He had a redhead's typical milky complexion and now it pinkened.
"That's the whole sordid story," he said. "I don't know why I came here, but if there's nothing else-"
"Died and gone to heaven?" said Milo.
Pink turned to rose. "Physically," said Stargill. "I don't want to be vulgar, but maybe this will help you in some way. What drew Claire and me together was one thing: sex. We ended up getting a room at the Marriott and stayed there till midnight. She was- Let's just say I'd never met anyone like her, the chemistry was incredible. After her, those other girls seemed like mannequins. I don't want to be disrespectful, let's leave it at that."
I said, "But the chemistry didn't last."
He unbuttoned his jacket, put a hand in his pocket. "Maybe it was too much too quickly. Maybe every flame burns out, I don't know. I'm sure some of the blame was mine. Maybe most. She wasn't my first wife. I'd gotten hitched in college- that one lasted less than a year; obviously I wasn't good at the matrimony thing. After we started living together, it was like… something sputtered. No fights, just… no fire. Both of us were really into our work, we didn't spend much time together."
The beard hair under his lip vibrated a bit. "We never fought. She just seemed to lose interest. I think she lost interest first, but after a while it stopped bothering me. I felt I was living with a stranger. Maybe I had been all along."
The other hand went in a pocket. Now he was slouching. "So here I am, forty-one, working on my third. Happy honeymoon so far, but who knows?"
I noticed that he tended to shift the focus to himself. Self-centered, or an intentional distraction?
I said, "So Claire was really into her work. Did that ever change?"
"Not that I saw. But I wouldn't have known. We never talked about work. We never talked about anything. It was weird-one moment we're getting hitched, having hurricane sex, then we're each going about our business. I tried. I invited her to the office a couple of times, but she was always too busy. She never invited me to her lab. One time I dropped in on her anyway. What a zoo, all those drunks lurching around. She didn't seem happy to see me-like I was intruding. Eventually, we were avoiding each other completely. Easy to do when you're both working seventy hours a week. I'd get home when she was already asleep; she'd wake up early, be over at the hospital by the time I was in the shower. Only reason we stayed married for two years is each of us was too busy-or too lazy-to file the papers."
"Who ended up filing?" I said.
"Claire did. I remember the day she announced it to me. I came home late, but this time she was up, in bed doing a crossword puzzle. She pulls out a stack of papers, says, 'I thought it was about time, Joe. How do you feel about it?' I remember feeling relieved. But also hurt. Because she didn't even want to try to work it out. Also, for me it was the second time, and I was wondering if I'd ever pull off the whole relationship thing. I moved out, but she didn't actually file for six months."
"Any idea why?" said Milo.
"She said she hadn't gotten around to it."
"What was the financial agreement?" said Milo.
"Polite," said Stargill. "No hassles; we worked the whole thing out with one phone call. I give Claire big points for fairness, because she refused to hire a lawyer, let me know she had no intention of cleaning me out. And I was the vulnerable one, I had the assets-investments, pension plan, I had some real estate things cooking. She could've made my life miserable, but all she asked was for me to deed her the house, finish paying it off, and handle the property taxes. Everything else was mine. I left her the furniture, walked away with my clothes and my law books and my stereo."
He rubbed an eye, turned away, tried to speak, cleared his throat. "The paperwork was easy-we never filed a joint tax return. She never changed her name. I thought it was a feminist thing, but now I wonder if she ever intended to stay with me."
"Did that bother you?" said Milo.
"Why should it? The whole marriage didn't feel like a marriage. More like a one-night stand that stretched out. I'm not saying I didn't respect Claire as a person. She was a terrific woman. Considerate, kind. That was the only downer: I liked her-as a person. And I know she liked me. My first wife was twenty when she left me, we'd been together eleven months and she tried to enslave me for the rest of my life. Claire was so damn decent. I wouldn't have minded remaining her friend. But it just didn't go down that way… I can't understand why anyone would want to hurt her."
He rubbed his eyes.
"When did you move to San Diego?" said Milo.
"Right after the divorce. A job opportunity came up, and I'd had it with L.A., couldn't wait to get out."
"Fed up with the smog?" said Milo.
"The smog, the congestion, the crime. I wanted to live near the beach, found myself a little rental near Del Mar. The first year, Claire and I exchanged Christmas cards, then that stopped."
"Did Claire have any enemies you were aware of?" said Milo.
"No way. I never saw her offend anyone-maybe some nutcase at County got an idea in his head, stalked her or something. I still remember those drunks leering, smelling of barf, leaking all over the place when they walked. I couldn't see how Claire could work with them. But she was real business like about it, giving them these tests, doing research. Nothing grossed her out. I'm no expert, but I'd concentrate on County."
He folded his handkerchief and Milo and I used the split second to exchange glances. Stargill didn't know about the job switch to Starkweather. Or wanted us to think he didn't.
Milo shook his head. Don't bring it up now.
He said, "How much is owed on the house, Mr. Stargill?" Quick change of context. It throws people off balance. Stargill actually stepped backward.
"Around fifty thousand. By now the payments are mostly principal; I was thinking of paying it off."
"Why's that?"
"Not much of a tax deduction anymore."
"Who gets the property in the event of Dr. Argent's death?"
Stargill studied him. Buttoned his coat. "I wouldn't know."
"So you and she didn't have any agreement-in the event of her demise, it reverts to you?"
"Absolutely not."
"And so far, no will's turned up-do you have a will, sir?"
"I do. Why is that relevant, Detective Sturgis?"
"Just being thorough."
Stargill's nostrils expanded. "I'm the ex, so I'm a suspect? Oh, come on." He laughed. "What's the motive?" Laughing again, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels-a courtroom gesture. "Even if I did get the house, three hundred thousand equity, tops. One of the things I did when I moved to S.D. was invest in seaside property. I've got a net worth of six, seven million, so murdering Claire for another three, before taxes, would be ludicrous."
He walked to the bare kitchen counter and rubbed the Formica. "Claire and I were never enemies. I couldn't have asked for a better ex-wife, so why the hell would I hurt her?"
"Sir," said Milo, "I have to ask these questions."
"Sure. Fine. Ask. Hearing about Claire made me sick to my stomach. I felt this stupid urge to do something-to be useful. That's why I drove up, brought you all the documents. I should've figured you'd see me as a suspect, but still it's…" Shrugging, he turned his back on us. "All I can say is, glad it's your job and not mine. Anything else you want to quiz me on?"
I said, "What can you tell us about Claire's family background, her social life?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing about her family?"
"Never met her family. All I know is she was born in Pittsburgh, did undergrad at the University of Pittsburgh, went to Case Western for her Ph.D. Only reason I know that is I saw her diplomas in her office. She refused to talk about her past."