normal. I refrained from pulling out another index card, on which to record the observation.
Okay, she said, we’ve opened a new file. Let’s get to work.
Where do we start?
Let’s start with Jake. I don’t think it’s an accident you listed him first.
Really?
Really. Of all the people at the service, he had the least reason to be all sloppy and teary-eyed.
I suppose you’re right. He and Steiglitz.
Maybe. I’ll take your word for Steiglitz. But she was his patient.
Yes. If nothing else, she injured his professional pride.
Exactly. At least he’s got some sort of excuse.
But Jake.
Tell me everything else you know about him. Maybe something will strike me that you haven’t noticed.
I told her what I knew, which in the telling I realized wasn’t much. He’d never told me anything about his acting career, other than the thing about the bald-man commercial. I didn’t know where he was from. We’d only really talked about poker. I told Dorita about his dark hintings at secrets unrevealed. But they could have been the rantings of someone in the throes of a near fatal alcohol overdose. In fact, that was what I’d concluded at the time. To the extent that I’d concluded anything more than that it was time to get the hell home.
He met Melissa, though, didn’t you say?
Once.
I told her the story of the bookcase.
Tell it to me again, she said. Don’t spare any details.
I went over it again. Melissa striding across the room with arms open. Kisses on the cheek. Jake’s nervousness. Glancing at me for help. Melissa’s remark after he’d left. Kind of cute, she’d said.
I fought back some emotion. It had been the last time that I’d seen her acting at all like her old self.
Not a lot to go on, said Dorita.
No. At least two things were a little odd, though. How nervous he seemed. And that remark.
Not exactly smoking guns, partner.
No. And it was also a little strange, I suppose, that she took the trouble to play the hostess. I hadn’t seen her do that in years.
How many guests have you had over in those years?
Um. None. That I can think of.
Well, then.
Yes.
She was probably excited.
She was excited. As excited as she was able to get. And there’s another thing.
Yes?
I told Dorita about the phone calls.
Her jaw dropped.
You’re kidding me.
I’m not.
Calls from Jake? To Melissa’s phone? You saved that for now?
I was struggling with it. What it meant.
What it meant? Tell me you’re joking.
I’m not joking.
Ricky, you’re in some serious denial.
It just doesn’t feel right.
Feel, schlemiel. Let’s deal with the facts here, Ricky. Get your brain out of neutral. Let’s see what we can find out about old Jake. Start with the easy stuff. You’ve got wireless?
Sure.
Let’s google him.
I hadn’t thought of that. But if he’s an actor, he’s bound to show up somewhere, you’d think.
Well, yes, she said, rolling her eyes.
Jesus, I’m a trial lawyer. I’ve never pretended to be Rick Redman, Ace Detective.
You don’t even do your own legal research anymore.
Anymore? What makes you think I ever did?
Sorry, darling. I forgot you were born with junior associates attached to your hips.
Mom hated that.
Ouch.
Let’s do a search.
I googled him. Nothing. I tried the Internet yellow pages. Splurged on a couple of commercial sites that advertised that they could root out personal information on anyone alive.
Nothing. A haberdasher in Hermosa Beach. Eighty-one years old. A retired barber in Tuscaloosa.
Now that’s strange, I said. Jake doesn’t exist.
That’s a problem.
Especially for him, I’d think.
An actor?
The invisible actor.
Odd, that.
Must have a stage name.
You’d think he might have mentioned that. I mean, don’t people like to brag about who they are?
Or he’s not. An actor. At all.
Or at least he’s never had a real gig.
I guess that wouldn’t be all that surprising. It’s not like he was advertising himself as a movie star.
Leave it to me, Dorita said.
Leave what to you?
The stage name. If there is one, I’ll get it.
How?
I said, leave it to me.
Her tone did not invite further inquiry.
All right, I said. I’ll leave it to you.
The Jake angle seemed to be losing whatever promise it might have held.
Let’s get on with Jules, I said.
Why? Aren’t you anxious to keep our momentum going?
Frankly, no. I’m a little afraid of it.
Ah. I understand. Back to familiar territory.
Yes. Please.
So where are we? With Jules.
Jesus, I don’t know.
Let’s call Kennedy.
Why Kennedy? Why not see Jules again? Or FitzGibbon?
He’s got to know stuff we don’t.
I’m quite sure he does. But I’m also sure that’s true of everybody. Especially my client.
Probably. But Kennedy’s the most likely to give it up.
I’m not so sure. He’s quite a tight-ass about these things.
Have faith, said Dorita. He hasn’t had me to contend with.
83.
