J Is for Judgment

by Sue Grafton

  "Remember I told you CF hired me to check out this Wendell Jaffe sighting down in Mexico?"

  "Yeah."

  "Harris Brown was down there. In the room next door to Jaffe's."

  Jonah's face went blank. "Are you sure?"

  "Trust me, Jonah. This is not something I could be mistaken about. It was him. I was this close." I held my hand to my face, implying nose to nose. I repressed the fact that I'd kissed him right in the chops. That was still enough to make me shiver some in retrospect.

  "Well, I suppose he could be investigating on his own time," he said. "I guess there's nothing wrong with that. It's been a lot of years, but he always had a reputation as a bird dog."

  "In other words, he's persistent," I said.

  "Oh, shit, yes. he spots a perp in the distance, he'll hold a point till he drops."

  "If he's retired, can he still use the NCIC computer?"

  "Technically, probably not, but I'm sure he still has friends in the department who'd help him out if he asked. Why?"

  "I don't see how he could find Wendell without access to the system."

  Jonah shrugged, unimpressed. "That's not information we have or we'd have pulled him in. If the guy's still alive, we'd have a lot of questions for him."

  "He had to get his information somewhere," I said.

  "Come on. Brown's been a detective thirty-five, forty years. He knows how to get information. The guy's got his sources. Maybe somebody tipped him off."

  "But what's it to him? Why not pass the information on to someone in the department?"

  He studied me, and I could see his mental gears engage. "Off-hand, I can't tell you. Personally, I think you're making too much of this, but I can check it out."

  "Discreetly," I cautioned. "Absolutely," he said.

  I began to walk backward at a slow pace. I finally turned and moved on. I didn't want to be caught up in Jonah's orbit again. I've never really understood the chemistry between the two of us. While the relationship seemed to be dead now, I wasn't sure what had triggered the spark in the beginning. For all I knew, mere proximity might set the whole thing off again. The man wasn't good for me, and I wanted him at a distance. When I looked back, I saw that he was staring after me.

  By two-fifteen my office phone rang. "Kinsey? This is Jonah."

  "That was quick," I said. "That's because there isn't much to report. Word has it he was taken off the case because his personal involvement interfered with his work. He sank his entire pension into CSL and lost his shirt. Apparently, his kids were up in arms because he'd blown all his retirement monies. His wife left him, and then she got sick. Eventually she died of cancer. His kids still don't speak to him. It's a real mess."

  "Well, that's interesting," I said. "Is it possible he's been authorized to pursue the case?"

  "By who?"

  "I don't know. The chief? The CIA? The FBI?"

  "No way. I never heard of that. The guy's been retired for over a year. We got a budget barely pays for the paper clips. Where's he getting his funds? Believe me, Santa Teresa Police Department isn't going to spend money chasing after some guy who might have been guilty of a crime five or six years back. If he showed up. we'd chat with him, but nobody's going to put in a lot of time on it. Who cares about Jaffe? There was never even a warrant out for his arrest."

  "Guess again. There's a warrant out now," I said tartly.

  "This is probably just something Brown is doing on his own."

  "You'd still have to wonder where he gets his information."

  "Might have been the same guy told California Fidelity. Maybe the two of 'em know each other."

  That sparked a response. "You mean Dick Mills? Well, that's true. If he knew Brown was interested, he might have mentioned it. I'll see if I can get a line on it from that end. That's a good suggestion."

  "Let me know what you find out. I'd like to hear what's going on."

  As soon as he hung up, I put a call through to California Fidelity and asked for Mac Voorhies. While I was waiting for him to free up from another call, I had a chance to reflect on the wickedness of my lying ways. I didn't actually repent, but I had to consider all the tricky repercussions. For example. I was going to have to tell Mac something about my encounter with Harris Brown down in Viento Negro, but how could I do that without confessing my sins? Mac knows me well enough to realize that I bend the rules on occasion, but he doesn't like to be confronted with any instances thereof. Like most of us, he enjoys the colorful aspects of other people's natures as long as he doesn't have to deal with any consequences.

  "Mac Voorhies," he said. I hadn't quite made up my cover story at that point, which meant I was going to have to fall back on that old hoary ruse of telling some, but not all, of the truth as I knew it. The best strategy here is to conjure up strong feelings of honesty and virtue even if you don't have the goods to back 'em up. I've noticed, too, that if you pretend to confide in others, they tend to accord great truth value to the contents of the revelation.

  "Hi, Mac. This is Kinsey. We've had an interesting development I thought you ought to be aware of. Apparently, five years ago when Wendell's disappearance first came to light, an STPD fraud detective named Harris Brown was assigned to the case."

  "Name sounds familiar. I must have dealt with him once or twice," Mac put in. "You having trouble with the guy?"

  "Not in the way you might think," I said, "I called him a couple days ago and he was very cooperative. We were supposed to meet for lunch today, but when I got there, I took one look at the man and realized I'd seen him in Viento Negro, staying in the same hotel as Wendell Jaffe."

  "Doing what?"

  "That's what I'm trying to find out," I said. "I'm not a big fan of coincidence. The minute I realized it was the same guy, I backed out of the restaurant and bagged the appointment. I managed to cover myself so I didn't blow the contact. Meantime, I asked a cop I know to check it out in the department, and he tells me Brown lost a bundle when Wendell's financial scheme collapsed."

  Mac said. "Huhn."

  "The cop suggested Brown and Dick Mills might have a prior relationship. If Dick knew Harris Brown had some kind of ax to grind, he might have told him about Wendell the same time he told you."

  "I can ask Dick."

  "Would you do that? I'd really appreciate it, if you don't mind," I said. "I really don't know the guy. He's probably more likely to 'fess up to you."

  "No problem. Fine with me. What about Wendell? You got a line on him yet?"

  "I'm getting closer," I said. "I know where Renata is, and he can't be that far off."

  "You heard the latest on the kid, I guess."

  "You mean Brian? I haven't heard a thing."

  "Oh, yeah. You'll love this. I caught it in the car coming back from lunch. There was a computer glitch at the Perdido County Jail. Brian Jaffe was released this morning and nobody's seen him since."

  Chapter 18

  * * *

  I hit the road again. I was beginning to think the real definition of Hell was this endless loop between Santa Teresa and Perdido. As I came around the comer into Dana Jaffe's neighborhood, I spotted a Perdido County Sheriff's Department car parked in front of her house. I parked across the street and down a few houses, watching the front porch for signs of life. I'd probably been sitting there for ten minutes or so when I caught sight of Dana's neighbor, Jerry Irwin, returning from his afternoon jog. He ran on the balls of his feet, almost on tippy-toe, with the same stooped posture he favored in his leisure moments. He was wearing plaid Bermuda .shorts and a white T-shirt, black socks, and running shoes. His color was high and his gray hair was matted with sweat, his glasses secured with a length of rubber tubing that made a circular indentation. He finished the last half a block with a little burst of speed, his gait the mincing, irregular hopping of someone running barefoot over hot concrete. I leaned over and rolled down the window on the passenger side.

  "Hey, Jerry? How're you? Kinsey Millhone here."

  He le
aned forward, gasping, hands on his skinny knees while he caught his breath. A whiff of sweat-wafted through the window. "Fine." Huff, puff. "Just a minute here." He was never going to look like an athlete doing this. He seemed like a man on the brink of a near death experience. He put his hands on his waist and leaned back, saying, "Whooo!" He was still breathing hard, but he managed to collect himself. He peered in at me, face wrinkling with the effort. His glasses were beginning to fog up. "I was going to call you. Thought I saw Wendell hanging around earlier."

  "Really," I said.

  "Why don't you hop in?" I leaned over and popped up the lock, and he opened the car door, sliding onto the seat.

  "'Course I can't be sure, but it sure looked like him, so I called the cops. Deputy's over there now. Did you I see that?"

  I checked Dana's porch, which was still deserted. "so I see. You heard about Brian?"

  "Kid must lead a charmed life," Jerry remarked, "You think he's headed for home?"

  "Hard to say. It'd be foolish... that's the first place the cops are going to check," I said. "But he may not have any other choice in the matter."

  "I can't believe his mother would tolerate that."

  We both peered at Dana's, hoping for activity. Guns going off, vases flying through the window. There was nothing. Dead silence, the facade of the dark gray house looking cold and blank. "I drove down to see her, but I thought I better wait until the deputy leaves. When did you see Wendell? Was it just recently?"

  "Might have been an hour ago. Lena was the one who spotted him. She called me in quick and had me take a look. We couldn't quite agree if it was him or not, but I thought it was worthwhile to report. I didn't really think they'd send somebody out."

  "They might have dispatched a deputy after Brian came up missing. I didn't hear the newscast myself. Did you happen to catch it?"

  Jerry shook his head, pausing to wipe his sweaty forehead on his T-shirt. The car was beginning to smell like a locker room. "Might be why Wendell came back," he said.

  "That occurred to me, too." Jerry gave a little sniff to his armpit and had the decency to wince. "I better head for the shower before I stink up your car. You let me know if they catch him."

  "Sure. I'll probably cruise by Michael's house just to make the rounds. I'm assuming the cops will advise him about aiding and abetting."

  "For all the good it'll do." I left the car windows down after Jerry got out. Another ten minutes passed and the sheriff's deputy emerged from Dana's. She followed him out, and the two of them stood on the front porch, conversing. The deputy was staring out at the street. Even at a distance, his expression seemed stony. Dana looked trim and long-legged in a short denim skirt, a navy T-shirt, and flats, her hair pulled back with a bright red scarf. The deputy's stance suggested the effect wasn't lost on him. They seemed to be winding up their conversation, body language cautious and just a shade antagonistic. Her telephone must have rung because I saw her give a quick look in that direction. He gave her a nod and moved down the steps while she banged through the screen door and into the house.

  As soon as he'd pulled away from the curb, I got out of-my car and crossed the street to Dana's. She'd left the front door open, the screen on the latch. I knocked on the door frame, but she didn't seem to hear me. I could see her pacing, head tilted, handset anchored in the crook of her neck. She paused to light a cigarette, drawing deeply. "You can have her take the pictures if you want," she was saying, "but a professional is going to do a better job –" She was interrupted by the party on the other end, and I could see a frown of annoyance form. She removed a fleck of tobacco from her tongue. Her other line began to ring. "Well now, that's true, and I know it seems like a lot of money. About that, yes..."

  Her other line rang again.

  "Debbie, I understand what you're saying... I understand that and I empathize, but it's the wrong place to pinch pennies. Talk to Bob and see what he says. I've got another call coming in... All right. Bye-bye. I'll call you back in a bit."

  She pressed the button for the other line. "Boutique Bride," she said. Even through the screen door, I could see her manner shift. "Oh, hello;" She turned her back to the door, voice dropping into a range I couldn't readily overhear. She set her half-smoked cigarette on the lip of an ashtray and checked her reflection in a wall-hung mirror near the desk. She smoothed her hair back and corrected a little smudge of eye makeup. "Don't do that," she said saying. "I really don't want you to do that..."

  I turned and scanned the street, debating whether I should knock on the door again. If Brian or Wendell was lurking in the bushes, I didn't see them. I peered back through the screen door as Dana wound down her conversation and replaced the phone on the desk.

  When she caught sight of me through the screen, she gave a little jump, hand coming up automatically to her heart. "Oh, my God. You scared me to death," she said.

  "I saw you on the phone and didn't want to interrupt. I heard about Brian. Mind if I come in?"

  "Just a minute," she said. She moved to the screen and unlatched the thumb lock. She opened the screen and stepped back so I could enter. "I'm worried sick about him. I have no idea where he'd go, but he has to turn himself in. They're going to charge him with escape if he doesn't show up soon. A sheriff's deputy was just here, acting like I'd stashed him under the bed. He didn't say as much, but you know how they act, all puffy and officious."

  "You haven't heard from Brian?" She shook her head. "His attorney hasn't, either, which isn't good," she said. "He needs to know his legal position." She moved into the living room and took a seat on the near end of the couch. I moved to the far end, perching on the arm.

  I tossed in a question just to see what she'd say. "Who was that on the phone?"

  "Wendell's old partner, Carl. I guess he caught the news. Ever since this business with Brian came up, my phone's been ringing off the hook. I've heard from people I haven't talked to since grade school."

  "You keep in touch with him?"

  "He keeps in touch with me, though there's no love lost. I've always felt he was a terrible influence on Wendell."

  "He paid a price for it," I said.

  "Didn't we all?" She shot back.

  "What about Brian's release? Has anybody figured out how he got out of jail? It's really hard to believe the computer made an error of that magnitude."

  "This is Wendell's doing. No doubt about it," she said. I could see her look around for her cigarettes. She moved over to the desk, stubbing out the butt she'd left burning in the ashtray. She picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, coming back to the couch. She tried to light one and changed her mind, her hands shaking badly.

  "How would he get access to a sheriff's department computer?"

  "I have no idea, but you said so yourself: Brian was his reason for returning to California. Now that Wendell's back, Brian's out of jail. How else do you figure it?"

  "Those computers are bound to be well secured. How could he get an authorized jail release message sent through the system?"

  "Maybe he took up hacking in the five years he was gone," she said sarcastically.

  "Have you talked to Michael? Does he know Brian's out?"

  "That's the first place I called. Michael went to work early, but I talked to Juliet and really put the fear of God in her. She's crazy about Brian, and she doesn't have a grain of sense. I made her swear she would call me if either of them heard from him."

  "What about Wendell? Would he know how to reach Michael at the new address?"

  "Why not? All he has to do is call Information. The new number's listed. It isn't any big secret. Why? Do you think Brian and Wendell would try to connect at Michael's?"

  "I don't know. Do you?"

  She thought about it for a moment. "It's possible," she said. She pressed her hands between her knees to still their shaking.

  "I probably ought to go," I said.

  "I'm staying close to the phone. If you learn anything, will you let me know?"

  "Of c
ourse."

  I left Dana's and headed over to the Perdido Keys. My prime worry at the moment was the whereabouts of Renata's boat. if Wendell had really found a way to arrange Brian's release, his next move would be getting the kid out of the country.

  I pulled into a McDonald's and used the pay phone in the parking lot, dialing Renata's unlisted number without luck. I could hardly remember when I'd eaten last, l so while I was on the premises I availed myself of the facilities, then picked up lunch: A QP with cheese, a Coke, and a large order of fries, which I took out to the car. At least the smell of fast food obliterated the last traces of Jerry Irwin's sweat.

  When I reached Renata's, her big double garage door was wide open and there was no Jaguar in evidence. I did catch a glimpse of the boat at the dock, two wooden masts visible above the fence. The house itself showed no interior lights, and there was no indication of activity. I parked my VW about three doors away and demolished my meal, remembering as I finished that I'd already eaten lunch. I checked my watch. Ah, but that was hours ago. Well, two of them, at any rate.

  I sat in my car and waited. Since my car radio wasn't working and I hadn't brought anything to read, I found myself ruminating about the sudden acquisition of family relationships. What was I going to do about them? Grandmother, aunts, cousins of every description... not that they'd lost sleep over me. There was something troubling about the feelings being stirred up. Most of them were bad. I'd never devoted any thought to the fact that my father was a mail carrier. I had known, of course, but the information had no impact, and I usually had no reason to reflect on the significance. All that news being delivered... the good and the bad, debts and remittances, accounts payable, accounts receivable, dividend checks, canceled notes, word about babies being born and old friends dying, the Dear John letters breaking off engagements... that was the task he'd been charged with in this world, an occupation my grandmother apparently judged too lowly for consideration. Maybe Burton and Grand truly felt it was their responsibility to see that my mother chose well in this matter of a husband. I felt defensive of him, brooding and protective.