38

Friday, October 6, 1989

I ate a brown bag lunch at my desk. I’d packed it with care, the “entrée” being one of those peanut butter and pickle sandwiches I’m so fussy about. Whole grain bread, Jif Extra Crunchy, and Vlasic or Mrs. Fanning’s Bread’n Butter Pickles. In a pinch, dill will do, but never sweet. My practice is to cut the finished product on the diagonal and then wrap it in waxed paper that I still fold the way my Aunt Gin taught me. I’d added two Milano cookies and, being ever so dainty, I included two paper napkins, one to serve as a place mat and one for dabbing my lips.

I had just finished arranging the items on the desk in front of me when I heard a tap at the office door. I got up and crossed to the outer office, where I peered around the door frame. Troy waved at me through the glass. He wore his dark blue Better Brand coverall, so he’d apparently come from work. He waited patiently while I went through the disarming and unlocking process. Once I let him in, I didn’t bother to lock the door. If Ned burst in, Troy would make short work of him. He wasn’t tall but he had a brawny look about him, a redheaded fireplug of a guy. As a bonus, he was twenty-five years old, which gave him the advantage over Ned except in the matter of craziness.

He followed me into my office.

“Have a seat,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“This is my lunch hour. I ate in the truck driving over. Spilled crap all over myself.”

I sat down and indicated my spread. “Mind if I go ahead?”

“Have at it.”

“What’s up? I thought you were mad at me.”

He flashed his teeth, which were crooked but very white. “I got over it. ‘What’s up’ is I saw the article about Fritz in this morning’s paper. They found the Astra Constable at the scene.”

“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Not so. I called Stringer and had a long chat with him. He told me about Fritz stopping by to borrow camping gear and how goofy he acted. I think I know how the gun ended up at Yellowweed.”

I was surprised. “Well, that’s interesting. You should probably be talking to Detective Burgess at the county sheriff’s office.”

“No way. I know Burgess and he’s a shit. He hassles me every chance he gets,” he said. “And don’t start naming five other cops I should be talking to. I want to talk to you.”

“Fine.”

I picked up my sandwich and took a bite, making an effort not to moan. What a combination: the peanut butter salty, soft, and crunchy; the pickle tart and crisp. I might not have been as subtle as I thought because he pointed, saying, “What the hell is that?”

“Peanut butter and pickle.”

“Have you ever eaten one before?”

“Many times and I’ve lived to tell the tale. Want to try?”

“Sure. Sounds like something my boys would like.”

I passed the remaining half sandwich across the desk to him and watched as he bit off a corner. He chewed and nodded to himself. He divided the remainder into two parts and ate one while I looked on with alarm. I hadn’t meant to surrender more than a bite, but it was too late to protest.

“Not bad,” he said.

“You have a theory about the guy who took Fritz up to Yellowweed?”

I watched him polish off the rest of my sandwich.

Still chewing, he pointed at me. “See, that’s your mistake. You’re assuming it’s a guy.”

“Ah.”

“What Stringer described is how Fritz acted around girls. Ask anyone who knew him and they’ll tell you the same thing. He got all giddy and gushy and made a fool of himself.”

“You have a particular girl in mind?”

“Iris.”

I heard the skepticism in my voice. “Based on what?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what it’s based on. The night when Sloan was shot? The four of us are up at Yellowweed. This is Austin, Fritz, Bayard, and me. Austin tries to palm the gun off on me and I go, like, ‘No way!’ So he hands Bayard the gun and tells him to pass it on to Iris to hold for him. He said he couldn’t afford to have it in his possession if he got picked up.”

“You’re saying Iris shot Fritz? That seems unlikely.”

“Not as unlikely as you might think.”

“What’s her motive?”

“She hated him for what he did to her.”

“Why would she hate him and not you?”

“Because I apologized. I asked her to forgive me, which she did. The two of us are square.”

“How do you know she hated Fritz?”

“She’s in a support group for victims of rape and sexual assault. She’s talked about him for years and she’s always bitter.”

“I thought those sessions were confidential.”

“Hey, come on. Women gossip. They can’t help themselves. Doesn’t matter what’s going on or how solemnly they swear not to say a word. They’re barely out the door before they’re on the telephone, spilling the beans. That’s how women bond. Scary, isn’t it?”

“You know someone who was in the group with her? Is that where this is coming from?”

“Let’s don’t get into that. Just trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Iris claims the tape was all a joke.”

“And you’re convinced it’s a bullshit cover story. You think we sweet-talked her into going along with us, which is exactly what we did.”

“Why would she agree?”

“To keep tabs on Fritz. Around us, she picked up a steady stream of information. Where he went, what he was up to. We didn’t see her as the enemy and she didn’t appear to be a threat. If she’d let on how pissed off she was, we’d have cut her out of the loop. You want to blackmail someone, you want the barriers to come down. You don’t do anything to indicate how hostile you are.”

Restlessly, I shifted in my chair.

Troy held up a hand. “You’re about to ask why I think she’s the extortionist. Not just her. Her and that jug-eared fiancé. Look at it from their perspective. Fritz gets out of prison and starts a whole new life. He’s got his mommy and his daddy and access to a boatload of money. Meanwhile, according to Fritz, he’s paid his debt to society and he’s home free. Iris and Joey don’t have two nickels to rub together. You should see how they live. Apartment the size of a bread box. Twenty-five thousand could make a hell of a difference, especially since they wouldn’t have to work for it. Wouldn’t pay taxes on it, either.”

“I did wonder about that, with the wedding coming up. Iris has class. I can’t picture her getting married on a shoestring.”

Troy said, “Another motive for her killing him, if you want to put icing on the cake? Fritz was a blabbermouth. He’s constitutionally unable to keep a secret, so if he found out Iris and Joey were behind the scheme, he’d go straight to the police.”

“Even though the tape might expose him to further charges?”

“He’d probably figure it was worth the risk. He’d own up to the crime from his callous youth in exchange for police protection.”

“If I tell Cheney Phillips what you’ve just told me, would you be willing to talk to him?”

“Sure, if you keep Burgess out of it. It’s his case, isn’t it?”

“Technically, but it’s not like there’s a pissing contest between Burgess and the Santa Teresa PD.”

•   •   •

When Troy was gone, I sat and pondered the conversation. I thought about Margaret Seay’s contention that revenge doesn’t have to be an eye for an eye, just comparable or equivalent. Fritz had “despoiled” Iris sexually and now she’d despoiled him by putting a couple of slugs in him. As retribution goes, that seemed a bit severe, but if her future mother-in-law had fed her a steady diet of bloodthirsty talk, Iris might have felt justified in just about anything she did. As is always the case, I had to subject Troy’s theory to scrutiny as well. Since he’d pointed a finger in the name of good citizenship, I had to question his motive. Might have been to deflect attention from himself.

It seemed easy enough to double-check the truth of what he’d said. I grabbed my jacket, my shoulder bag, and my car keys and headed out the door. Take for granted that I locked up properly, okay? I drove to Bayard’s house in Horton Ravine. I rang the bell, and moments later Maisie opened the door. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore electric blue running shorts and a tank top, with a lightweight headphone set resting around her neck. Her arms and legs were tanned and shapely, suggesting weight lifting of an intensity I tend to avoid. What surprised me was the complete absence of makeup, which at first made her look unfinished and washed out. This impression was quickly followed by the realization that without the foundation, blusher, mascara, and eye shadow, she was actually much prettier.

It was clear she hadn’t expected to see me. “Oh. I thought Ellis forgot his key.”

“I’m hoping to talk to Bayard.”

“He’s on a call with his broker. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“No hurry,” I said. I noticed that the two suitcases I’d seen in the bedroom on my earlier visit had been moved to the foyer. She caught my gaze as it drifted from the luggage back to her.

“Bayard and Ellis are going on a trip while I pack my things. I have a moving van coming first thing Monday morning.”

“You and Bayard are splitting up?”

She seemed amused. “You think it’s me Bayard’s interested in? Good luck.”

“I assumed the two of you were romantically involved.”

“He’s my stepson. He’s ten years younger than I am. What do I need with a pip-squeak whose alcohol consumption is out of control? Time to move on in life. I told him I’d rented a place in LA and next thing you know, he’s leaving town himself. Probably trying to save face.”

I was already worried I might not have another opportunity to pick her brain. “Would you mind if I asked a couple of questions about Sloan?”

She made a gesture that signified her consent.

“You were in the picture when she was killed.”

“I was.”

“I understand Tigg was supportive of Bayard.”

“He made a deal with the DA, didn’t he?”

“But that might have been more about his pride than protecting Bayard.”

“The truth is Tigg mistreated Bayard. He and Joan fought over him like two dogs over a bone. He was just a little kid and they tore him apart. Do you know what kept him going? He knew in the long run he’d inherit Tigg’s estate, which he considered just compensation for all the shit he put up with.”

Bayard approached from the corridor in chinos, a white polo shirt, and deck shoes without socks. “Thank you, Maisie, for minding my business for me. If I need sympathy, I’ll give you a call.”

She turned on him. “I don’t have much sympathy for you, Bayard. I’m all played out. Your life was tough, I’ll grant you that one, but you put yourself where you are. You don’t like it, then straighten up your act.”

“Good counsel from someone who’s never worked a day in her life. You think your advice is so sterling, hang out a sign. Maybe someone else will take you seriously. I don’t. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she snapped.

The look that lingered between them was, for the first time, intimate, possibly because they were finally putting their cards on the table. Maisie crossed to the front door. She adjusted her earphones, activated her CD player, and let herself out.

“Sorry about that,” Bayard said. His apology was a move designed to shift me to his side, as though Maisie’s candor had embarrassed us both. Not so from my perspective, but I didn’t think I should say so to him.

“Good I caught up with you,” I said. “I understand you’re going out of town.”

“Just for the weekend. Palm Springs. I’m hoping to fine-tune my golf game.”

I was hoping he’d be sober enough to hold a club. “When do you leave?”

“Late tomorrow afternoon. Ordinarily we’d drive, but in the interest of saving time, we decided to fly.”

“Could I ask a quick question? I may not have occasion to talk to you again.”

The notion of never seeing me again seemed to improve his mood.

“You want to come into the living room and have a seat?”

“I’m fine here. This really won’t take long.”

He gestured carelessly. “I heard about Fritz, so you can save the condolences for someone else.”

“You weren’t a fan?”

“He was an irritating little shit, so no love lost. I’m sorry for what happened, but I can’t say I’m upset.”

“You’re aware the Astra Constable was found up at Yellowweed?”

“The police must be thrilled.”

“Do you remember what happened to the gun after Sloan was killed?”

“Vividly. This was still up at the site while Austin was coaching us on our alibi. He tried to foist it off on Troy, but Troy was having none of it so then he turns to me, like I’m the lucky recipient. I don’t want the damn thing. He says all he wants me to do is pass the gun to Iris to hold for him. I mean, how weird is that after what happened to her?”

“And she agreed?”

“She never had the chance. Once Sloan’s body was found, the police were all over us. Of course, they were all over everybody else as well, but the focus quickly narrowed to the four of us. We might have gotten away with it, but let’s face it, we were amateurs. Austin and I managed to keep our composure, but even early on, it was clear Fritz would crack.”

“What about Troy?”

“He’s a Boy Scout at heart. If Fritz rolled over, so would he. Anyway, before I had time to give Iris the gun, Austin showed up and asked to have it back. He said he was hitting the road and needed it for protection. He also wanted to keep the weapon out of the hands of the police because it was registered to his dad and he didn’t want his father implicated.”

“How soon after that did he leave?”

“Don’t know, but I doubt he hung around long. Within days, word was out that Fritz had broken down and confessed everything. Austin’s ass was grass. Mine, too, of course, but Fritz painted him as the mastermind. There was no way Austin could tap-dance his way out of that.”

I stared at the floor, wondering if he was leveling with me. Somehow, I thought not. “Any idea where he went?”

“He didn’t mention a destination. The less I knew, the better where he was concerned.”

“And you haven’t heard from him since?”

“Not a peep.”

•   •   •

In the car again, wending my way out of Horton Ravine, I passed Maisie as she ran along the road. She was some distance from the house, so she’d made good time. I drove another hundred yards beyond her and pulled over on the berm. When she reached me, I rolled down the window. “I’m not sure we finished our conversation. Is there anything else you want to say?”

She placed her hands on the roof of the car and supported herself for a moment while she caught her breath. I could see sweat collecting in the creases in her neck. “Talk to Sloan’s mom.”

“About what?”

“Her bio-dad.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “Why are you willing to help now and not before?”

She smiled. “At this point, what do I have to lose?”