a slow Spanish lament that had to be about lost love.
“McGregor’s going to throw up roadblocks whenever possible,” Carver said. “I might need you to help me by doing some things he won’t.”
“Such as?”
“Letting me know if Carl Gretch’s name turns up in police business.”
“A friend’s not supposed to help a friend do something foolish and dangerous.”
“I’m not asking to drive while drunk,” Carver said. “I only need a little information now and then.”
Desoto leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. The office was warm but his shirt was dry. Carver couldn’t remember ever seeing him perspire. The Spanish woman launched into a crescendo of sound and drama, muted by the Sony’s low volume. Desoto said, “McGregor has the instincts of a snake.”
“Does that mean you want to help me on this?”
“It means I want to hurt McGregor. It isn’t right he should be promoted rather than tortured and executed.”
“Whatever your reasons,” Carver said, “thanks.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a folded sheet of yellow legal paper. “There’s something else,” he said, laying the paper on the desk.
“I thought there would be.”
“This is a partial list Beth made up of the Winships’ friends and acquaintances. Can you check out the names, see if anything of interest crops up?”
Desoto unfolded the sheet of lined paper and studied it. “I don’t see any known drug kingpins or mass-murderers on here.”
“According to Beth, there wouldn’t be. The Winships were your average middle-class couple for years, then they had marital problems and were headed for divorce.”
“That’s your average middle-class couple,” Desoto said.
Carver planted his cane and shifted his weight over it so he could stand up from his chair.
“Where are you off to now, amigo ?” Desoto asked, refolding the list of names more crisply and neatly than it had been when Carver had laid it on the desk.
“I’m going to talk to some of the people on my copy of that list.”
Desoto tapped the folded edge of the list on his desk. It made a sharp, ticking sound. “Our arrangement works both ways, my friend. If you find out anything interesting, I’d like to know.”
“Instead of McGregor?”
Desoto shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”
Carver said, “I didn’t ask it.” He lifted his cane for a moment in a parting gesture. “Thanks for your help and understanding.”
“We’re all in the justice business,” Desoto said.
“Not McGregor,” Carver said, limping from the office into the chaos and order of police headquarters.
9
A CCORDING TO B ETH, Donna Winship had little outside life other than aerobic workouts, which was where Beth had met her, and tennis lessons at the Del Moray Country Club. The first name on Beth’s list of Donna’s friends and acquaintances was Ellen Pfitzer, also a club member.
The Del Moray Country Club was on the ocean, just north of the marina. It was a complex of low buildings made of pale cast concrete with lots of tinted glass and with blue-shingled roofs that were the exact color of the sea on a sunny day. The grounds were neat and green, especially around the largest building, a clubhouse containing a restaurant and lounge and windows looking out on the swimming pool and tennis courts, and beyond them the ocean. On the wide sand beach was a pavilion with a thatched roof that lent shade to a bar and a dozen round tables with high-backed wicker chairs. To the right of the pavilion, closer to the water, were white lounge chairs and wide blue umbrellas with white fringe. There was a scattering of sunbathers on the beach, men in trunks and loose-fitting shirts, women in one-piece suits, a few younger ones in bikinis. A few older ones almost in bikinis. Their actions were slow and deliberate, as if they’d become drunk from the sun.
Carver had visited the place several times last year with a wealthy client who thought his
“McGregor’s going to throw up roadblocks whenever possible,” Carver said. “I might need you to help me by doing some things he won’t.”
“Such as?”
“Letting me know if Carl Gretch’s name turns up in police business.”
“A friend’s not supposed to help a friend do something foolish and dangerous.”
“I’m not asking to drive while drunk,” Carver said. “I only need a little information now and then.”
Desoto leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. The office was warm but his shirt was dry. Carver couldn’t remember ever seeing him perspire. The Spanish woman launched into a crescendo of sound and drama, muted by the Sony’s low volume. Desoto said, “McGregor has the instincts of a snake.”
“Does that mean you want to help me on this?”
“It means I want to hurt McGregor. It isn’t right he should be promoted rather than tortured and executed.”
“Whatever your reasons,” Carver said, “thanks.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a folded sheet of yellow legal paper. “There’s something else,” he said, laying the paper on the desk.
“I thought there would be.”
“This is a partial list Beth made up of the Winships’ friends and acquaintances. Can you check out the names, see if anything of interest crops up?”
Desoto unfolded the sheet of lined paper and studied it. “I don’t see any known drug kingpins or mass-murderers on here.”
“According to Beth, there wouldn’t be. The Winships were your average middle-class couple for years, then they had marital problems and were headed for divorce.”
“That’s your average middle-class couple,” Desoto said.
Carver planted his cane and shifted his weight over it so he could stand up from his chair.
“Where are you off to now, amigo ?” Desoto asked, refolding the list of names more crisply and neatly than it had been when Carver had laid it on the desk.
“I’m going to talk to some of the people on my copy of that list.”
Desoto tapped the folded edge of the list on his desk. It made a sharp, ticking sound. “Our arrangement works both ways, my friend. If you find out anything interesting, I’d like to know.”
“Instead of McGregor?”
Desoto shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”
Carver said, “I didn’t ask it.” He lifted his cane for a moment in a parting gesture. “Thanks for your help and understanding.”
“We’re all in the justice business,” Desoto said.
“Not McGregor,” Carver said, limping from the office into the chaos and order of police headquarters.
9
A CCORDING TO B ETH, Donna Winship had little outside life other than aerobic workouts, which was where Beth had met her, and tennis lessons at the Del Moray Country Club. The first name on Beth’s list of Donna’s friends and acquaintances was Ellen Pfitzer, also a club member.
The Del Moray Country Club was on the ocean, just north of the marina. It was a complex of low buildings made of pale cast concrete with lots of tinted glass and with blue-shingled roofs that were the exact color of the sea on a sunny day. The grounds were neat and green, especially around the largest building, a clubhouse containing a restaurant and lounge and windows looking out on the swimming pool and tennis courts, and beyond them the ocean. On the wide sand beach was a pavilion with a thatched roof that lent shade to a bar and a dozen round tables with high-backed wicker chairs. To the right of the pavilion, closer to the water, were white lounge chairs and wide blue umbrellas with white fringe. There was a scattering of sunbathers on the beach, men in trunks and loose-fitting shirts, women in one-piece suits, a few younger ones in bikinis. A few older ones almost in bikinis. Their actions were slow and deliberate, as if they’d become drunk from the sun.
Carver had visited the place several times last year with a wealthy client who thought his
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