W Is for Wasted (25 page)

He wasn’t a big man, maybe five foot ten. He was light-framed, narrow through the shoulders, with a wiry strength as opposed to brawn. In the past, he’d worked out with weights and he’d run six miles a day, except for the stretch when his bad knee proved too painful. He’d apparently recovered from the knee surgery with no lingering effects. At least he had no limp that I could see. He looked tired, but then maybe we all look tired as the years mount up. He wore the same boots, faded blue jeans, and the same tweed jacket I’d first seen him in, complete with a black turtleneck. I put a self-conscious hand to my own black turtleneck, wondering if anyone would notice the match.

He’d taken me in with a glance. I was the same as I’d always been, but I wondered if he saw a difference. I caught Henry’s gaze flicking from me to Dietz and back. He seemed to hold himself in suspension, removing his personhood while Dietz and I sorted ourselves out.

I said, “How was the trip?”

“Good. Fast. Can’t believe I didn’t get a ticket.” His tone was pleasant, but he didn’t meet my eyes. What was that about?

“You still have the Porsche? I expected to hear your car rumbling from half a block away.”

“Still here. I thought about a new one, but mine’s only ten years old.”

Henry said, “How about a drink? Black Jack on the rocks?”

Dietz smiled. “Good memory.”

“Have a seat,” Henry said.

“Just let me freshen up.”

“Sure thing. Bathroom’s that way.”

Dietz left. Henry and I exchanged a look, wondering what had prompted the nine-hour drive. There wasn’t time to discuss the matter, so we went about our business, leaving it up to Dietz to explain himself. His usual style was to jump right in.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, a scant four minutes had passed. Henry had dropped ice cubes into a highball glass and poured whiskey neat. “Water?”

“Perfect as is. Thanks.”

Dietz sat down. As though coaxed, Ed jumped down from the rocker and jumped up into Dietz’s lap. He did this without appearing to crouch and spring. He seemed to levitate. Four paws on the floor . . . airborne, straight up . . . four paws in Dietz’s lap, as neat as you please. Ed studied Dietz at close range, the two eye to eye. Dietz ran an idle hand along the cat’s head and the cat arched against his palm. Dietz scratched behind one ear. Daintily, Ed curled up in his lap, prepared to nap with his head on his paws. Henry took note of Ed’s vote of approval. I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. A conspiracy of men and Ed was leading the charge. What had I ever done to him?

We chatted while we ate, skipping from topic to topic, avoiding anything significant. The longer this went on, the more tense I felt. I didn’t know if Dietz was delaying so he could talk to me alone or if he was setting the stage for a showdown. I thought it was better to have Henry on hand while I heard him out. I felt guilty, but I didn’t know what I’d done. Dessert out of the way, Henry inquired whether either of us wanted coffee. I declined and Dietz shook his head in the negative as well.

I looked at Dietz. “So what’s up?”

The smile he turned on me was set and I could see now how angry he was. Not a hot anger, but the cold flat kind that’s all the more dangerous because it’s been driven underground.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” he said. “You recommended me to a guy who turned out to be a deadbeat. I did the work and submitted a report. That was June 15. No response. I billed again July and he called, which was nice of him. He claimed the client was a slow pay and if he didn’t get the money that week, he’d pay me himself and collect from the client after the fact. Sounded good to me, so I waited. Still nothing. I bill again in August and the mail bounces back. Big block letters: ‘Return to Sender.’ I try calling and the number’s a disconnect. I can’t get through to you, so here I am.”

He stared at me and I stared back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Wolinsky. Pete. The PI.”

“Well, it’s no wonder you never heard from him. He’s dead.”

“Since when?”

“August 25. He was shot during a robbery attempt and died at the scene.”

“Would’ve been nice if you’d let me know.”

I squinted. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you gave him my name and he subbed out a job to me.”

“I didn’t give Pete your name.”

“Yes, you did. That was the first thing he said.”

“He said
I
sent you? When was this?”

“May. A week before Memorial Day. He said he ran into you downtown and asked if you knew a Nevada PI. You suggested me.”

“I haven’t talked to Pete in years. I’d never give him your name or number for any reason at all. The man’s a scumbag.”

“He said he worked with you at Byrd-Shine.”

“He did not! He
never
worked at Byrd-Shine. I had nothing to do with giving him your number.”

“Well, if you didn’t send him, who did?”

“How would I know?”

“I only agreed because of you. I wouldn’t have taken the job otherwise.”

“Have you been listening to anything I said? He might have
claimed
I referred him, but that doesn’t make it true.”

“How’d he hear about me, then?”

“Maybe another PI in town.”

“You’re the only one I know.”

I lowered my voice, feigning calm. “I have not talked to Pete since Morley Shine died and that was five years ago. I ran into him at the funeral, where he was trolling for business.” In the midst of my protest, I felt a spark of recall and held up a hand. “Uh-oh. Wait.”

Dietz said, “What.”

“I just remembered. I got a call from Con Dolan, who said someone needed a Nevada PI. He asked for your phone number and I gave it to him. This was months ago. I told him I had no idea if you were still in business, but he was free to try. It didn’t occur to me to ask what it was about. I knew you liked Con and he liked you, so it all seemed okay.”

“That’s probably it, then. My dumb luck.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly, if I’d known it was Pete, I wouldn’t have said a word.”

Henry got up and poured me another glass of wine. Dietz had already reached for the bottle of Black Jack that was sitting in the middle of the table. He topped off his glass and when Henry held out his tumbler, Dietz filled that as well. The silence was dense.

I couldn’t quite meet his eye. “How much does he owe you?”

“Three thousand dollars and change.”

Another silence accumulated while I pondered the sum. Three thousand dollars would have seemed like a lot prior to my windfall of five hundred grand. All a matter of perspective, isn’t it? “For doing what?”

“Surveillance.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Some young fellow here in town suspected his wife was having an affair with an old flame. This guy’s wife and her old boyfriend both now work at the same research firm. The two were flying to Reno for a conference and I guess hubby wanted to know if they were up to no good.”

“Were they?”

“Not that I saw. The two didn’t interact at all. She met with an old high school buddy and they put their heads together on two occasions, but there was nothing romantic going on. I sent Pete my report and an itemized expense account with all of the receipts attached. This was four full days’ work and I invoiced him accordingly.”

“You want his office address?”

“I have it already. That’s where I sent my bill. I’ll take a run over there on Monday and see what’s what. Maybe his partner can fill me in.”

“I don’t think Pete had a partner.”

“Of course he did. Able, as in Able and Wolinsky.”

“That’s probably a ruse on his part to net a favorable position in the phone book.”

“Shit,” Dietz said.

“I still have his unlisted home phone in an old address book. I don’t remember the number offhand, but I know where he lives.”

“Never mind. Not your problem,” he said.

“Of course it is. I should have asked Con what was going on and then cleared it with you before I passed your number along.”

Dietz said, “Wouldn’t have made any difference. If I’d known the request came from Con, I’d have agreed. Besides which, Pete sounded legit when I talked to him.”

“‘Legit’ is a relative term,” I said.

Henry slapped his knees and stood up. “Well, now that you’ve settled the matter, I’m off to bed. You kids can thumb-lock the door and pull it shut behind you when you leave. Take all the time you want.”

Dietz set the cat on the floor and got to his feet. Across the front of his jeans there was a ghostly cat outlined in newly shed white hair. “I better be on my way. I’m at the Edgewater, scheduled for late arrival, but why risk them giving my room away?”

He extended a hand to Henry and the two men shook hands. “Thanks for supper. I owe you one.”

Henry said, “Good seeing you again. As long as you’ve come all this way, I hope you’re staying a while.”

Dietz made no response.

•   •   •

Our good-nights were superficial, not even accompanied by a perfunctory handshake or a neutral buss on the cheek. I was sorry he’d driven nine hours to chew me out when I could have set him straight on the phone. I was about to suggest that he submit his bill to the probate court, assuming Pete Wolinsky’d died with a will, but I was certain the idea would occur to him without my piping up. At this point, it seemed best to leave well enough alone. I’d already done him a disservice without even meaning to.

He waited until I’d unlocked my door and I was safely inside before he returned to the street. I heard him pass through the squeaky gate and moments later, I heard his Porsche grumble to life. The sound faded as he drove off. I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even 9:00. Despite the long, hard day I’d endured, one more question remained. I picked up my jacket, my shoulder bag, and my car keys, locked the door behind me, and headed out again. I had Felix on my mind.

When I reached the Santa Teresa Hospital, visiting hours had wound to a close, but there was still foot traffic in and out. The Intensive Care Unit was quiet. I passed the empty waiting room. Even with the corridor lights dimmed, the business of life and death went on behind the scenes. This was the time for clerical work; charts to be caught up, supplies ordered, reports prepared for the shift change. There was no one in the hall. At the nurses’ station, I inquired about Felix. A young Hispanic woman in blue scrubs got up from a rolling office chair and indicated that I was to follow. “Where’d Pearl disappear to?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Don’t know. I’ll have to look into it,” I said.

She had me wait in the hall while she slipped into Felix’s room and pushed the curtain aside, sliding it along the track above his bed. She stood on the far side and watched him as I did. Felix lay in a pool of light, attached to machinery that monitored and recorded his progress for good or for ill. Blood pressure, respiration, pulse. His head was heavily swaddled in white, both legs in casts. There was none of the usual in-patient detritus in range. No bed table. No flowers, no get-well cards propped up, no bucket of ice, and no oversize plastic cup with a flexible drinking straw. Life-sustaining fluids dripped into him from the clear bag that hung from the IV pole beside him and waste fluids trickled into a container out of sight under his bed. His sheets were snowy; the light in the rest of the room was subdued.

Poor Felix. The big Boggart, who’d stumbled into the camp while Pearl and Felix were trashing it, must have known she was the instigator. Felix responded to life in the moment, ill equipped to form a long-range plan and act on it. I could picture their desire to retaliate against Pearl, but why him? And why so savagely? Surely not for sport. Maybe this was better revenge from their perspective than attacking her directly.

Where I stood, no sound reached me. Felix didn’t move. Even the rise and fall of his breathing was difficult to discern. He was alive. He was safe. He was warm. He didn’t seem to be in pain. Sleep was all that remained to him. So much of the “stuff” of life was already gone, leaving him undisturbed. Maybe he would swim into consciousness again or maybe the gods would set him adrift. I kissed the tip of my index finger and pressed it to the glass. I’d come back the next day. Maybe by then, he’d be surfacing from his long sleep.

•   •   •

Sunday morning, by all rights, I should have slept in. Instead, I woke at 6:00 and while I didn’t stir from my bed, I lay under the weight of my quilt and savored the warmth. The Plexiglas skylight above my bed showed a half dome of blue. I’d slept with my windows open to the full, and the morning air wafting in was scented with seaweed and burning leaves. Dietz was less than a mile away. He was one of those people who needs very little sleep. In the time we’d spent together, he was typically up until two, down for four hours, and up again at six. Sundays in particular, he took a long time over coffee, reading the paper section by section, even the parts I skipped.

I pushed the covers back, got up, and then turned and made the bed like a good girl. Live alone and you have two choices—be a tidy bun or a slob. I brushed my teeth, showered, and threw on the clothes I’d worn the night before. I drove to the Edgewater Hotel and left my Mustang in the hands of a parking valet. I went through the entrance to the hotel, crossed the lobby, and moved along the wide corridor with its stretches of Oriental carpets over high-gloss Saltillo tiles. To my left, windows looked out onto an enclosed patio. Ficus trees, potted palms, and birds of paradise, like stiffly crested orange cranes, were arranged throughout, separating seating areas and providing the illusion of privacy. I spotted Dietz at a table against the stretch of windows that looked out toward the ocean. He was in jeans and a gray fleece shirt with a zippered placket and long sleeves that he’d pushed up. The paper was spread across the tabletop, one edge anchored by a coffee carafe. He wore round wire-rim glasses.

The hostess moved as though to greet me. I pointed at Dietz, indicating that I’d be sitting with him. She held up a menu that I waved off. Dietz looked up as I approached. He moved a hefty section of the
Los Angeles Times
from the nearest chair and I sat down. I could see now that my initial take had been correct. He looked tired and the gray in his hair had given way to white. He put his hand on the table, palm up, and gave me that crooked smile of his.

I placed my hand in his. “What happened to you?”

“Naomi died.”

“Of what?”

“Cancer. It wasn’t easy, but it was mercifully brief. Six weeks from diagnosis to the end. The boys were there and so was I.”

“When was this?”

“May 10. I got back to Carson City on the fifteenth and four days later, the call from Pete Wolinsky came in. If you’ll pardon the hocus-pocus sentiment, it felt like a sign. There’s no question I’d have done the work . . . anything to distract myself . . . but there was something in the idea it was coming from you. Naomi always said I used work to avoid being close, a claim I hotly denied until the truth of it came home.”

“Where are the boys at this point?”

“Nick’s in San Francisco, working for a brokerage firm. He graduated from Santa Cruz with a degree in accounting. Naomi steered him toward finance and it seems to agree with him. Graham got his degree this past December. He hung around with Nick for a while and then took off. He’s footloose and fancy-free, for the time being at any rate.”

“Sounds like you.”

“He is like me. Nick was always more like Naomi. Her coloring, her temperament.”

“She got married, didn’t she?”

“Two years ago. He’s the one I feel for. Poor bastard. Marriage was a good one from everything I heard. He’d lost his first wife to cancer and he thought he’d survived the worst of it. Then Naomi got sick and now he’s right back where he was.”

“What about you?”

“She was my touchstone—another revelation in the wake of her death. Whatever happened, I knew she’d be there. I couldn’t live with the woman, but we had those two boys and she was part of my life. I probably only saw her every three or four years. I’m off balance. They say it’s like that when you lose a toe. You take for granted you can walk just fine. You’ve been doing it all your life without giving it a second thought. Suddenly your gait goes wobbly.”

He signaled the waitress and I saw her moving toward the table with a fresh carafe of coffee. Dietz got up and retrieved a coffee cup and silverware setup from the table next to us. It was a nice way of creating emotional space so I could absorb what he’d said. I’d never met Naomi. I’d seen photographs of her and I’d been startled by how beautiful she was. She and Dietz had been apart longer than they’d been a couple. They’d lived together for a time, but she’d refused to marry him. Or maybe he’d never asked.

He returned to the table and sat down.

I said, “The minute you walked into Henry’s kitchen, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in your face.”

“Surprised the hell out of me. This is what’s so weird. We were never in love. There was some kind of chemistry I wouldn’t even classify as sexual. It was more fundamental than that. Ours was a bad mix of personalities. We drove each other nuts. Happiest day of my life was when I left her the last time. Then she died and the bottom dropped out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Being angry with you was a relief.”

“Easier than grief.”

“Right,” he said. “Look, I know you were mad that I left.”

“Don’t project. I wasn’t
that
mad,” I said.

“Could have fooled me. Times I thought about you, I didn’t have the nerve to call. I figured you’d cut me down and rightly so. After a while, the absence just seemed to compound itself. When Pete didn’t pay me I figured it was your revenge.”

“Too subtle. If I take revenge, it’ll have my name written all over it.”

“So now what?”

“I could use some breakfast. I’m starving,” I said.

Dietz joined me in an orgy of bacon and eggs and all the accompaniments. It was a meal that never ceased to satisfy. I was still munching on a piece of buttered rye toast when he returned to the subject that had brought him to town.

“So here’s what bothers me,” he said. “Pete hires me to do a job and next thing you know he’s dead. What’s that about?”

“Well, it wasn’t
quite
like that,” I said. “You did the work when, the last weekend in May? The robbery went down in August.”

“I know, but I keep thinking the two might be linked. This isn’t a gig you see much these days. One spouse spying on the other? We live in the land of no-fault divorce, so it struck me as odd.”

“Why’d you take the job?”

“It sounded like fun. I can’t remember the last time I was asked to skulk around a hotel taking pictures with a telephoto lens. I did a damn fine job of it even if I say so myself. Then the guy who hired me gets shot to death and I don’t like it so much.”

“Just because one event follows another doesn’t mean the first
caused
the second,” I said.

“I get that and I hope you’re right, but as long as I’m here I’d like to satisfy myself.”

“Tell me about the surveillance again. When you talked about it last night I was feeling so defensive I didn’t hear a word you said.”

“I was tailing a woman named Mary Lee Bryce and her boss, a doctor named Dr. Linton Reed. Both work at a local research institute. Apparently, they knew each other years ago and were involved in a romance of some kind. I have no idea if it was serious or not. The point is, her current husband was worried about the two of them in Reno staying in the same hotel.”

“Why’d they go to Reno?”

“They attended a conference over the long holiday weekend.”

“And was she having an affair with him?”

“Not that I picked up on. The two barely spoke.”

“Might be camouflage.”

“I considered that. They ignore one another in public and bang away in private. Problem is they had no personal contact at all. I’d be willing to swear to it.”

“Didn’t you say she met with an old high school friend?”

“Now, see, you were listening,” he said with a smile. “You’re right. A fellow named Owen Pensky, an investigative journalist. I ran a background check on him. Big scandal in his past.”

“What kind?”

“He was fired from the
New York Times
for plagiarizing someone else’s work.”

“What was he doing in Reno?”

“He lives there. He picked up a job at one of the Reno papers.”

“You think her relationship with him was business or personal?”

“I have no idea. She and Pensky met twice, but I couldn’t get audio. Place was too heavily populated. If I’d known in advance where they were meeting, I’d have planted a bug. I guarantee they didn’t go to his room or hers.”

“But she
could
have been having an affair with him.”

“If so, the two of them did a flawless job of keeping it under wraps.”

“How did you frame it in your report?”

“I was careful. I drew no inferences and I didn’t offer my unsolicited opinion. Nice neutral language not meant to inflame.”

“What are the ethics in a situation like this? With Pete dead, can you talk to her husband about whether the bill was paid?”

“I’ll have to. I doubt the wife has any idea Pete hired me to keep an eye on her. I tip her off and the situation could turn ugly.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with Pete’s death. Feels like a fishing expedition.”

“Sure it is, but why not? Somebody owes me.”

“Pete could have collected and just not paid you.”

“In which case, I’m probably out of luck. Meanwhile, I don’t like thinking the guy got killed because of me. If there’s no link, then fine. If I manage to collect my money, it’s better yet.”

“You have a plan?”

“I’m hoping I can talk Pete’s wife into letting us have a look at his accounts. Meanwhile, what’s on your plate?”

“I have to get the Mustang over to the service station. Some asshole drove a roofing nail into my sidewall tire,” I said. “What about you?”

“I thought I’d pay Con Dolan a visit and see what he knows. Maybe the cops have a suspect in sight, or one already in jail. If so, I’ll quit worrying the job was in any way linked to his departure from the planet Earth.”

“You know where Con lives?”

“I do and it shouldn’t take me long. After that, if you’re free, I’ll treat you to dinner at Emile’s.”

“Sounds good. You want me to check with Henry?”

“We’ll save that for another occasion.”

“How long will you be here?”

“Don’t know yet,” he said.

After breakfast, we reclaimed our respective vehicles from the parking valet and then he set off for Con Dolan’s house while I continued on to the nearest gas station, where I dropped off my tire. The service bays were closed, but the two mechanics would be in Monday morning, and the fellow manning the pumps said he’d have one of them get on it first thing. He’d call when the tire had been fixed and was ready to be picked up. In the interim, the spare tire, while not optimal, was sufficient to get me around.

That issue out of the way, the job I assigned myself was to round up Dandy and Pearl, who by all accounts were using Felix’s precarious medical state as one more excuse to misbehave. I was reasonably certain the sports bar where they played darts on weekends was one called the Dugout I’d seen on Milagro, a block and a half past the minimart where I’d bought the three packs of cigarettes a lifetime ago.

I found street parking around the corner from the Dugout and hoofed my way back. A judiciously placed waste container had done double duty as a trash can and as a barf receptacle for a patron who’d almost managed to reach it.

The place was open, of course. Ten in the morning on a Sunday was the same as church to some folks. As this was the Pacific time zone, football games being broadcast from the Midwest and the East Coast would soon be underway. The bar itself looked like every other sports bar you’ve ever seen. Booths, free-standing tables and chairs, six big-screen television sets mounted at intervals, each tuned to a different sporting event. The bar itself extended the length of the room on the left-hand side, with stools lined up smartly, most of them occupied. A second room was furnished with foosball tables and pool tables. I caught a glimpse at the rear of a series of dartboards, but no one was throwing at that hour. Twelve men at the bar turned to look at me as I walked in and then went back to their drinks.