Thinking of his recent lecture — “Pediatric Forensic Evaluation” — I asked if he’d chosen the subject with the Zhao case in mind.
“No,” he said. “It is a coincidence, now that you point it out. But, no, it’s a standard talk I give. Comparatively technical, dissecting profiling and other alleged magic bullets.”
Another smile. “It’s one of my favorite topics, because people really are complicated.”
“You can see how it might get Rennert riled up.”
“I can. Though I’ve been to Berkeley before to lecture, and he’s never crashed those.”
“He might’ve, if he’d known about them,” I said. “What brings you here this time around? Another conference?”
“My girlfriend’s teaching a workshop. I’m tagging along.”
“Is she a psychologist, too?”
“She makes musical instruments.”
“Was she with you that weekend?”
“I was solo.”
“Right,” I said. “You didn’t finish saying what happened after Rennert barged in.”
“He shouted until security carted him off.”
“And then?”
“I finished my talk, ate as little rubber chicken as possible, went to bed.”
“By yourself,” I said.
He put his glass down. “Yes, Deputy. Nobody can corroborate that.”
“You didn’t speak to Rennert at any point later that night, phone or in person?”
“No. Whatever he was so worked up about, it was his issue and his alone.”
“You didn’t go to his house.”
“Absolutely not,” Delaware said. He seemed more amused than annoyed. “I have no idea where he lives.”
Easy enough to learn. But no reason to claim he — or anyone — could cause Rennert’s aorta to shred, even if he’d sneaked up behind and yelled “Boo.” Medically, the stress of their confrontation might’ve been a contributing factor. From my perspective, though, that didn’t amount to anything more than a tragic end to a tragic story.
Not an accident. Certainly not a homicide.
“How did he die?” Delaware asked.
I smiled. Not going to answer that.
He laughed. “All right. I get it.”
He checked his watch, then glanced over at the bar.
A woman — petite, extravagantly curvy, with a full head of auburn hair — waved. Like Delaware, she was dressed in black. Tight black.
He raised a hand to her and stood. “Got to go, Deputy Edison. Good luck finding whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Chapter 13
Tatiana called the next day asking for an update.
Bad timing. I’d spoken to Delaware in the hope of finding information I could use to cushion her landing.
I had nothing for her.
RENNERT WALTER J.
SUBMIT
One click and it’d all be over.
I minimized the window, thinking: Coward.
“I’m finished with your father’s property,” I said. “If you want it back.”
“His property,” she said.
“The phone and whatnot.”
Instantly I regretted it. I could tell that she could tell that I was putting her off.
“Fine,” she said, as if I were a phone voice and we’d never met. “When do I get it?”
The stock reply: You’re free to pick the items up from our facility, between eight thirty and five, Monday through Friday.
I said, “I can bring it by tonight. Six thirty work?”
“I’d planned to head over to his house to pick up the last of the boxes. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
“I can meet you there,” I said.
“Would you, please? That’d be easier.”
Her tone had softened nicely.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask what the hell I was doing. I knew what I was doing. I knew that if Tatiana had the face of a toad, the conversation would’ve already ended.
Never would’ve begun.
But Tatiana did not have the face of a toad.
“Of course,” I said. “See you then.”
I put down the receiver.
Shupfer had leaned around her monitor to stare at me.
“What’s up?” I said.
She shook her head, went back to her work.
“Shoops,” I said. “What you looking at me like that for?”
“I’m not looking at you.”
“You were.”
She met my eye. “We’re not a delivery service.”
“Beg pardon?” I said.
She resumed typing.
An open plan office makes it hard not to form opinions. I do it. But you don’t expect to hear them spoken aloud. Keep to yourself and go about your business. It’s phony, sure, but only as phony as civilization in general.
That Shupfer was right only pissed me off all the more.
“That’s a great tip, thanks,” I said. “Lemme write that down.”
She ignored me.
I shoved back from my desk and went to the coffee station.
Moffett came up beside me, poured his own cup, spoke low:
“Don’t get on her, man.”
“She’s the one getting on me,” I said, wringing a sugar packet.
“She’s having a bad time. You can’t take it personal.”
“What bad time?”
“Danny.”
The anger went out of me, displaced by guilt. “Shit. Is he okay?”
“I dunno,” he said. “I think they had to take him to the ER last night.”
“Shit. I didn’t know.”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to know, either. I heard her ask Vitti for tomorrow off. She and Scott need to take him to some specialist.”
I glanced across the squad room. Shupfer had her head down. “I feel like a dick.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “I’m giving you the FYI.”
He poked around inside the communal pastry box, pressing down to collect cake crumbs on the pads of his fingers. “What’s the deal, though. You’re making deliveries?”
I stared at him.
“Chill, homey,” he said. He licked a sugary thumb. “I’m just asking.”
He grinned, slapped me on the butt, and sauntered back to his desk.
The ground-floor lights were on as I pulled up the driveway to Rennert’s house. Tatiana had left her Prius at an uncomfortable angle. It was her house now — one-third hers — and she could park any damn place she wanted to.
Walking to the door, I was struck by how much cooler and calmer the spot felt in comparison with the last time I’d been there. The seasons, turned over. The frenzy, long gone, leaving behind a stillness both easeful and lonesome, dry trees shuffling in the wind.
Before knocking, I smoothed down my uniform. It didn’t smell too bad. I could’ve changed, but it had seemed prudent not to. Keep me in line. Give me a façade of validity.
Distantly: “It’s open.”
I found her at the head of the dining room table, clutching handfuls of paper, staring defeatedly into yet another box. An empty juice glass sat on the sideboard alongside an open bottle of white wine.
She didn’t look up. “I’m trying to figure out how much of this I can toss.”
The table was vast, long enough to seat sixteen comfortably, though I doubted it had seen any recent action. Cobwebs entangled the carved chair-backs and laced the sconces. On one wall, a roiling seascape stretched nearly to the rafters.
“It’s like he didn’t know you’re allowed to throw things out,” she said. “Look at this.”
I stood beside her and she showed me a creased instruction manual for a robotic vacuum. The tendons in her forearms stood out like train tracks. “I don’t even think he owns one of these.”
She tossed the manual to the floor, facing me at last. “What’ve we got.”
I gave her the phone, still in its evidence bag.