by Chance(lit)
"Grand, just like everything else in the fucking case nowhere to look and nothing to do."
Romero got up and got some more coffee from the coffeemaker in the squad room. He looked at me. I shook my head. He came back in with the coffee and sat back down at his desk and put one foot up on his open bottom drawer and tilted his chair back a little.
"Talked to a homicide guy in L.A. named Samuelson." He blew on the black surface of the coffee for a moment and then took a sip.
"Says he knows you. Says hello."
"I screwed up a case with him once too," I said.
Romero shrugged and grinned at me.
"Shit happens," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
"Quite often."
CHAPTER 30
I was in my office with my feet up studying the way my name looked backwards through the frosted glass window of my office door. The office had been shut up since I left for Vegas, and I opened the Berkeley Street window to dilute the accumulated closeness. Then I started studying the door again. The mail had been routine and easily disposed of. There were no phone calls.
Maybe SPENSER ought to be in script. A nice flowing script might make me seem lovable, and could contrast nicely with INVESTIGATIONS, which would be in a bold, no-nonsense sans serif. Maybe some sort of motto would be good. WE DON'T SOLVE ANYTHING BUT WE
GIVE OUR FEE AWAY.
The door opened and Susan came in with a large canvas tote bag with the PBS logo on it.
"No patients?" I said.
"Teaching day," Susan said.
"But you sounded so down when you called last night that I canceled class and came over to welcome you home. What happened to your cheek?"
"Line of duty," I said.
"You think my name on the door would look good in script?"
"No."
"Nice bag," I said.
"Official Cambridge tote bag," she said.
She put the tote bag down on one of my empty client chairs and took a large thermos out of it. It was a tan and blue thing, the kind Dunkin' Donuts sells you with a starter fill of coffee. She put it on my desk.
"Decaf," she said.
"Thank God," I said.
A box of donuts came out next, and two plastic coffee cups and two pale pink linen napkins.
"You bought donuts?" I said.
"Yes."
"I wasn't aware you knew how."
"I don't. But I watched the other people in line."
I opened the box. Plain donuts. Perfect.
"Do you know how to eat a donut?" I said.
"I'll watch you on the first one," Susan said.
She opened the thermos and poured two cups of coffee into the plastic cups. I ate half a donut.
"Ugh," Susan said.
"Is that how it's done?"
"Girls sometimes take smaller bites," I said.
"I certainly hope so," Susan said.
She picked up one of the donuts between her thumb and forefinger and broke off a crumb and put the rest of the donut back. She took a bite of the crumb. I ate the other half of my first donut and drank some coffee, and looked at her. She had on some kind of expensive white tee-shirt, and jeans that fit her well, and some low black cowboy boots with silver trim. I always felt as if I breathed more deeply when I was looking at her, as if I were taking in more oxygen, and doing it more easily, as if the air were clearer.
"Welcome home," Susan said.
"Yes," I said.
"It went badly," Susan said.
"Mostly," I said, "it didn't go at all."
"You found Anthony Meeker," Susan said.
I shrugged.
"You couldn't prevent Shirley's death," Susan said.
"No."
"You weren't able to find who killed her."
"No."
"But you accept that, don't you."
"You can't solve every case," I said.
"You still don't know what was going on between Anthony and Marty Anaheim."
"No."
"But you accept that too, don't you."
"Lot of stuff I don't know," I said.
"And Anthony?"
"No one hired me to protect him," I said.
"No one hired me to keep him in Vegas."
"And Bibi?"
"Bibi never showed up in L.A."
"You think anything happened to her?"
"I don't know. Chollo didn't know what she looked like. She could have walked right on past him."
"Which she probably did," Susan said.
"From what you've told me, she had very little reason to trust men."
I shrugged again and had some donut. Susan smiled.
"Not even you, Sweet Potato," she said.
"I know."
"It's what's bothering you though, isn't it."
"It's all bothering me," I said.
"Hawk and I spent the last week or so wandering around Vegas without a clue."
"You found Anthony Meeker," Susan said.
"That is what you were hired to do."
"And I don't know where he is now, and I don't know who killed Shirley, and I don't know what was going on between Anthony and Marty, and I don't know why Gino Fish was so interested, and I don't know whether Julius was involved, and I don't know where Bibi is, or what's going to happen to her. She showed no signs of being able to fend for herself."
"You can't help people that don't want you to help them," Susan said.
"Thanks, Doc."
"You are a grown-up," Susan said.
"You know that as well as I do. We both do work that teaches us that lesson daily."
"True," I said.
We were quiet. I started on my third donut. Susan broke another microscopic fragment off her first one and ate some of it. The sound of the traffic floated up from Berkeley Street. Somewhere someone was making a hole in something hard. I could hear the faint sound of a jackhammer.
"What are you going to do now?" Susan said.
"There were a couple of things I back-burnered," I said, "while I went to Vegas. I'll see if I can resurrect one."
"Good to work," Susan said.
"Good to eat," I said.
"I'll always feed you," Susan said.
"Didn't you get a large sum of money recently? From some insurance company?"
"Yeah. A percentage of what I saved them. More money than I deserve. Actually, more money than anyone deserves, except Michael Jordan."
"So I don't have to feed you. You can take a little time off and pursue your hobbies if you wish to."
"You mean the Vegas thing?"
"Money is freedom," Susan said.
"I could go talk with Gino Fish again, see if he can tell me anything he didn't tell me before."
"No harm in that."
"No. Unless Gino finds it annoying and tells Vinnie Morris to shoot me."
"Would he shoot you?" Susan said.
"Depends."
"Would you shoot him?"
"Depends."
"Everything does, I guess."
"Everything but you and me, donut girl."
"Present company, always excluded," she said.
"This is going to bother you until you get some kind of closure on it."
"I suppose it might," I said.
"It will," Susan said.
"I have a Ph.D. from Harvard."
"This is going to bother me," I said, "until I get some kind of closure on it."
Susan smiled.
"It's good to face the truth," she said.
"Would it help if I sat on your lap?"
"It might," I said.
CHAPTER 31
Hawk and I went to see Gino Fish on a raw day with no sun and the wind coming hard off the Atlantic. Gino lived in a big colonial house on the ocean side of Jerusalem Road in Cohasset. There was a circular drive in front and a lawn that sloped to the seawall behind. The house was done in white cedar shingles which had silvered in the salt air, the way they're supposed to. A very handsome young ma
n answered the door.
"Gino home?" I said.
"Who should I say is calling?"
"Spenser," I said.
"He knows me."
"Certainly, sir, and the other gentleman?"
"Hawk."
"I'm Mr. Fish's personal assistant," the handsome young man said.
"Is there something I could help you with?"
He was wearing what appeared to be a pale blue sweat suit, with a stand-up collar. The sweat suit looked like it was made of silk. It also looked like it had never known sweat.
"Just tell Gino we're here, and we want to tell him something about Marty."
"Mr. Anaheim?"
Neither Hawk nor I answered. The personal assistant still hesitated. Hawk and I still stood.
Finally the personal assistant said, "If you'll excuse me for a moment."
He closed the door.
Hawk looked at me.
"Personal assistant?"
I shrugged.
"That's what he said."
Hawk nodded. The front door opened again and the personal assistant was there.
"Mr. Fish is busy at the moment, but if you wish to wait, he'll see you as soon as he's through."
"We'll wait," I said.
"Please come this way then," the personal assistant said.
He led us to the right off the central entry hall into a room with a huge picture window that looked out at the ocean. He gestured gracefully at the rock maple chairs with red plaid cushions that stood on either side of a brick fireplace. Neither Hawk nor I sat.
"Mr. Fish will be with you as soon as he's free," the personal assistant said.
"Yes he will," I said.
The personal assistant frowned as if he were puzzled. Then he nodded politely and left the room. Hawk went and looked out the picture window at the harsh gray ocean ruffled white here and there at the tips of its waves by the onshore wind.
"Thing about getting a place with a great view," Hawk said, "is, after you moved in and looked at the great view for a few days, you get used to it and it ain't a great view anymore. It just what you look at out your window."
"You're a deep guy," I said.
"And sensitive," Hawk said.
"Maybe I should host a talk show."
"Will you have me as a guest?" I said.
"
"Course not."
Hawk continued to look at the ocean. The room where we waited was completely furnished in rock maple furniture with red plaid upholstery. Couch, four armchairs, two slipper rockers.
There were a couple of Hingham buckets around to serve as ashtray stands, and there was a big red-toned braided rug on the floor. The fireplace had a large round eagle mirror over the mantel.
"I wonder who's Gino's decorator," I said.
"Molly Pitcher," Hawk said.
"What was it we doing here?"
"Looking for Bibi."
"And why we think she be here?"
"We don't," I said.
"But we don't know where else to start. So if we find out what was going on between Gino and Marty and Anthony and Julius, maybe we'll get an idea of where to look for Bibi."
"Or maybe we won't."
"Welcome to the world of detection," I said.
"And why we looking for Bibi?"
"Because we're worried about her."
"Of course we are," Hawk said.
The door opened and Gino came in with Vinnie Morris. He saw Hawk and nodded to him. Hawk made no response.
"I came to see you," Gino said.
"Now you come to see me."
"Equipoise," I said.
Gino smiled with neither warmth nor humor, on and off.
"Geoffrey spoke of Marty Anaheim," he said.
"Geoffrey?"
"My assistant. He said you wanted to tell me something about Marty."
"I just told him that to get in," I said.
"I don't know anything about Marty. Is he back from Las Vegas?"
"I didn't know he was in Las Vegas," Gino said.
"I don't know if he's back. Marty worked for me for fifteen years. He does so no longer."
"Can you tell me why?"
"No."
"Do you know his wife? Bibi?"
"I'm afraid not," Gino said.
"I require that my private life be my own. I treat others on the same basis."
"He used to beat her up."
"Beating people up is what Marty does," Gino said.
"It is why I employed him so long."
"You implied last time I saw you that Marty might be stealing from you."
"Did I."
"Yeah. You know Anthony Meeker?"
"Who?"
"That's a mistake, Mr. Fish. Last time we talked you knew his name."
"It's a mistake of my age," Gino said.
"I still think well, but I no longer remember well. Is Anthony Meeker Julius Ventura's son-inlaw?"
"Yes, you implied last time that he might be stealing too."
Gino was sitting in one corner of the big rock maple couch. He had his legs crossed and his thin hands resting in his lap. I could see the dappling of age spots on the backs of them. He pursed his lips a little and stared for a moment out his big picture window at what probably seemed to him, his ocean. He raised his hands from his lap and put his fingertips together and tapped his lips for a moment. Then he pointed his fingertips at me.
"You think, Mr. Spenser, that I am being cute," Gino said.
"It is not an unreasonable thought. I am capable of cuteness. Indeed there is very little that I am not capable of. But in this instance I know very little more than you do. There have been some financial irregularities in my business. It was Marty's responsibility to oversee all the financial transactions and to ensure that they were as alleged. These irregularities came inopportunely at a time when we were beginning to organize in contemplation of a merger. I came to you to see if you could shed any light on whether Marty was culpable. You didn't shed much, being primarily interested in getting me to shed some light on your interest. It was largely a waste of our time."
"But you fired Marty."
"No. Marty left."
"Did he give a reason?"
"None. He simply failed to show up for work one day, and I have not seen him since. You tell me he was in Las Vegas. He may still be there. Or he may be next door, I simply don't know."
"When did he take off?"
"Three, no, four days after I came to see you."
I did some quick calendering in my head. That made it the same day we found Anthony. When I got more time I'd think about that.
"As far as I know, Mr. Fish, he came to Vegas and checked into the MGM Grand either under another name, or in a room rented for him by another guy. Tough little guy, big nose, wore a Panama hat all the time. Very quick with a gun."
"You saw him there?"
"Yes."
"And you were in Las Vegas... ?"
"Looking for Anthony Meeker."
"On behalf of his wife?"
"His wife and his father-in-law."
"Do you know why Marty was in Las Vegas?" Gino said.
"Anthony Meeker was there with Marty's wife."
Gino was very still. I waited. Gino looked at his ocean again.
"And Shirley Ventura was in Vegas as well," he said.
"You know about her."
"Yes. Do you have any knowledge of who killed her?"
"No. Cops are trying to act like it was a random act, but I don't think they believe it."
"Do you?"
