Deception

He cursed. “In a normal situation, I’da popped in on them, there’d be no chance to collude. What about their personalities?”

“Winterthorn’s an excitable boy. My guess is nothing much shocks Hauer.”

“Unflappable sociopath?”

“He’s got the pretentiousness.”

“Mr. Amateur Psychologist.”

“Mile wide, inch deep,” I said. “One day he can get his own talk show. Or run for office.”

He laughed. Smoked, pulled out his cell, and punched in Claudia Hauer’s number. The resulting conversation was brief, pleasant, ambiguous.

“Mrs. Rico verifies Senor Smooth was with her all night, which is worth about as much as Mommy Winterthorn vouching for Junior trouble.”

I said, “Whatever Hauer’s character flaws, if what he told us about Elise’s childhood is true, it is a nice fit with her binge-drinking and promiscuity. Also with choosing a guy like Sal Fidella, then degrading him. I’d be interested in talking to her relatives. Someone’s going to have to deal with the body, eventually.”

“In a normal situation,” he said, “I’d have already put Sean or Moe on a back-trace for nearest kin.” He flicked ashes. “Prank-calling the poor fool while she romped with El Gaucho was pretty damn cold.”

“Interesting word choice, Big Guy.”

He lowered the cigar. “Gonna show me some inkblots now?”

“Got ’em back at the office. I’m serious. You’ve got good instincts, maybe you just hit on something.”

“Elise freezes Sal out emotionally so he gets back at her with dry ice?”

“She staged her games,” I said, “he devised one of his own. He had a key to her house and his alibi’s no better than Winterthorn’s or Hauer’s.”

“And what looks like a whodunit is just another stupid domestic. Talk about multiple orgasms for His Splendiferousness. Yeah, Sal needs to be looked at harder but so do our esteemed educators. Neither of them wasted time casting suspicion on someone else. For Winterthorn it was Hauer, Hauer aimed us back at Sal.”

“Get on the love train,” I said. “Reminds me of something one of my professors said when I was considering a teaching career. ‘Backbiting is the mother’s milk of academia, son, because so little is at stake.’”

“I had a graduate advisor tell me basically the same thing,” he said. “Dr. Carter, chairman of my master’s committee. That was a coupla days before he put a move on me.” He checked his Timex. “Be interesting to see who Mr. Skaggs dumps on.”

Just as Milo stubbed out his cigar, a small white car approached from the north, belching exhaust. Slowing, it parked across the street. Nissan Sentra, dusty windows, multiple dings.

The woman who got out was young, tall, sturdily built, with long dark wavy hair, a full face, gold-rimmed specs. Her gray pantsuit fit loosely, as did the yellow blouse underneath. A big brown leather purse arced wildly as she jogged across the street.

“Police?”

“And you are…”

“Pat Skaggs. They say you want to talk to me about Elise.”

CHAPTER

13

 Patricia Ann Skaggs’s robust frame and broad shoulders were belied by a beseeching, little-girl voice. Frequent tic-like eyeblinks turned gorgeous cornflower eyes into sputtering gas-flames.

Ten seconds with her in the back room and Enrico Hauer’s insouciance had been neutralized.

Milo said, “So you know why you’re here.”

“Marlene—Dr. H.’s secretary—told me Elise died, the police were talking to her colleagues. Was she murdered?”

“It’s possible.”

“Oh, that’s horrid!”

“You two were close?”

“I liked her,” said Pat Skaggs. “We socialized at work, but I really can’t say much about her personal life.”

Blink. Blink.

Milo said, “Workplace friend.”

“The first time I saw her, she having lunch by herself in a corner of the faculty lounge. She subbed, so no one knew who she was. I introduced myself. I figured it was difficult to get into our circle.”

“Faculty at Prep’s like a club.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” said Pat Skaggs. “It’s just that the rest of us were accustomed to each other.”

“Not much faculty turnover at Prep?”

“It’s a great place to work.” Raising her volume on that proclamation.

“How long have you been teaching there, Pat?”

“Five years, starting right after college.”

“Which college?”

“Wellesley.”

“That’s a great place.”

Impish smile. “Now you’re going to say Hillary went there.”

I said, “Madeleine Albright and Diane Sawyer went there.”

She laughed. “They, as well.”

Milo said, “What do you teach at Prep?”

“Advanced Placement and honors history, honors world civilizations seminar, bonus chautauqua on women’s rights in the wake of the Industrial Revolution.”

“Elise tutored history and English, so you had something in common. Ever send any students to her for tutoring?”

“A couple. They seemed satisfied.”

“No complaints from pushy parents about someone getting an A-minus instead of an A?”

Pat Skaggs pushed hair off a moist forehead. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories but for the most part Prep’s not like that.”

“No grade pressure?”

“By the time kids get to AP and honors they’ve pretty much self-selected.”

“Still,” I said, “some of them require tutoring.”

She licked her lips. “Some people are extremely perfectionistic.”

“Some people get upset when perfection’s not attained.”

“You’re not really saying some student did this because they weren’t pleased with Elise’s performance?”

Milo said, “At this point, we’re open to any theory, Pat.”

“Oh, wow,” she said. “No, honestly, I don’t see that.” Small hands quivered. “Honestly, I just don’t see that.”

“Where did Elise go to school, Pat?”

“U. of Maryland.”

“She talk much about her college days?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“She did tell me she’d preferred to go to a small college.”

“Like Wellesley.”