Borders to make up for the bankrupt Kmart. On the eastern fringe of the town, the building housing Classic Collections stood where once acres of artichokes had flourished.
Paul thought he could still smell artichokes, although it might perhaps have been a massive sewer project that had caught his attention.
Wanda Wyatt had directed them to Building E, a small, flat-roofed, asymmetrical building with ominous overhangs some architect had had a blast-no, had been blasted-designing.
The weekend security guard, a small woman stuck behind a desk, excited to have a break from the existential angst of her daily breadwinning, took their IDs, scratched the back of her neck, and wasted a lot of their time making up questions to ask them, mostly irrelevant. Finally, cowed by the brevity of their answers, she called up to Gabriel Wyatt’s office. “Second floor,” she said, handing back the IDs.
“Thanks,” said Paul with what he hoped was a grateful smile, expressing his deep sympathy for the bored. As they waited for the elevator they read off the names of some of the other small businesses sharing the building. This was clearly not a ragingly successful place.
Wyatt met them at the elevator and led them back into offices accessible only to the chosen few with bar-coded cards.
“How’s it going?” Paul asked.
“Like it’s supposed to.” Tall, maybe six feet two, Gabe Wyatt had glossy fair hair, a thin build, and a loose grace as he pulled a chair up to his desk and sat, crossing one leg. A handsome dude, on the ascetic side.
He resembled Stefan, if you caught his right profile, but in a supercharged, glamorous incarnation. He had strong features perfectly sized and shaped, and skin that appeared airbrushed, scrubbed as clean of texture as the face of a computer-generated game hero. If he were a movie star, he would be typecast in romantic leads, and would lose all the good character roles to Nicolas Cage’s bird beak and bovine eyes.
“Sorry it’s been so hard getting together, but what can I do for you?” Gabe asked. “How’s Stef? Holding up? I haven’t been able to see him since the trial started, in case I need to testify.”
“Not surprisingly, his focus at the moment is getting out of jail. I’m curious,” Paul said. “What all do you do here?”
They were sitting in Gabe’s cubicle, narrow, with poor lighting, a peculiar mix of executive desk, chair, and a tiny window with a distant view of dunes.
“Need to lean on somebody?” Gabe asked.
“Not at the moment.”
“Well, that’s what we do.”
“What do you mean, lean?”
Gabriel Wyatt laughed. “Hey, I’m your worst nightmare. Ever paid a bill late, even though you were on vacation or the mailman delivered to the wrong address? Well, that’s where I come in.”
“We’re talking phone calls, right? Nothing brutal?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Gabe Wyatt got comfy in his worn but wide upholstered chair. He obviously spent lots of time with his butt planted there. “It’s a hot field. We’re the best in the country at collecting. Most people we call aren’t the ones that forgot a bill or two, or had them lost in the mail, believe me. Most of ’em deserve a mean spanking.”
Paul disliked him instantly. He had talked to Gabe’s type a few times. Explanations degraded into weaseled excuses in their world. “What kind of background do you need for a job like yours?”
“I had two years at Monterey Peninsula College, and a semester at Cal State. Studied communications.”
“You like your job?” Wish obviously was struggling to keep the astonishment out of his voice.
“Sure.” He laughed. “I like dealing with people.”
“Things going well for you here, then?” Paul asked, watching Wish, who was desperately trying to come to terms with his first sight of the devil incarnate.
Maybe Gabe, who rubbed his right arm, had picked up on the negativity of their ions. “Hey, I know people hate me for what I do. I work because I have to, and this is not so bad, as jobs go. I’d rather win the lottery. Wouldn’t you?” He looked out the window toward the dunes. The sky, feathered with white clouds, looked wintry.
“I understand you first consulted Alan Turk about a will,” Paul said.
All the superficial hail-fellow attitude dropped instantly. “What’s that got to do with anything?” Gabriel Wyatt asked. “How will this help my brother?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t like secrets when our client’s freedom is at a high risk of being lost permanently.”
Gabe hesitated, finally saying, “I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t do whatever I can to get my brother out of jail. Maybe my mother told you our father died when we were very young?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I consulted Alan Turk about his will.”
“He left you something?”
“There were questions. I needed answers.”
“Why not just ask your mother?”
“I started there. Our mother wasn’t helpful so I went to Alan.”
“Okay,” Paul said, waiting.
“That’s it. You wanted to know. It’s nothing to do with Stefan.”
“So it seems.”
“Anything else I can tell you?”
“Do you like your brother?”
“Funny question,” he said. “But I guess I do. He’s a nice enough guy. If only he could hold down a job.” He said the words lightly, but Paul thought he could detect a slight note of envy.
“Erin, his ex-girlfriend, doesn’t seem to feel you respect him much.”
He frowned. “He was an angry kid, but I think he’s gotten over that since he met her. In spite of his legal troubles, Stefan doesn’t need much to make him happy. I guess she notices that I’m always on his case about how he should challenge himself more, make something of himself.” He laughed. “As if my life’s such a great example. I work too hard for too little. My boss takes advantage of me. Here it is Sunday. Am I out boating on Monterey Bay today? Am I eating ice cream? Stefan would be, if he were out. And I’d be here, working.”
“We need to figure out this connection to Alex Zhukovsky. Stefan claims he never spoke in person to the man, and yet he supposedly hired Stefan.”
“And you think Stefan’s lying.”
“Don’t know,” Paul said, “but we haven’t been able to establish a connection.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there. Stef never said a word to me.”
“Did you get along as kids?”
“We had the usual rivalries.”
“He saved your life.”
“That’s right. And I’m forever in his debt for that, I guess.”
“Erin says you believe he’s guilty.”
Gabe squinted at Paul. “My brother’s blood was found at the scene. It’s scary. I don’t believe in voodoo, and I’m not that big on religion. But blood evidence… I wish I could explain it away.” He seemed genuinely confused. “I didn’t know he knew her. I didn’t know he went there. How did this happen, where he ended up burying her body in Constantin Zhukovsky’s grave? I’ve asked Stefan, but he can’t explain it. He thinks you should just believe him.”
“Everyone says he doesn’t lie.”
“But-” Gabe said. He picked up the receiver for the phone on his desk and set it gently back into its cradle. “How can you ignore the evidence?”
“Your mom says that as children, you fought a lot.”
“What do you expect with two boys in one house? Maybe we got all our animosity out growing up.”
“‘Rolled on the floor, kicking each other in the face, dust flying,’ she told us,” Paul said. “And she says you were the more fragile of the two. Being sick, I guess…”
“We’re over that,” Gabe interrupted.
“Did you know Christina Zhukovsky?” Wish asked suddenly.
“No.”
“We understand you attended the conference at Cal State. You know, the one last spring, dealing with Russia?”
Gabe’s eyes shifted between Paul and Wish, as if seeking a safe haven and not finding one. “I did, actually.”
“Why?” Paul’s pen took a rest.
“One of the guys I work with spoke at the conference. I went to see him. It was practically required.”
“See, we heard that,” Paul said. “Unfortunately, your story doesn’t check out. Nobody from this firm spoke at that conference.”
Gabe’s wheels spun. “Well, he canceled at the last minute. I went anyway.”
“Make any good contacts while you were there?” Paul said, not attempting to hide his disbelief.
“Not really. No.”
“Sergey Krilov?”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“That surprises me. You were seen together.” No sooner was the lie out than Paul forgave himself.
Gabriel Wyatt didn’t seem discomfited, but then, good God. He harassed people for a living, whether they deserved it or not.
“I talked with a lot of people there,” Gabe said. “Have a stack of cards a foot high. I might have met him.”
“Can I see them? The cards?”
“They’re not here.”
“Later?”
“I was speaking figuratively. I’m sure I threw them away. Nothing lasting came out of that conference for me.”
“You know, Christina Zhukovsky organized the conference. How could you not know who she was?”
“I wasn’t looking for her. Look, it’s just a coincidence, me going there. I get around. If I’d known she’d be dead a week later and my brother would be accused of the crime, I’d have stayed home.”
Paul looked at his notes, zooming in on the one that said, “Call Nina and give her hell for being so distant and sexually unavailable. Make her love you.”
“Strange,” he said.
“What?”
“People saw you talking to her.”
“There were a lot of people there that day!” Gabriel Wyatt said. “I never saw her.”
And I’m P. Diddy, Paul thought.
