Gunther sat in the anteroom outside of Oscar Stein’s office. He didn’t have an appointment, but the attorney had agreed to fit him in over lunch. It galled him that he’d been required to sign over the deed to his clinic to the money-grubbing shyster before the man would agree to represent him, but Hogg took some small consolation in the fact that Stein was reputed to be one of the top attorneys in the field of criminal law. If anyone could get things straightened out and back on track it would be Oscar Stein.
OSCAR STEIN LOVED LUNCHEON appointments. Not only did he always stick his clients for the lunch tab, he charged his full rate of three hundred an hour, starting with the moment they shook hands in the office, continuing while they walked to his car, drove to the restaurant (mileage would be hidden under “miscellaneous expenses”), perused the menu, dined leisurely, and returned to his office.
It was almost (but not quite) as advantageous, for billing purposes, as the times when he flew to another city on behalf of one client—first class, of course—and thus charged the client for portal-to-portal travel time, while, concurrently, he billed a second client full pop for the research and writing he did while aloft.
Similarly, whenever Stein was in conference with one client and interrupted by a telephone call from another, both meters kept running, even if the conversation turned to matters of a strictly personal nature, such as his daughters’ tryouts for the Olympics swimming team.
THE DAY WAS HOT and the sky was clear. Afternoon thunderclouds had not yet started to form over the mountains to the west and southeast. While Stein drove his month-old Mercedes sedan to a tony San Francisco-style restaurant at Paradise and Harmon, a good six miles from his office, Hogg regaled the attorney with the tale of his early-morning visit from Metro Homicide Detective Mark Caruso. By the end of the ride, the client was sputtering furiously, and occasional drops of spittle propelled from his mouth onto the dashboard and windshield, much to the lawyer’s disgust. He would have the car washed and detailed and sanitized immediately after lunch, Stein decided, and add the expense to Hogg’s already mounting bill.
Stein presumptuously ordered for both of them. A Cobb salad, and a rack of lamb, to be shared. The delicious irony of the entrée selection was completely lost on Hogg, Stein noted with disdain. Perhaps he should have ordered the smoked pork butt instead.
“Things are not looking too good for you right now, Gunther,” Stein commented, between mouthfuls of the salad. “First, there’s the statutory sexual seduction matter. Then, the license revocation hearing. Now, you may be facing a possible charge for attempted murder, which will escalate to first degree murder if Lamb dies. How did you manage to get yourself in such a pickle?”
Hogg shook his head disbelievingly. “I really don’t know.”
“Well, shit happens. That’s what we lawyers are for. To wipe the asses of our clients. I’m willing to represent you, of course, but, as you know, my talents must be fully compensated. How do you propose to pay me for your latest predicament?”
Gunther was in shock. Stein already had the deed to his clinic property, and the equity in that was at least three hundred thousand. “Uh, do you think your fee will be more than what my clinic is worth?”
Stein tugged at his stubble of beard. “Let’s think about that for a moment. If Lamb dies or otherwise can’t testify against you before the Board, you’ll save some money there. If he recovers, the hearing expense will be just about what I originally estimated. Since he’s still alive—for now, anyway—we’ll have to assume the cost of the hearing will be about a hundred thou. Bear in mind—if you’re charged with the attack on Lamb, retaining your veterinary license will be the least of your worries, regardless of whether he lives or dies.
“A murder defense—or even an attempted murder defense—will cost you at least half a million, if you want me to represent you. That leaves you about two hundred grand short, assuming your clinic is worth as much as you say it is.
“Other attorneys may charge less than I do, but, let’s face it—you get what you pay for. If you were indigent, your defense wouldn’t cost anything at all. You could get the public defender’s office to handle the case. But consider this. Would you really want to put your freedom—perhaps even your life—on the line by having a government employee, a mere civil servant fresh out of law school, defending you? I should think not.”
Stein had made his point, but Hogg didn’t know where he could raise additional money to cover the legal fees and told the attorney so.
Stein had a helpful suggestion. “You said you have some equity in your home. You’ll just have to mend fences with your wife and convince her to refinance the house. Since you’ve only been questioned and not arrested there’s still a little time left, but you should start sweet-talking her soon.”
Hogg took a sip of ice water. “I’ll … I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know, though. The last time we spoke she was still pretty steamed up.”
“Start with dinner,” Stein advised blithely. “Romance her. Maybe you should take her out of town for the weekend. Laughlin or Mesquite, perhaps. Even L.A.” He wiped the grease from his mouth with a pink cloth napkin.
Gunther nodded glumly. He might as well go back to his wife, if she would have him. He didn’t have anything better at the moment, and he was damned tired of spending his nights alone in a tacky motel.
WHEN MICHAEL RETURNED to the Times, a note from Kimberly was taped to his computer. She told him she’d gone to lunch and had a few errands to run afterwards, but promised to be back in the office by three at the latest. On Michael’s desk were copies of the Blue Goodness rewrite and the story about the animals in the mine shaft. He checked them perfunctorily—as usual, Kimberly’s work was flawless—and turned the articles over to Geller in time for them to be printed in the late edition.
Michael was glad Kimberly was out of the office. He wanted to call Soozie and speak to her privately. He didn’t quite know why, but he felt an obligation to let her know he’d told Mark Caruso the truth about his whereabouts the previous afternoon. Soozie wasn’t in her office, but he caught her on her cell phone. She seemed genuinely surprised and pleased to hear his voice.
“Sweetheart, I’m so glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she gushed.
“You might not be so glad when you hear what I have to say,” Michael informed her. “I saw Mark Caruso a little while ago and confessed that you and I were not together yesterday afternoon.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” she gasped. “Sweetheart, I gave you an airtight alibi. No harm was done. If you’d just gone along with the little white lie, it would have saved you a whole lot of trouble.”
“That’s not true, Soozie. Mark already knew we weren’t together. Not at the house on Habanero Street, anyway. The listing agent held a walk-through there yesterday, and the place had been swarming with real estate people all afternoon.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I suppose you did the right thing after all,” she responded thoughtfully. “How are you coming with the story about the animals?”
“It’ll be printed in the late edition today. I just wish I’d had a chance to talk to Dr. Lamb. He might have been able to help me prove Gunther Hogg was responsible. Incidentally, Hogg is definitely Mark Caruso’s primary suspect in the assault on Lamb. Not me, as you’d imagined.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But sweetheart, don’t forget, I promised that if Lamb couldn’t help you get the goods on Hogg, I can.”
“Oh? How’s that?” queried Michael.
“Meet me tonight and I’ll give you all the answers. I can prove conclusively that Hogg threatened to kill Lamb.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Soozie?” Michael asked. He wasn’t sure whether he believed her or not, but so far her news tips had been reliable.
“More than you’ll ever know, sweetheart. Let’s do dinner tonight and I’ll explain everything then.”
Michael was apprehensive. He didn’t
want to put himself in a vulnerable position with Soozie, and he didn’t want to make Kimberly upset, either. Still, he had a job to do and his curiosity was piqued. One more evening spent with Soozie couldn’t do any harm, he hoped. “Fine. Where would you like me to meet you?”
“How about coming to my apartment. I’ll cook for you, sweetheart. Just another one of my many attributes.”
“Uh … um,” he hesitated. He still didn’t know for certain if Soozie had slipped him a Mickey Finn or not, and he wasn’t about to take any chances on what she might put in his food. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble. Besides, I need to review a restaurant for the newspaper, and you can help me. I’ll pick you up about eight. Is that okay?”
“Eight’s perfect,” she agreed, and gave Michael her home address.
KIMBERLY BOUNCED INTO THE OFFICE a short time later, her arms loaded down with bags from the Fashion Show Mall.
“It looks like you’ve bought out the mall,” Michael chided. “What’s the occasion?”
“All the stores are having a big sale. I bought an outfit I think you’ll like. I’ll model it for you tonight, if you’ll take me out to dinner,” she hinted broadly.
Michael’s face clouded over. “Uh, um, let’s make it tomorrow instead. Something’s come up, and I won’t be able to have dinner with you tonight,” he said apologetically.
Now Kimberly’s face clouded over. “Not even a late dinner, Michael? One of the great things about living in Las Vegas is that we can have dinner—or anything else—any hour of the day or night. I’ll wait for you. If I get too hungry, I’ll make a snack to tide me over.”
“I don’t think I’ll be very late, but I will be having dinner.”
Kimberly’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Oh? With whom?” She could not conceal the jealousy in her voice. “Myra?”
Michael averted her stare. “No. With Soozie.”
Kimberly blanched. The packages fell from her arms to the floor. “Whaaat! Have you lost your mind?” She started crying.
Michael gave her a hug to calm her down. When he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle but firm. “Let me explain. I don’t want to have anything to do with Soozie. You know that. But she says she can provide proof that Gunther Hogg dumped the dead animals down the mine shaft. And she says she has proof he was planning to kill Stewart Lamb. As soon as I get the information from her I’ll be home. That’s a promise.” Michael did not realize he had referred to Kimberly’s house as home.
“I wish I could go with you, Michael. I realize I can’t. Soozie thinks I’m your wife. Be very careful. The woman’s a demon, and she’ll try to get you into bed again. I know it.”
“I thought so, too, at first. Especially after she offered to cook dinner for me at her apartment. But she readily agreed to go to a restaurant, so perhaps she has a different agenda. For tonight, anyway.”
“Make me a promise, Michael,” Kimberly said, her face somber.
“I will if I can, Kimberly. What is it?”
“Promise me—if or when you decide you want to have sex with anyone other than Myra, it will be with me.”
“That’s one promise I can definitely keep,” Michael laughed. “But don’t hold your breath.”
Twenty-Four
MICHAEL WAS STUNNED when Soozie opened the door. He almost didn’t recognize her. She had concealed her flaming orange hair with a glistening jet black, shoulder-length wig. Instead of her usual attire of a too-short mini-skirt and too-tight blouse, a conservative silk dress draped and flowed from her curvaceous, callipygian figure. High heels made her appear taller and more slender than she actually was. Her makeup was subtle, just enough to emphasize her large eyes, which sometimes appeared to be celadon and sometimes emerald, depending upon the light.
“Wow!” Michael exclaimed spontaneously. “Soozie, you’re absolutely beautiful.” The compliment burst from him with complete sincerity.
“Thank you, Michael,” she acknowledged demurely, with a lowering of her lashes. “I especially wanted to please you tonight.”
Without inviting Michael inside, Soozie closed and locked the door behind her, held his hand, and walked with him toward his car. Michael was wearing a charcoal camel blazer and light gray slacks, a white cotton shirt, and a paisley silk tie that closely approximated the pattern and color of Soozie’s silk dress, as if they had coordinated their outfits by design.
He immediately noticed Soozie wasn’t wearing the odoriferous frangipani perfume. Instead, she had a light, spicy, floral scent, perhaps of carnations. He was quick to note she used his name in their conversation, no longer peppering her sentences with “sweetheart” or “lover.”
Heads turned when they entered the restaurant, and they overheard snatches of conversation: “What a striking young couple.” “I wonder if they’re movie stars.” “He’s a real hunk and she’s drop-dead gorgeous.” Michael maintained an impassive facade, but at every comment Soozie beamed and squeezed his hand tightly.
The hostess seated them in a quiet booth near the rear of the restaurant. Soozie sat a discreet distance away. She lit a long thin cigarette, blew the smoke out pensively, and turned to Michael with an almost hopeful glint in her eyes.
“Michael, I have a favor to ask of you. Let’s not talk about the dead animals or Gunther Hogg or Stewart Lamb or the police investigation or your wife or anything else unpleasant until we’re through with dinner. This may be the last time we’ll ever meet like this, and I would like it to be a very special occasion.”
As was his usual practice, Michael suggested and then ordered the Caesar salad. The quality and presentation of Caesar salads was his initial impression of a restaurant’s fare, and it always reflected in his critiques. He used his own recipe as a benchmark. Independently, they each chose the dilled Caribbean shrimp for their entree. The dish was prepared tableside with large shelled shrimp, shallots, butter, béchamel sauce, crushed dill seeds, white wine, salt, pepper, and a touch of Worcestershire sauce. As a last step, tequila was added and ceremoniously flamed, making a big whoosh when it was ignited, the blue flame drawing oohs and aahs from the other diners.
Michael wanted to learn more about his strange dinner companion, the woman who seemed to metamorphose into a different persona each time he encountered her. Soozie was not entirely evasive, but kept redirecting the conversation to Michael. By the time they had coffee and dessert—they each had a cardamom crème brûlée topped with fresh blueberries—she had learned he was born and raised in Los Angeles, went to Fairfax High School, then on to a small but century-old liberal arts college in the town of La Verne, about a half-hour east of downtown Los Angeles, a city where distance is always measured in driving time, never in miles. He earned a bachelor’s degree in English Literature and then enrolled in law school. After graduation he took the California bar exam. Michael told Soozie about moving to Las Vegas and getting a job with the Las Vegas Times. But as Soozie had requested, he did not mention Myra.
Soozie was born in New York, but raised in the San Fernando Valley, California suburb of Encino—north of the freeway, she was quick to point out, which is equivalent to saying she was raised on the wrong side of the tracks. She’d started at Pierce College in Woodland Hills and transferred to UNLV when her family moved to Las Vegas. Her father had a gambling problem and died penniless a short time later; her mother followed him within the year. She had no other relatives.
Soozie was only nineteen when her father passed away. She had a hard time supporting herself and continuing with her studies, but by working two and three jobs she nonetheless managed to earn a degree in psychology. She went on to nursing school, became an RN, and worked in a hospital for two years. Then, on the advice of an acquaintance, Soozie took a course in real estate. After receiving her license she applied herself diligently and became more than just moderately successful. Neither Michael nor Soozie discussed romantic attachments, as if that subject was taboo.
When the busboy brought their second cup of co
ffee, Michael decided it was time to get to the purpose of their meeting. “Soozie, this afternoon you said you can prove Gunther Hogg dumped the animals down the mine shaft. How?”
“We’ll go out to his clinic and look at his records.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Hogg’s not going to let us do that.” He wondered if taking Soozie out to dinner had been a waste of time.
“No, Michael, of course not. We’ll have to do it when he isn’t there. This is as good a time as any. He never goes back to the clinic at night.”
“Are you suggesting we burglarize the clinic?”
“No, not exactly. I have a key to the place.”
An eyebrow arched skyward in surprise. “How did you get a key to Hogg’s clinic?” Michael asked.
Soozie avoided his penetrating stare. “It’s a long story. Gunther and I dated for a short time. I guess you could say we had an affair. We would meet at his clinic. If Gunther wasn’t there when I arrived—which usually meant he was having trouble getting away from his wife—I just let myself in and waited for him.”
Blue Goodness (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 20
