“French bulldog.”
“Don’t you mean Freedom bulldog?”
I laughed. He smiled.
“So you remember Patty Bigelow.”
“I remember who she was. Grandfather was alive then and my parents were still together. We lived up in Atherton, didn’t come down to see him very often. I always liked coming here-to this room, the smell of the books. The room my parents would never think of entering, God forbid they’d learn something. So I was able to get some peace and quiet. He’s got some great stuff there, really rare editions.” Pointing to the shelves. “How’d Patty die?”
“Cancer.”
“That’s a drag. What kind of financial investigation did that elicit and why?”
“All I can tell you is her death raised some questions and the police are going back and interviewing everyone she worked for.”
“And they send you to interview the crazy people?”
I smiled.
He scratched his head. “Are you saying Patty embezzled? That would sure fit Mom’s preconceptions.”
“No, she’s not suspected of anything.”
“Hush-hush confidential? I can dig that. If I do get that fellowship at Lawrence it’ll be lips-sutured-shut.” He flexed his feet and the beanbag squeaked. “Cancer…I don’t remember her as being that old…I’m guessing she’d be in her fifties?”
“Fifty-four.”
“That’s way too young,” he said. “One-third of deaths are due to cancer. A fact Mom keeps reminding me of because she confuses lasers with radiation and is convinced I’m going to fry myself…Patty had a daughter, younger than me, seven or eight. Each time we visited, she’d run away and hide, I thought it was a crackup. One time I got bored and wandered out to the backyard. She was sitting in the bushes, counting leaves or whatever, talking to herself. I thought she looked lonely but figured she’d freak out if I startled her, so I left her alone. It’s got to be tough, losing her mom.”
Squeak squeak. “Funny the things you remember.”
“Do you remember anything else about Patricia Bigelow?”
“Let’s see,” he said. “She seemed to be taking decent care of Grandfather and by the end he was pretty much out of it. Dad appreciated her.”
“Mom didn’t?” I said.
“Mom has an exaggerated sense of social class.”
“Embezzlement fits her preconceptions.”
“She assumes the underclass will inevitably steal and the underclass is defined as anyone not as rich as her. When I was growing up, the maids had to open their purses for inspections every time they left the house. She’s a suspicious person, by nature. I don’t see her very often.” Weak smile. “We’re not exactly a cohesive social unit.” His foot nudged a pizza box. “I should clean this place up but I probably won’t. When Dad comes home and gets irate, my excuse will be that I was too busy. My real reason for noncompliance will be getting Dad irate. Immature, huh?” He threw back his head, poked at an eye. “Ouch, contact’s rubbing-okay, now it’s good.”
I said, “When’s your father returning?”
“A week, ten days, a month, a parsec. Basically, whenever he feels like it. He doesn’t work. Lives off Grandfather’s investments. Which I find a bit Edith Wharton. Even if you don’t need to work, why not do something useful? The plan was for me to get a token brokerage job, marry a rich, dull girl, sire the requisite dull child or two, retire early to a life of calculated indolence. The physics thing really makes Mom irate. ‘That’s work for hire, good for Jews and Chinese.’ She’s convinced I’m going to sire two-headed progeny.”
“Scholarship as rebellion,” I said.
“I could’ve been a dangerous felon or a drug-addled loser or joined the Green Party, but developing a work ethic seemed more subversive…so what else do I remember about Patty Bigelow…attentive to Grandfather, moved fast-as in ambulation. That definitely sticks in my memory. Always rushing around, making sure he had everything he needed. Maybe that was just for Dad’s benefit. If so, it failed. He believes any undue expenditure of energy is a vice. And he didn’t give a shit about Grandfather. They loathed each other.”
“Father-son issues?”
“Oh, boy,” he said. “Compared to them, Dad and I are drinking buds. As to why, no one clued me in on all the dirty little family secrets. Grandfather did appreciate the value of work. He made it on his own, joined the army in ’39-not a West Point deal, he started off as a technical noncom in Texas, ended up a lieutenant colonel designing communications systems in the ETO. After discharge, he got a job in television, switched to optics, then electronic components. He invented resistors and power cells and measurement equipment-oscillators, that kind of thing. Earned himself a slew of patents and made enough money for Mom and Dad to convince themselves we were Mayflower aristocracy.”
His toe nudged the KFC box. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Maybe it’s what you guys call a demand characteristic-you want me to talk, so I do.”
“That’s a pretty esoteric term.”
“I took some psych as an undergrad. Found it interesting but I needed something less nebulous. Anyway, that’s all I remember about Ms. Bigelow.”
“How’d she come to work here.”
“I was a kid. Why would I know?”
“Sounds as if you were a pretty attentive kid.”
“Not really,” he said. “Actually, I was mostly in my own world. Just like Patty’s daughter, sitting in the bushes. I really need to get back to my calculations. World oil consumption depends on it. If you leave me your number, next time I talk to Dad I’ll tell him to call you.”
“Thanks.” I placed Blanche on the floor and stood.
She trotted straight to him. He chuckled and rubbed her neck. She smiled up at him.
“Cool dog. She can definitely stay here.”
“People keep making that offer.”
“Charisma,” he said. “From what I know of Grandfather he had it in spades.”
“Self-made man.”
“It’s a nice ideal,” he said. “I’ll settle for accomplishing anything.”
CHAPTER 13
Isaac Gomez had sent me an e-mail.
Dear Dr. D,
These are the open homicides with male victims that I was able to find for the time periods you specified, listed in chronological order. I used a geographical criterion of a quarter-mile radius. No cases were found on your exact streets. There’d obviously be a much higher frequency of closed cases.
1. Cherokee Avenue Locus:
A. Rigoberto Alfredo Martinez, 19, gunshot wound to the head
B. Leland William Armbruster, 43, gunshot wound to the chest
C. Gerardo Escobedo, 22, multiple stab wounds to the chest
D. Christopher Blanding Stimple, 20, shotgun wounds to head and torso
2. Hudson Avenue Locus:
A. Wilfred Charles Hong, 43, multiple gunshot wounds to head and torso
3. Fourth Street Locus: no open homicides
4. Culver Boulevard Locus:
A. D’Meetri Antoine Stover, 34, gunshot wound to the torso
B. Thomas Anthony Beltran, 20, gunshot wounds to head and torso
C. Cesar Octavio Cruz, 21, gunshot wound to the head (Beltran and Cruz were murdered during the same incident)
Best wishes and good luck,
Isaac
I forwarded the text to Milo, busied myself with paperwork for a couple of hours, got no callback.
Maybe he’d really gotten into a vacation mode.
Maybe I should, too. No more work over the weekend.