“I’m surprised you don’t know. He owns an estate in Montecito, built like a castle, complete with towers, balustrades, maybe even a moat.”
“Doreen specializes in moat people. I’ll ask her. What’s his daughter-in-law doing at The Sally?”
“Can’t help you there.”
“I’ll talk to her, if I ever see her again.” He swallowed from his iced tea.
“When you phoned I thought you wanted to know about the suicide.”
“Harry Gould? He’s the son of a friend of Doreen’s.”
Lupe laughed. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? DeeDee knows everyone.”
“Almost. So what happened?”
“Harry Gould was found this morning by his secretary, sprawled over his desk, shot through the right temple, a Saturday night special in his hand. Has to be a suicide.”
“Suicides can be faked.”
“They can also be for real. I hear there was a note on the computer printout.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I know of, it’s not my case.”
“And why not?”
“I’m in juvenile, remember?”
“What a waste of a smart young woman. When did this murder occur?”
“Suicide, Walt. Apparently last evening, the exact time is uncertain.”
“And it happened right downtown in La Arcada? That’s one of my favorite spots in Santa Barbara, flowers, fountains and sculpture, straight out of Europe. That’s no place for a murder, too crowded for one thing.”
“That’s why it’s believed a suicide. It happened in Gould’s office on the third floor. Nobody in his right mind would choose the arcade as a murder site, too hard to get out of without somebody eyeballing you.”
“Maybe. What do you know about this guy?”
“Name and occupation is about it.” She hesitated, smiled. “You’re intrigued. I can hear your gears turning.”
“Merely idling.”
4: A Grieving Mother
Deedee didn’t know the San Roque area very well and slowed her Beamer often to read street signs and house numbers. San Rogue was built on upper State Street, mostly in the ’50s and ’60s, a suburb then, now practically downtown.
Yes, this was the house. She parked and headed up the walk. The front door opened before she was halfway to it, and she heard, “Oh-h, DeeDee, I just knew you’d come.”
“I only just learned, Lorna, I’m so sorry.” Lorna Gould was somewhat heavy, and DeeDee felt a little smothered by her embrace. But she made no effort to escape. “Dear, dear Lorna, what an awful thing to happen, I simply can’t believe it.”
She heard the woman’s sobs and felt her spastic breathing against her own chest. But she let her be. Tears were the best thing for her. In time she led Lorna to a sofa in her living room and sat her down, pulling tissues out of the box for her. Bottles sat on a table in the corner. She poured brandy into a snifter and brought it to her friend. Lorna Gould was only in her early 50s, yet at the moment she looked old enough for Medicare.
“I wanted…to see you…so much, DeeDee. I–I just knew-you’d…understand.”
DeeDee waited out another wail and spate of tears. “It must be so hard to lose an adult child. I can’t imagine losing one of mine.” Lorna Gould kept nodding her head as she blew into a tissue, then another. “You’ve raised them safely, they’ve survived the illnesses and accidents. You think they‘ll be okay now…you can stop worrying.” Suddenly her own eyes filled with tears, quite unbidden. “I think it would be easier to accept…when a child…is younger.”
“No parent should outlive her child, it isn’t right, it’s unnatural.”
DeeDee used a tissue for her own nose, took a moment to compose herself. She was supposed to be the comforter, not the comforted, after all. “Try not to dwell on it, Lorna, it won’t help. What happened? The radio never gives details.”
“That’s just it, I don’t know-o-ow anything really.” Lorna had a nasal voice, especially with her tears. “The police came and said Harry apparently shot himself. That’s impossible! Harry doesn’t even own a gun!
“Did you tell the police that?”
“Of course, but they practically scoffed at me.“ She waved her hand to demonstrate how the police had dismissed her. “What do I know, I’m just a mother.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
“They didn’t say so, not in so many words, but that’s what they meant. Couldn’t my son have purchased a gun without my knowing it? Of course he could, but why would he? He had no enemies, no use for a pistol, let alone-what did they call it? — a weekend gun or something.”
“It’s called a Saturday night special, Lorna. It’s a cheap handgun, easily available from stores and catalogs.”
Lorna dismissed that information with another wave. “Harry loathed violence, ever since his father committed suicide ten, no twelve years ago. Harry even belonged to some group urging gun control. He opposed the death penalty.”
Lorna got up, stalked across the room, poured into the snifter again. At least she had stopped crying. “You tell me, DeeDee, does Harry sound like someone who’d buy some cheap Saturday night gun, put it to his temple and pull the trigger?”
“I must say he does not.”
“The police say he left a note, something to the effect he was sorry, but he couldn’t take it any more. This was the only way out.” Lorna looked at her. “Harry only passed the bar last year. He had just hung out his shingle. He’d gotten his first important client. He was so happy and excited-not despondent and suicidal.”
“You’ve certainly convinced me, Lorna. Did you tell all this to the police?”
“Some of it, but I was in too much shock to think. But believe me, I will. I intend to give them a piece of my mind.” She picked up the bottle again. “Would you like some, DeeDee?”
“No thank you.” She thought about cautioning her friend about getting plastered. Why not, if it helped her?
“I just thought of another thing, DeeDee. An old college chum was in town visiting him. He was very excited about that.”
“And would hardly take his own life. Where did Harry go to school?”
“UCSB, then Stanford Law.”
“Did he have a family?”
“Of course, he had-oh, you mean that kind of family. No, Harry never married-he was only twenty-seven, for crissake. I don’t think he even dated anyone seriously. He was all into the law and getting himself established.”
“Where did he live?”
“Here with me, naturally.” Her expression turned defensive, her voice shrill. “I know, it’s supposed to be a bad sign when a young man continues to live at home. But he wasn’t a mama’s boy. It was simply convenient for him. He paid what rent he could and helped with the expenses. He came and went as he pleased. There were days when I hardly saw him.”
“Stop, Lorna.” DeeDee smiled at her. “You don’t have to convince me. I think it’s wonderful that you and Harry had such a close relationship.”
'Oh, DeeDee, you’re so understanding, such a comfort to me.”
“Have you someone to stay with you?”
“My sister is driving up from LA. She should be here soon.” Lorna smiled. “I’m better now, thanks to you, DeeDee.”
