There’s a gal they call an anaplastologist who actually fabricates the prosthesis to Sofia’s specifications. I’ve been reading all about it. The prosthetic is silicone and hand-painted with all kinds of pigments to be an exact match for the skin-freckles, veins, whatever is on the rest of the nose, and the edges are feathered so thin it blends right in, especially under those glasses Paul wears. I mean they use 3-D cameras and computers to make an exact casting. Look on the Internet. Close-ups like you were kissing the person and you can’t tell. It’s amazing.”
“Come on,” Evon said again.
“Yesterday when I saw him put it on, he must have been late, and he did it in the car. I figure he was painting on the surgical adhesive they use, cause it’s got to cure in the air a little before it works. Today he had more time and went up to the men’s room on the first floor. I’d put on a wig and a dress so I could follow him close and got in the elevator with him when he headed back down to the garage. He’d recombed his hair so the part was on the other side, and put on black frames like Paul, and fixed up his nose. I was standing right next to him. I’m telling you, you absolutely couldn’t tell.”
“A dress? How much do I have to pay for a picture?”
“It’s not in the budget,” he answered.
Evon looked down at her desk.
“How could that possibly work, Tim? I thought you said you followed him to court yesterday.”
“I did.”
“A man spends twenty-five years in prison and then knows how to practice law?”
“You think it’s that hard? Most of it’s just common sense.”
“Never seemed that way to me,” Evon answered. “OK. And where’s Paul?”
“There is no Paul. I’m telling you Cass is being Paul.”
“So there never were twins? I was just seeing things when the two of them were standing side-by-side at pardon and parole?”
“Well obviously there used to be two. I just don’t know about now.”
“And where did the real Paul go?” Evon asked.
“I’m trying to figure this out. There were identical twins in California. Sisters. Good seed and bad seed. And the bad seed started living her sister’s life. Hired a hit man to kill the good sister, but the hit man narced her out and the bad seed is in San Quentin for life.”
“So Cass covets Paul’s wife, kills Paul and takes over his life. Right?”
“He’s already been convicted on one murder,” Tim said.
“And he committed this one with Sofia’s agreement? This is the Sofia you’ve known since she was born?”
“It’s just one idea.”
“And why bother announcing that Paul and Sofia have split up? Why doesn’t Cass just go around with his fake nose pretending to be Paul?”
“Cause there’s supposed to be two of them.”
“So say Cass has gone to Iraq. Or Alaska.”
“I don’t know. He needs to air his face out with that adhesive. You can’t wear it too long. So maybe that’s why he wants to play both of them. It’s just crazy is all.”
“And what about Brünnhilde?” Evon asked.
“Beata? Maybe Paul’s hiding with her.”
“You said it was Cass who drove her away. Right? You took pictures. And why would a man who’s spent the last decade in the public eye want to hide from anything?”
Nothing ever added up in this case. Cass was sentenced to prison, but Paul entered the facility and was standing in the courthouse rotunda twenty-five years later. Lidia had been with Dita the night of the murder, bled all over the room, but her son pled to the murder.
“And not that Hal will care about paying these expenses,” Evon said, “but what does any of this have to do with who murdered Dita?”
Tim’s mouth soured as he thought.
“Something,” he finally said. “I can’t tell you how exactly, not yet. But if we figure this out, we’re going to get to the bottom of Dita’s murder, too. I have that feeling.”
“OK, but how are we going to do that, Tim? You can’t just go up to the guy and yank on his nose. What if you follow him into the men’s room and confront him?”
“It’s a single pew, for one thing. And he’d probably have me arrested for stalking, call me crazy, and lob a couple of mortar shells at Hal, too.” Tim sat thinking. “Maybe there’s another way to smoke them out. You think you still remember how to follow somebody?”
She straightened indignantly in her large desk chair. The stuff you learned on the job, in situations when lives were on the line, was etched onto the fibers of your nerves. The skills were always there.
“Brodie, I could get inside your jock and you wouldn’t know it. Especially if I got a little assistance.”
He answered, “Let’s see.”
30
Friday morning, Tim arrived at U Hospital. At the information desk, he asked directions to the office of Dr. Michalis. He knew she’d be here; her voice mail said she booked patient appointments Monday afternoons and all day Friday. The reconstructive surgery group had a little alcove of its own on the surgical floor. Tim took a seat in the sunny reception room. Sooner or later, Sofia would emerge. He was hoping it would be by lunchtime.
About two hours later, she swung out the rear exit in her long white coat, heading a few steps down the corridor to the ladies’ room. He was waiting for her when she reappeared.
Sofia stopped dead and gasped and covered her heart with her hand. She spoke to him slowly, her face averted.
“Mr. Brodie. Tim. You know how fond of you I’ve always been, but if this continues, I’m going to follow my husband’s wishes and get a restraining order.”
“Your husband,” said Tim. “Which one would that be? The one you’re divorcing or the one you’re going to marry? Although, so far as I can tell, the same fella’s playing both parts.”
Sofia, God love her, would never make any kind of liar. Her head whipped up, pretty much as it had when he suggested she’d stitched Lidia’s arm. But this time, she was angry. He could see a hardness in her he’d never witnessed. Not that it was a surprise. Sawing off wrecked limbs required some flint.
“Hon, we don’t mean you any harm,” Tim said. “Or the rest of your family. Hal, he wants to know who killed his sister. Me, too. The rest of this costume party-I don’t care why Cass is sticking a phony bump on his nose every morning, I really don’t. Hal doesn’t know about that. Nor does he need to. Just sit down with me and tell me what happened when Dita was killed. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”
She seemed to consider the offer for one second, then her small cut-off chin shook minutely.
“Excuse me,” she said, and shoved past him.
“He’ll be moving any second.” Evon saw the text pop up on the screen of her handheld. It was a few minutes before eleven in the morning.
From 345, she had followed Cass, disguised as Paul, as he drove in the blue Chrysler to the parking lot across from LeSueur. She slid into a space a floor above him. After trailing Cass into the office building, she spent two hours in a coffee shop off the lobby, getting some work done. On sight of Tim’s message, she headed back to the garage. While she was still paying for parking at the automatic machines, she saw Cass push out of the LeSueur’s revolving doors, with their brass fleur-de-lis grilles. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear, and a vexed narrow look on his face.
Tim had taken Cass’s measure well. He was in a blue suit, as Tim had predicted. Brodie had discovered that was the only attire the Gianises wore on business occasions. Far more important, Tim had correctly foreseen that as soon as he confronted Sofia, Cass would run. He had to. He couldn’t wait for the police to show up and ask him
