“What was it?”
I had to hand it to her, she was a bird dog on point when it came to a story. She zeroed in on the heart of the matter and I knew she wouldn’t let it go until she was satisfied with the answers, which was what I was counting on. “I’d rather not go into it,” I said. “The issue’s confidential.”
“Then why are we having this conversation? Why talk about it at all?”
“Fritz McCabe is missing. His father filed a police report yesterday morning. Some of the facts will come out anyway and you asked me to keep you informed about developments.”
“Well, you’ve got my attention. Developments such as what?”
“Are you aware that Iris Lehmann is engaged to Sloan’s stepbrother Joey?”
“I didn’t know that, but it strikes me as strange.”
“Well, me too, but love relationships often seem strange to me. The point is they came to my office Tuesday because she claims she saw Austin Brown twice last week.”
“Why would he come back?”
“Good question.” Clearly, the story wouldn’t make sense until I gave her the relevant information. “Off the record?”
“Absolutely.”
“It looks like he’s behind an extortion scheme. This is in regard to the footage on the sex tape someone shot around the same time Sloan was killed. He’s threatening to send a copy to the DA unless the McCabes pay up.” I sketched in the details, including Fritz’s trip to the bank and his walking off with the twenty-five thousand in cash.
“What’s his motive coming up with a scheme like that?”
“I suppose because he needed the twenty-five grand. His life’s a mess. He thought he’d be a hot-shot attorney. Instead he’s out there somewhere doing god knows what. Surely, it wasn’t the future he imagined for himself.”
“Which feeds back into your suggestion that Sloan’s murder has had life-altering effects.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Same is true of Troy. As far as I can tell he’s a good kid, but prison set him back on his heels and he may never recover his balance.”
“What about Bayard?”
“He’s an idle drunk living on his inheritance. He’s currently shacked up with his daddy’s widow, who must have been half Tigg’s age. Then there’s Poppy Earl. She was Sloan’s best friend until Iris Lehmann came along. She’s writing a screenplay about the murder, hoping to make her personal fortune.”
“I get it,” Diana said. “I’d have to think about it. I know a couple of magazine editors who might take a flier on it.”
“Here’s my opinion for what it’s worth,” I said. “Go high or go home. Don’t try dinky little regional publications. Think Vanity Fair. That caliber.”
“Wow. You are ambitious about this.” She reached for her handbag. “I’ll make some calls and get back to you.”
I raised a hand. “One more thing. I need to say something about your brother Michael.”
Her tone was flat. “No deal.”
“Just let me say this. You don’t have to respond. Believe me, I know about family rifts and I’m not asking you to change your position.”
I waited, and when she didn’t get up from the table and walk off, I went on. “He was a mixed-up kid and I know he did irreparable harm to people you love, but in the end, he was trying to do the right thing.”
She was silent for a long time and I was about to concede defeat and let the matter pass when she took a deep breath and released it.
“Fair enough,” she said.
32
Thursday, October 5, 1989
Home again, as I made my way through the squeaky gate, I could hear Lucky wailing. I thought his dog must have died, but when I reached the backyard, I saw Killer staring him in the face transfixed, wagging his doggie tail. What an amazing beast he was, with his short black coat, tawny yellow lion ruff, and a face the size and shape of a bear’s with the added oddity of an orange dot over each eye. Lucky was beside himself and Pearl was running short of patience. “Would you listen to yourself?” she said.
I looked from one to the other. “What’s up?”
“This lug got his bed back at Harbor House.”
I put my hands on my cheeks. “Oh no!” I said, as though the news were tragic. I was about to carry on, but a look at Lucky’s face showed such misery, I couldn’t bear to tease him. “Sorry. I was being stupid. Why is that a problem?”
“They won’t let me bring my dog.”
“What’s Harbor House gonna do with a dog?” Pearl snapped. “Next thing you know, every panhandler with a borrowed pup is gonna want to bring it in. It’d be like a kennel with all the barking and dog poop. The homeless deserve better.”
I looked from her to Lucky, saying, “I thought you told me he’d been with you twelve years.”
He sniffed and rubbed a teary eye with a knuckle. “Since he was six weeks old.”
“So if Harbor House put up with him for that long, why not now?”
“Dog was never at Harbor House,” Pearl said scornfully. “That’s against the rules. Lucky comes to town, spends one night at the shelter, and sneaks Killer into bed with him. He’s drunk . . . I’m talking Lucky, not the dog. House manager spots the dog and escorts both to the door. That’s when Lucky turns around and tears the place apart.”
To him, she said, “Would you quit your bellyaching? I’ll keep the dog. He’s better company than you are anyway. He don’t fart at night.”