He flexed a monumental biceps. “Sometimes you need to take care of business.” His eyes shifted from me to Milo. “You look like a guy who played some football.”
Milo smiled. “Guard.”
Chamberlain tapped a bulging pectoral. “Center and D-tackle. Till I discovered Leo Fender. Anyway, what I’m getting at is best defense is offense, back in the day there was some tussling. Me and Chuck and Zebe — those are the other guys in the band — we whaled a few butts. But not Winky. When the shit hit the fan you could count on him being out in the van or some other place where his nose wouldn’t get like mine.” Rubbing the battered organ.
“Conflict-averse,” said Milo.
“Um … yeah, sure. What I’m trying to get across is Wink would do anything to avoid bloodshed.”
“Even when threatened.”
“Especially when threatened,” said Chamberlain. “Back in the day it pissed us off, we thought it should be all for one, you know?”
“Like the musketeers.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
I said, “Winky couldn’t be counted on.”
“We’re getting our clocks cleaned, doing some cleaning of our own, he’s out in the van. Okay, he’s a small guy, but still.”
I said, “How did Ree react to tussles?”
Chamberlain stared. “She’s a girl, what could she do? And don’t get the idea she was always with us. Sometimes she was on the bus but just sometimes.”
“Was she ever around when clocks got cleaned?”
“How would I know?” he snapped. “It’s been a long time, who remembers shit like that?”
I said, “What we’re getting at is was there a special relationship between Wink and Ree?”
“They’re friends, we’re all friends.”
“Close enough friends for her to call him when she needed help?”
“What’re you getting at?”
Milo said, “Okay, here’s some facts: Ree and Winky got the hell out of Dodge the same night Connie got killed and Ree’s car just showed up at Union Station.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was, Boris.”
Chamberlain rubbed his bald head. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
We waited.
He said, “I dunno, maybe they just felt like splitting. It can get that way, right?”
“What can?”
“Life. It closes in.”
“Connie gets murdered, Ree and Winky decide to take a random train trip,” said Milo.
Chamberlain threw up his hands. “I got nothing else to tell you.”
“Else? You really haven’t told us much, period.”
“That’s ’cause all I know is nothing. I mean, you knock on my door, I’m supposed to make shit up?”
Milo said, “Good title for a song.”
“Huh?”
“ ‘All I know is nothing.’ ”
“Oh … yeah, maybe.” He walked over to the Fender bass, removed it from the stand, thumbed a rapid run down the neck.
“Nice technique,” I said.
“I practice.”
Milo said, “Detective Perugia will be calling you today. You come up with any original ideas about Ree and Winky, you call me, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Chamberlain began to rotate away from us.
I said, “One more thing: Why do you think Connie suspected you or Winky of being Rambla’s dad?”
Chamberlain’s body remained in place but his head swung back. “Probably because we used to party together.”
I said, “Any other reason?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did anything happen more recently that would—”
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, fine, what’s the big deal?”
His mouth clamped shut. We waited.
“Okay, yeah, a few months ago we’re gigging and Connie shows up out of the blue. Sits at the back drinking water, pretending to be there for the show but she doesn’t give a shit about music, is checking us out, we have no idea why. Obviously it was about Ree. ’Cause Ree was there, too. Behind the bar. Helping Chuck. He owns the place and he also drums so when he’s drumming he could use help and that night his regular bartender was out. So Ree’s filling drinks and she doesn’t see Connie at first. Then the song ends and I look where Connie was sitting and she’s gone, I’m thinking good riddance. Then we take our break and are hanging and Ree and Winky are like … okay, nothing serious, just a little making out, okay? Ree’s affectionate … you know. With me and Ree, it’s not even that, just a kiss, friendly, okay?”
Vermillion had turned to ruby. “Then she appears again and she’s watching.”
“Connie.”
“Guess she never left, maybe she was in the john, I don’t know. Whatever, she’s there, giving us the stink eye. Like we’re maggots. Then she walks out with this creepy-crawly smile on her ugly puss. Soon after, Ree gets served with legal papers.”
I said, “You never got served.”
“No way.”
“Sounds like Connie was the paranoid one.”
“Oh, man,” he said. “To put Ree through something like that.”
“But now Ree’s gone, along with Winky.”
“Well I don’t know about that but no way did either of them have anything to do with Connie. And let me tell you, a lot of people could’ve hated Connie.”
“Not Miss Charming?” I asked.
“Bitch was a total waste of space.”
CHAPTER 28
During the drive back to the station, Milo made several fruitless calls to Binchy. A couple of times his driving suffered but who was going to give him a ticket? By the time he dropped me off he was sullen.
Happy to distance myself from the case, I drove home. A shiny white Range Rover was parked behind Robin’s truck, tricked out with big wheels and chrome spinners, the windows tinted way past illegal. Efren Casagrande got out of the driver’s side and watched me approach.
I said, “Hey, what’s up?”
“You’re okay with me here?”
“Unless you’ve switched gigs and are working for the IRS.”
“Seriously, Doc. It’s cool?”
“You need to talk, it’s cool.”
He grinned. “You always were the man.”
As we walked to my office, I offered him coffee. He said, “I’m good,” and settled on my battered leather couch, one knee pumping. Twitches traced his jawline, fleas jumping beneath the skin. I settled behind the desk.
“Here’s where it’s at, Doc,” he said. Waiting for a moment before continuing. “You know what happened but you don’t really know what happened.”
The knee pumped faster.
I said, “You’re talking about the hit on me.”
“You sound all cool with that, it don’t bother you?”
“It bothered me plenty. I just thought it was over.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the thing. It’s over but it’s like … actually I can take some coffee. Cream.” He smiled. “Sugar would be nice but not today.”
His shirtsleeves were rolled midway up to his elbows. Tiny red nicks dotted his left forearm. Better testing equipment allowed patients to save their fingers. He’d been drawing blood regularly.
When I returned with two cups he hadn’t budged. The knee had stopped moving but when I handed him his coffee the jackhammer rhythm resumed, as if his body anticipated the caffeine jolt.
He took a quick sip. “ ’S good, Doc. I’m okay with coffee, my endo-doc says it can be good at night, y’know? Raising the level when I can’t eat so I don’t get the hypoglycemia.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“I drink a little before I go to bed and … anyway … I’m doing okay. With the D.” Faint smile. “You weren’t here, I’d say the fuckin’ D.”