"And I’ll tell you something else," said Pat Frost, her eyes bright with interest in gossip. "And that is, Marta wasn’t in love with Ed and never had been. I got the idea she just married him to get here and have more money, a better life. Well, she got disappointed there, Ed ending up in a wheelchair." She laughed.
Galeano looked at her with dislike, and decided the laugh was malicious. "You can’t say that for certain, Mrs. Frost."
"Well, girls do know girls, don’t we, Marion?"
"She was awfully broken up about the baby," said Marion hastily. "A darling little girl, she was named Elisa for Marta’s sister."
"Have either of you seen her since they moved? Has she contacted either of you?" And why would she, these two, lightminded women, what had they in common? "Neither of your husbands been in touch with Fleming?"
"I told you, there’d be no reason," said Marion. "We were sorry-when that happened to him-but that’s all there was to it. I don’t even know where they moved."
"I see,” said Galeano, and stood up.
"Do the police think Marta had something to do with Ed’s disappearing?" Pat Frost’s eyes were uncomfortably sharp. "He is-was-a lot of care, I suppose. My goodness, Marion! If she did something-my goodness! But I wouldn’t be surprised, is all I can say."
"That’s slander, Mrs. Frost," said Galeano mildly.
"Don’t tell me Marta’s corrupted our cops, Mr. Ga1eano," she said sweetly.
Marion Prescott said, "Yes, your Jack did rather fall for her, didn’t he, dear? Until you hauled him back into line."
Galeano escaped.
He’d have to put that in a report, and what it sounded like-Conway and Mendoza would pounce on that Jack Frost, God, what a name, for the boyfriend. There was nothing in it, couldn’t be anything in it: lots of men would be attracted to Marta. And Carey had talked to the Cadbys, said they hadn’t had any contact recently. Which was exactly what they would say if there was any reason not to admit it.
Yielding to impulse, Galeano stopped at the Globe Grill for an early lunch. The place was crowded and another girl waited on him, but he could see Marta across the coffee shop, neat in her uniform. Yes, a lot of men-more money, a better life. He didn’t know what place she came from. There were still a lot of places in Europe, off the beaten track, where people still thought all Americans were millionaires. She got disappointed there. So there she was, with a husband less well educated, likely not much in common (after the baby died), and then a permanent invalid.
She happened to turn and catch his eye on her just then, and a slight flush showed on her cheekbones, her wide mouth tightened.
Cops keeping an eye on her, thought Galeano. Suspecting her.
But he retained a wide streak of peasant common sense, and as he picked up his bill, it suddenly said to him, What did she gain by it? Which was a question. Read it the obvious way, that the hypothetical boyfriend was to get rid of Edwin-fake a suicide, the easiest thing. Galeano couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which that would have gone so wrong as to necessitate taking the body away. But even if it somehow had, and there was no blood, nothing suspicious in the apartment,. they’d have got together to make up a tale. Ed was in the hospital for more tests; he was sick in bed and couldn’t be seen. There was just no reason at all for her to tell the LAPD that very funny story-unless it was true. Damn it, thought Galeano, that is an honest girl.
When he got back to the office, ready to argue the case with Mendoza, he found Hackett and Higgins just sitting, Hackett reading a report just typed, and Grace on the phone. Higgins told him about the new one. They were hoping the lab could give them a lead. It had already given them a lead on one of the heists last night, at the liquor store: the boys had picked up a dandy set of latents from the cash register, being run through to see if they were in Records. If not LAPD’s, maybe somebody’s: NCIC or the FBI would tell them.
Grace put the phone down and said, "That’s funny."
"What?" asked Higgins.
"That bartender," said Grace. "Who was nervous. When Tom and I asked him about Buford coming in that night. A funny little thing, and funny little things make me nervous. I just thought I’d find out about him. And-·"
"Goddamn!" said Higgins suddenly. "Talking about funny little things just reminded me. Matt had an anonymous call-somebody said that Robert Chard thing was a deliberate kill. Probably means damn all."
"Anyway," said Grace, brushing his mustache back and forth, "that bartender-his name’s Reinke, Charles Reinke-owns that place, holds the liquor license, which in this state says he’s very clean and respectable. Which is also funny."
"The boss here?" asked Galeano.
"I don’t know where he is," said Hackett.
Mendoza came in briskly, announced that it was still raining, and went into his office. Galeano followed him and without preamble gave him the gist of what he’d turned up. "If it means anything," he added. "Which I’m not convinced it does. For one thing, I just don’t see what it gained her to tell that tale. If there’d been collusion to kill him and something went wrong, why in hell hide the body? And even so, why should she-"
" De acuerdo," said Mendoza. "I got there too, Nick. But I can imagine circumstances where-mmh-she couldn’t very well have done anything else. Jack Frost.?Porvida! But we’d better talk to him. Just in case." He opened the top drawer of the desk and brought out the inevitable pack of cards, stacked it neatly on the blotter, got out a cigarette and operated the flame-thrower. "That’s a very curious thing. Homesick, she said."
"Oh, Luis," said Higgins, poking his head in, "I forgot to tell you about this anonymous call on that Chard.
And S.I.D. just called, they made those prints off that heist last night, he was in our records, Roy Titus. Art and I are just going out to have a look for him. They picked up some latents from that new job, the old lady, but they aren’t processed yet."
" Bueno." Mendoza took the deck in his long, strong hands and began to shuffle it. "Good hunting." He squared the deck and cut it precisely to show the ace of diamonds.
"Oh, yes, I’ve seen you do that before," said Higgins, and went out. Mendoza shuffled, squared the deck and cut it to the ace of spades; shuffled and cut the ace of hearts.
"Plotting," he said absently to Galeano, "can be complicated. Most of what we see isn’t plotted. Anything but."
"I see what you mean," said Galeano. Mendoza cut the deck, contemplated the ace of clubs, and the phone buzzed. He picked it up.
Loud enough for Galeano to hear, it sneezed at him. "Hello, Luis."
"God bless you, Saul. What do you want?"
"We’ve got a very pretty little homicide for you," said Lieutenant Goldberg of Narcotics, and blew his nose.
"You want to come look at it? Damn these allergies. Pat and I are both here, it’s a very classy apartment on Wilshire. Do come and see, Luis, we’ve got something interesting to show you."
"?Condenacion!" said Mendoza resignedly. "What’s the address?"
FIVE
Galeano and Grace went along to see what it was. The address was one of the new high-rise buildings out on Wilshire; Galeano could never get used to calling them condominiums when they were just glorified apartments. There was a black and white at the curb; Mendoza slid the Ferrari into a red zone and they got out.
"Where’s Goldberg?" he asked the uniformed man by the squad car.