Duncan rubbed his chin. “Good question,” he said.
She waited.
“Something to do with it, probably. But I don’t think he killed her, if that’s what you’re asking. Something happened to them a long time ago. I don’t know what. My sister was killed in a fire. Your husband ran overseas, I guess. France, you said?”
“Yes.”
“And Shane Alworth, too. I mean, it’s all connected. It has to be.”
“My sister-in-law knows something.”
Scott Duncan nodded. “You said she’s a lawyer?”
“Yes. With Burton and Crimstein.”
“That’s not good. I know Hester Crimstein. If she doesn’t want to tell us anything, I won’t be able to apply much pressure.”
“So what do we do?”
“We keep shaking the cage.”
“Shaking the cage?”
He nodded. “Shaking cages is the only way you make progress.”
“So we should start with shaking Josh at the Photomat,” Grace said. “He’s the one who gave me that photograph.”
Duncan stood. “Sounds like a plan.”
“You’re going there now?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to come along.”
“Let’s go then.”
• • •
“As I live and breathe. Captain Perlmutter. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Indira Khariwalla was small and wizened. Her dark skin-she was, as her name implied, from India, more specifically Bombay-had started to harden and thicken. She was still attractive but not the exotic temptress she had been in her heyday.
“Been a long time,” he said.
“Yes.” The smile, once a dazzler, took great effort now, almost cracking the skin. “But I’d prefer not to rehash the past.”
“Me either.”
When Perlmutter started working in Kasselton, he had been partnered with a veteran a year from retirement named Steve Goedert, a great guy. They struck up a deep friendship. Goedert had three kids, all grown, and a wife named Susan. Perlmutter did not know how Goedert met Indira, but they started up. Susan found out.
Fast-forward past the ugly divorce.
Goedert had no money left once the lawyers were through with him. He ended up working as a private investigator but with a twist: He specialized in infidelity. Or at least that was what he claimed. To Perlmutter’s thinking it was a scam-entrapment at its very worst. He would use Indira as bait. She would approach the husband, lure him in, and then Goedert would take pictures. Perlmutter told him to stop. Fidelity was not a game. It was not a prank, testing a man like that.
Goedert must have known it was wrong. He hit the bottle pretty good and never came out. He too had a gun in his house, and in the end he too did not use it to stop a home invasion. After his death, Indira struck out on her own. She took over the agency, keeping Goedert’s name on the door.
“A long time ago,” she said softly.
“Did you love him?”
“None of your business.”
“You ruined his life.”
“Do you really think I can wield that kind of power over a man?” She shifted in her chair. “What can I do for you, Captain Perlmutter?”
“You have an employee named Rocky Conwell.”
She did not respond.
“I know he’s off the books. I don’t care about that.”
Still nothing. He slapped down a crude Polaroid of Conwell’s dead body.
Indira’s eyes flicked to it, ready to dismiss, and then stared there. “Dear Lord.”
Perlmutter waited, but Indira said nothing. She stared for a little while longer and then let her head drop back.
“His wife says he worked for you.”
She nodded.
“What did he do?”
“Night shifts.”
“What did he do on the night shifts?”
“Mostly repossession. He did a little subpoena work too.”
“What else?’
She said nothing.
“There was stuff in his car. We found a long-range camera and a pair of binoculars.”
“So?”
“So was he doing surveillance?”
She looked at him. There were tears in her eyes. “You think he was killed on the job?”
“It’s a logical assumption, but I won’t know for certain until you tell me what he was doing.”
Indira looked away. She began to rock in the chair.
“Was he working a job the night before last?”
“Yes.”
More silence.
“What was he doing, Indira?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?”
“I have clients. They have rights. You know the drill, Stu.”
“You’re not a lawyer.”
“No, but I can work for one.”
“Are you saying this case was attorney work product?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You want to take another look at that photograph?”
She almost smiled. “You think that will make me talk?” But Indira did take another look. “I don’t see any blood,” she said.
“There wasn’t any.”
“He wasn’t shot?”
“Nope. No gun, no knife.”
She looked confused. “How was he killed?”
“I don’t know yet. He’s on the table. But I have a guess, if you want to hear it?”
She didn’t. But she nodded slowly.
“He suffocated.”
“You mean like he was garroted?”
“Doubtful. There are no ligature marks on the neck.”
She frowned. “Rocky was huge. He was strong as an ox. It had to be poison, something like that.”
“I don’t think so. The M.E. said there was substantial damage to the larynx.”
She looked confused.
“In other words, his throat was crushed like an eggshell.”
“You mean he was strangled by hand?”
“We don’t know.”
“He was too strong for that,” she said again.
“Who was he following?” Perlmutter asked.
“Let me make a call. You can wait in the hall.”
He did. The wait was not long.
When Indira came out, her voice was clipped. “I can’t speak to you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Attorney’s orders?”
“I can’t speak to you.”
“I’ll be back. I’ll get a warrant.”
