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“Well, it’s not really my case. Peralta doesn’t want me nosing around it.”
“Oh, he seemed nice enough when we saw him.”
I said, “That’s because you were around.” Her lips made a small secret smile, and I talked about “my?
?? case. It did feel that way to me, and it had since Dana deposited her bogus letter on my desk months before. Since my trip to the Bell trailer, I had called the doctor who signed the death certificate. He had said Harry Bell suffered from emphysema, a bad heart, high blood pressure, and bleeding ulcers. Harry wouldn’t take medicine or take care of himself. To the doc, the death had all the signs of a stroke. Then I had read the case file on Louie Bell’s accused killer, Jesus Esparza. Even the county attorney agreed the man had the mind of an eight-year-old. His rap sheet had no indication of violence. His prints were not found on the ice pick. Together, the evidence didn’t conjure the image of a killer who could dispatch someone in a crowded casino with an ice pick, and never even knock the victim’s body off its stool before the slot machine. I believed what the kid’s public defender said: he picked up the wallet from the floor, and never knew Bell was dead.
“So it sounds like they got the wrong guy,” Robin said, patting my hand. “You rock, David.”
“That isn’t the way the sheriff sees it,” I said. Not only that, but I still hadn’t heard from Dana Earley. Not so much as a “Sorry we missed each other that night in Carefree. Hope you didn’t get a concussion.”
“You and the sheriff act like brothers, do you know that?”
“No,” I said. I would think about that one later. I went on, “Maybe I can talk to Patrick Blair about the case. He was the detective who investigated it.”
“Yes, the pretty one,” Robin said. “He has an eye for Lindsey. I bet it really sucks that he’s in Washington right now, too, for that police convention. Lindsey told me he was going to be there, and she was looking forward…”
She saw my face and put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, David. I’m sorry. Shit. I thought she would have told you.”
“Whatever,” I said, and ordered another cognac. I encouraged Robin to tell me more about her time in Paris, and she talked. It was shaping up to be a really bad day. I guess I had given my wife reason to censor herself. But had I? It’s not as if I flew into a rage at the mention of the man’s name. I had occasionally lampooned him, although the last time I had done that it brought Lindsey’s rebuke. I had never been given a reason to mistrust Lindsey. Why hadn’t she simply told me about Blair? Robin, meanwhile, segued into talking about her lovers. She said Edward had never been a serious relationship. Her most passionate lover had been a polo player from Argentina; they had continued to see each other intermittently after he had married an heiress in Charleston. “I couldn’t compete on the money front,” she said. I half listened.
“I’m kind of surprised you and Lindsey ended up together,” she said. That brought me out of my reverie. Robin looked at me with an expression I can only describe as kindly. She went on, “I mean, Lindsey always liked the bad-boy type.”
“Maybe I’m a bad boy,” I said gamely. She raised an eyebrow and toasted me. I clinked her glass with my snifter, and watched the light play off the dark amber hue of the liquor. The conversation made me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. A man of the world shouldn’t feel that way, should he?
“Anyway,” I said, “however it happened, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
We were both at least a little tipsy when we left. She put her hand through my arm and I let her. I couldn’t drink the volume I once could. We drove the short distance to Cypress Street, where most of the houses had turned in for the night. Inside the door, I thanked her for her company.
“I’m sorry if I brought you down, David.”
“You didn’t.”
“I think she made a good choice,” Robin said. “A good catch. Even if you will be her first husband.”
She said it without smiling. I just looked at her.
“Even if you two stay together, men die early. And she’s several years younger. It’s just the actuarial tables.”
“OK,” I said. “On that cheery note, we’ll say goodnight.” I could hear the harshness in my voice.
Robin cocked her head and put a hand on her hip. For a long moment, she looked at me. She said, “You know, David, I can’t decide if you’re threatened by me, or if you’re attracted to me and don’t know what to do about it.”
She instantly had me against the wall and was kissing me, her tongue warm and agile inside my mouth, her body connecting on all points. I took her shoulders and held her back.
“Robin! Are you crazy? This can’t happen.”
She evaded my hands and was against me again. Her mouth applied gentle suction as she kissed. She said, “That’s not what your body is saying, I can feel it.” She held my head in her hands, and she was very strong.
I managed to turn my head aside.
I said, “Robin, I’m sorry if you got the wrong message from me. I’m not interested.”
“I got the right message,” she said. She was rubbing my groin, which wasn’t supporting the decision I was trying to make. She said, “We’ll have some fun, and then it will be over. If you want it to be. I don’t want to be married and settled down like big sister, if she wants to be.” I grabbed her hand, and she pinned me again, kissing me deeply.
This time I pushed her away with some force. Her eyes bored into me.
She said, “Let it happen, David. You want it more than anything right now. You don’t even know where Lindsey is. You don’t even know if she’s alone. We could have a mutual grudge fuck, me against Edward and you…”
