“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.”