad truth is you may have thought Elise was a nice person but the feeling wasn't mutual."

"I--what are you saying?"

He summed up the DVD.

Patricia Ann Skaggs screamed and ran from the room.

We caught up to her in the hallway near the vacant kitchen, where she'd slumped against a wall and was sobbing into both palms.

"I'm sorry, Pat." Milo placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not true! It's an ugly, ugly, ugly lie!"

We waited until tears gave way to snuffles.

"Let's sit back down and hear your side of it, Pat."

She pulled away. Red-faced, and some of the color had spread to the sclera of her eyes.

Red, white, and blue; the patriotism of fear.

"Let's sit down, Pat."

"There
is
no other side! If she said that--I can't believe she'd say that, why would she
say
that?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out, Pat."

"She lied about Jim Winterthorn and Rico Hauer, too?"

"Why would you ask that, Pat?"

"They're the only other faculty members summoned to talk to you."

"Who told you that?"

"Marlene."

"Pat, have you discussed anything related to this case with Winterthorn or Hauer--or anyone else?"

"Absolutely not," she said.

"I need you to be straight about that, Pat."

"I am being straight, I've had no time to talk to anyone."

"So you tried."

Silence.

"Pat?"

"After Marlene told me, I tried to call both of them but neither picked up their phones."

"When?"

"An hour ago. I assure you there was no attempt to dissemble. I was merely curious about why only the three of us."

"Was any other faculty member at Prep as friendly with Elise as you?"

"I really wasn't that friendly, myself."

"Same question, Pat."

She chewed her lip. Shook her head. "Truthfully, I never saw Elise with Jim or Rico."

"Do you know Jim and Rico pretty well?"

"Uh-uh, no way, I'm not getting into personalities. Not when you drag me here and make vicious accusations."

"The accusations are not ours, Pat. They're Elise's."

"How do I know that's true?"

"Why else would we be talking to you?"

"And Jim and Rico."

"Let's concentrate on you right now, Pat."

"There's nothing to concentrate on. I want to get out of here."

"That's your right," said Milo. "But it will result in a subpoena and further questioning at the police station."

Pat Skaggs gaped. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"A woman's dead and leaves behind a taped accusation. If we didn't follow through on something like that, would we be doing our job?"

No answer.

"What kind of grade would you give us for that type of sloppiness, Pat? D? F?"

Pat Skaggs ground her teeth. "She may have said it, but it
never
happened. Elise's death has nothing to do with me."

"That's why we need to sit back down and hear what you have to say."

"Oh, God," she said. "This is Kafkaesque."

Same adjective Hauer had used. If a tormented, tubercular Jew hadn't penned a handful of stories, what would academics do for emotional shorthand?

"I'm sure it feels that way, Pat. Let's head back and clear everything up."

"There's nothing to clear up," she said, but his gentle prod got her walking.

When she was back in the chair, I said, "So the sex was consensual?"

Milo's turn to blink.

Pat Skaggs didn't notice, her eyes were on me, wild and red-veined and bulging. Stricken as if I'd stripped her naked.

In a way, I had.

She let loose another flood of tears but made no attempt to bolt. Sat there snuffling and mumbling.

Milo said, "What's that, Pat?"

"It was only twice." She sat up. "Now you're going to say it's because of Wellesley, well, it's not, I'm tired of all those Harvard-boy jokes and I wasn't gay at Wellesley, I had a boyfriend, I was engaged to be married."

"Your sexuality doesn't matter to us, Pat, except as it relates to Elise Freeman."

"Twice," she said. "Two damn times. Okay? Satisfied? And you
cannot
tell my girlfriend, you simply
cannot
!"

The girlfriend was a harp teacher from Glendale named Michelle Washburn. She and Pat Skaggs had been living together for three months in an apartment not far from the Galleria.

The dual sexual encounters with Elise Freeman preceded that arrangement, though Skaggs and Washburn had been dating seriously. Skaggs's account evoked James Winterthorn's story: Following drinks and dinner, Elise Freeman had initiated contact. Substituting "soft kisses and affection" then a grope up Skaggs's skirt for the sudden fellatio she'd performed on Winterthorn. Both times, the women had ended up at Elise's house. Both times, Skaggs had left without spending the night, worried about giving herself away to Michelle Washburn.

"Brief encounter, then good night," said Milo.

"That makes it sound... I guess it was tawdry. I was an idiot, I still don't understand why I acceded. The first time could've been written off as Mojitos and bad judgment, the second? Moronic--and now I have to talk to you about it. Good Lord, this is humiliating."

"We hear all kinds of things, Pat. If it's not related to homicide, we couldn't care less."

"Well,
I
certainly didn't kill her. I never, never, never did anything remotely abusive or coercive with Elise. I just can't see why she'd
say
that." Tears. Abrupt panic. "You don't have to notify Prep about this, right?"

"Of course not."

"Please, I beg you. I love my job."

"Pat, if you've told us the complete truth, no one will know."

"I have, I swear. Please!"

"Okay, then. You can go."

"That's it?"

Milo smiled. "We could stretch this out a bit if you'd prefer."

Pat Skaggs inhaled, stood. Ran from the room looking smaller.

CHAPTER
14

When we were alone, Milo paced the vacant house. I stayed in the back room, enjoying the view of the garden and wondering.

His footsteps lingered in the kitchen; the primeval urge. When he stomped back in, I said, "My bet's on Freeman making it up."

Milo said, "The teachers are horny but not monsters?"

"If they were drama coaches I might feel differently but all three seemed genuinely surprised about the accusation and it's hard to see the three of them cooperating on a campaign to torment poor Elise. Also, Elise made the DVD but never did anything with it. Maybe she contemplated an extortion scheme but changed her mind?"

"Seducing teachers for blackmail? Not exactly deep pockets."

"These are teachers who work for the richest school in the city," I said. "Talk about a massive workplace harassment suit. And something that waitress at the bar said makes me wonder if Fidella was involved. She pegged him as a get-rich-quick type."

He circled the room. Stopped. "Winterthorn and Skaggs I can see as vulnerable to extortion, but Rico Suavisimo doesn't care what wifey thinks. Why would Elise pick him as a stooge?"

"Maybe she didn't know about his wife's tolerance. She'd see a married man, one clearly giving off sexual vibes."

"Using the three of them to get to ultra-deep pockets... then why change her mind? Given what we're learning about her, I don't see a burst of moral growth."

"Could be she lost her nerve about doing battle with an institution like Prep. Especially after they gave her a permanent gig."

"Maybe the gig was payoff for not suing, Alex."

I thought about that. "Doubt it. She'd hold out for a lot more than a steady job. Another reason could be Rico. Unlike the other two, he describes a prolonged affair. Maybe Elise decided making love beat making war."

"She falls for
Senor
Stud, decides not to drag him into the muck?"

"And if things went bad, she always had the disc."

"Best-laid plans," he said. "So to speak."

"Which brings us back to Fidella," I said. "If he was involved in the scheme, he'd lose twice: another jackpot dashed and his girlfriend's making a fool of him with another man. I keep going back to his having a key to her house. What if he dropped in one night, found Elise and Hauer together but left without a scene?"

"He stews, builds up the rage, finally accepts the fact that Elise won't go forward with her threats."

"He also was aware of Elise's binge-drinking. Who better to lace her vodka with some kind of opiate? He waits until she's wasted and helpless, lowers her into the tub, packs her like crab legs at the fish market."

He grimaced. "And here I was thinking seafood for dinner. Wonder where that waitress hangs out when she's not drinking at Arnie Joseph's."

The octogenarian bartender held a glass to the light. "That's Doris, she does the three-to-eleven shift at Fat Boy."

"Where's Fat Boy?"

"Two blocks north. If you're thinking Doris had a thing with Sal, she didn't."

"Who did?" said Milo.

"Some blonde."

Milo showed him a snap of Elise Freeman.

"That's her."

"She in here a lot?"

"A few times. Grey Goose, up. Sometimes a twist, sometimes nothing."

"Not an ice freak," said Milo.

"Nope."

"Heavy drinker?"

"One drink, period. Thank God most ain't like her."

"What else do you know about her?"

"Nothing, I know drinks, not people." Studying Milo. "You're beer." To me: "Blended scotch, maybe a high-end single malt if you're feeling flush. Both of you drink wine when your wives want you to."

"Let's hear it for the wives," said Milo. "You're an oracle."

"Been doing this for fifty-three years, nothing changes."

"What does your crystal ball tell you about Sal?"

"Beer, same as you. Only difference is you I might let run a tab."

"Sal's not a good risk?"

"I'm a trusting sort," said the old man. "But jerk me around enough and it's cash on the barrel."

"Sal has trouble meeting his obligations?"

The bartender laid down his towel, folded it neatly. "What kind of dumb-ass empties a slot machine of ten grand and blows it the same day? When it comes to settling up, he's always got a sad story. So now it's cash on the barrel."

"Sal react okay to that?" said Milo.

"What do you mean?"

"He have a temper?"

"People don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Fuss when I read 'em the law." He reached behind the bar, hefted a Louisville Slugger. Black worn to gray, same for the tape around the handle.

Milo said, "It came to that with Sal?"

"Nah, but he knows it's here. Everyone does. Got robbed twenty-eight years ago, coupla cholos pistol-whipped me, my skull was like eggshell. I got smart."

"A bat's enough?"

The old man winked. Watery eyes dropped to a spot behind the bar. "Gotta be seeing as how normal people can't get carry permits for firearms, only rich dumb-asses who know the mayor."

"You got that right," said Milo. "Sal ever hit you up with easy-money schemes?"

"People don't do that with me."

"He ever hit up your patrons?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"People drink, their lips flap. Sal flaps a lot even before the first beer. But he never impresses anyone. I ignore all that noise and think about my grandchildren."

"Hear no evil?"

"Crap floats by me, why would I touch it?"

"Still," said Milo, "you smell it. What kinds of things is Sal into?"

"Mostly he bitches about how he used to have money. Stocks, bonds, real estate. Back when kids played instruments. You believe that, I'll sell you GM. Want anything, a soft drink? On the house."

"No, thanks. Tell us about the blonde."

"Not much to tell," said the barkeep. "Quiet, but not friendly quiet, more like nose in the air, she was too good for the place. She'd drink her one Goose, get all fidgety, make Sal leave. He followed her like a puppy dog."

Lifting the towel with deft fingers, he snapped it midair. "You want Doris, she's on shift right around now. Don't tell her I sent you."

"Doris likes her privacy?"

The old man returned the bat to its hiding place. "I don't give a rat's ass what she or anyone else likes. My age, I keep things simple."

Fat Boy was a holdout against franchise fever, a glass-fronted fifties cube with an upwardly thrusting roof that evoked manned space travel. Breakfast special banner taped to the glass, breakfast smells late in the afternoon. Blue Naugahyde booths, counter stools, and aqua carpeting had long conceded the war against dirt and wear.

The place was empty but for two bearded truckers inhaling bacon and eggs at the counter and a young Hispanic woman tending to them with good cheer and banter. Same unflattering pink uniform as Doris but she made it work.

"You guys can sit up here."

No sign of Doris. Then she emerged through rear doors, carrying a two-foot stack of yellow paper napkins.

Milo waved.

She ignored him and began filling dispensers. Her name tag said
Dorrie.

"Afternoon, Dorrie."

"To you it's Doris," she said. "What now?"