by himself? Either way, he would have to do it without the Ruger for leverage. The sidearm was still locked inside the Jeep.
He went to the booth, walking slow, getting a read on Ulbrich on the way. Midfifties, heavy-set, craggy features, close-cropped iron-gray hair. Wearing a short-sleeved blue shirt, no tie, in deference to the warm weather. There was a sports jacket folded neatly on the seat beside him. If he was armed, it was probably a hideout piece and he’d have to be crazy to flash it in here.
“Sam Ulbrich?”
Ulbrich looked up, cocked his head to one side when he didn’t recognize Fallon. “That’s me.”
“My name’s Fallon.” No reaction. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Business?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’ve just ordered lunch. First food I’ve had a chance at all day- I’ve been on a job in Lemon Grove since seven. Join me and we can talk while we eat. Or if you’d rather wait until afterward, my office isn’t far…” “Here’ll do.”
“Corned beef’s the house specialty,” Ulbrich said. “Lamb stew with black pudding’s good, too, if you like black pudding.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Guinness? Ale?”
“Just talk.”
Ulbrich shrugged, lifted his glass again as Fallon sat down opposite. On his right forearm was a faded tattoo of the Marine Corps EGA, a spread-winged American eagle holding in its beak an unfurled banner with the words
“Army. MPs. Four years.”
“MPs, huh? I went into police work when I got out. San Diego force for fifteen years.”
Fallon said nothing.
“See any action on your tour?”
“No.”
“Me, neither. Came close, though. My company was in Saigon, just sent over from the Philippines, when the war ended.” Ulbrich drank again. “I was lucky. Sounds like we both were.”
Fallon was silent again.
“So. What can I do for you, Mr. Fallon?”
“You can tell me where to find Casey Dunbar and her son.”
Like tossing a dud grenade. A raised eyebrow was Ulbrich’s only reaction. His gaze remained steady on Fallon’s eyes, its only expression one of curiosity. “What’s your interest in the Dunbars?”
“I’m a friend of Casey.”
“What’s your interest in the Dunbars?”
“I’m a friend of Casey.”
“Is that right? Then you ought to know where to find her.”
“She’s missing. She’s been missing since Monday night.”
“Is that right?” Ulbrich said again. “Well, I’m sorry to hear it. But why come to me?”
“You found her ex-husband for her.”
“I wish that was true, but it isn’t. I traced Court Spicer to Vegas, but that was as far as I got. I might’ve been able to find him eventually if I’d stayed on the case, but she couldn’t afford to keep paying the bills-”
“Laughlin,” Fallon said. “Bullhead City.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Rented house. Sixty Desert Rose Lane.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Another dud. Fallon felt uncertainty moving in on him again. He’d convinced himself Ulbrich was his man, yet the responses he was getting didn’t support it. Not a whisper of guilt.
Ulbrich said, “So Mrs. Dunbar is missing. Monday night, you said? Where? What circumstances?”
Fallon said carefully, “The last I saw of her was in Laughlin.”
“Laughlin. Why go there?”
“Hunting for Court Spicer.”
“What made you think that’s where he was?”
“Lucky piece of information.”
“Luck’s the name of the game. Find him?”
That put Fallon up against the line again. Tell Ulbrich that Spicer was dead, murdered, see what kind of reaction that bought him? No. The situation here was different than it had been with the Rossis and Bobby J. He’d be leaving himself wide open if Ulbrich wasn’t involved. He didn’t know the man, how law-abiding he actually was. Ex-cop, licensed private investigator… he might take that kind of knowledge straight to the Laughlin authorities.
He said, “No. Casey Dunbar disappeared before we could.”
“Two of you hunting her ex together,” Ulbrich said musingly. “You’re not in the investigation business yourself, are you?”
“No. I told you, she’s a friend.”
“She didn’t mention your name when she hired me.”
“I haven’t known her that long. How we got involved is a long story. And not relevant right now.”
“So what it amounts to, you’ve been playing detective.”
“If you want to put it that way. Four years MP duty, dozen years security work for a company in L.A. I’m not exactly an amateur.”
A waiter appeared bearing a steaming plate of corned beef and cabbage, set it down in front of Ulbrich. “Another Guinness,” Ulbrich said to him. Then, to Fallon, “Sure you don’t want anything?”
Fallon leaned back away from the mingled aromas of the food. They made the eggs he’d had earlier churn in his stomach.
Ulbrich fell to with gusto. Between bites, he said, “You still haven’t told me how it happened. Mrs. Dunbar’s disappearance.”
“She was at the motel where we were staying. I went out to see if I could track down Spicer and when I got back she was gone. No note, nothing- just gone. I haven’t heard a word from her since.”
“So you’ve been hunting her for two days.”
“That’s right.”
“What about Spicer? He kidnapped his son, he’s capable of snatching his ex-wife too. You must know there’s no love lost between them.”
“I know, but Spicer’s not responsible.”
“No? How do you know?”
“Reasons I don’t want to go into.”
“Suit yourself. If not Spicer, who else? Somebody he knew in Vegas?”
“That’s what I thought at first. And that’s where I went from Laughlin.” “And you didn’t find out anything and now you’re here talking to me. Looking for leads, or have you got some screwy idea I’m mixed up in it?”
“Are you?”
“Hell, no.” Ulbrich didn’t sound any more offended than he did guilty. Cabbage juice drooled from one corner of his mouth; he licked off some of it, wiped the rest away with his napkin. “What possible reason could I have for going to Laughlin, making a former client disappear?”
“I can think of one, if you did locate Spicer and found out about his sideline.”
“What sideline would that be?”
“Blackmail.”
The eyebrow went up again. “Blackmail. Well, well.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’ve been around too long to be surprised by much of anything. So? Why would this blackmail angle interest
