9
Both detectives slept late and arrived at the station by ten. On their desks were identical messages-a meeting with Chief Bacon in an hour.
The session lasted two minutes: the chief asking what was up, Two Moons and Katz saying nothing so far. The victim had too many potential enemies. “Does it look like we’ll close it?” “Maybe,” Two Moons said. “Maybe not.” She thought a moment. “That wouldn’t be great, but I don’t think it’ll have any ramifications. Either tourist-wise or citizen-confidence-wise. Because he had so many enemies, it could be seen as an aberration.” Neither detective spoke.
Chief Bacon said, “Not that I’m being pessimistic, guys. Okay, go out there and do your thing.”
What was their thing? Two Moons was the one to ask. Katz said, “Let’s make sure the Skaggses’ prints get checked out.”
“Scheduled for tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
“You know those guys-there’s always a reason.” Two Moons got on the phone to the state crime lab and asked for a rush. He hung up, shaking his head.
“Rape case in Bernalillo’s taking their time.”
“Rape trumps murder?” said Katz.
“The victim was twelve, living in a double-wide with her drunk mother. The asshole crawled into her bedroom. Probably some former boyfriend of the mother’s- lots of candidates in that department.”
Katz told him Valerie’s story about Olafson gunning for Sarah Levy’s business.
Two Moons said, “Maybe Sarah bashed him.” He picked up a pencil, let his wrist go limp, made a feeble chopping motion.
“Her husband could’ve,” said Katz.
“Who’s that?”
“Dr. Oded Levy. He’s a plastic surgeon. He’s also Israeli and served in the army over there. Plus, he’s a big boy.”
“Bad temper?” said Darrel.
“The times I’ve met him, no. But that’s always been on pleasant occasions. You know… social situations.”
“You socialize with surgeons?”
“Once,” said Katz. “After Val started working for Sarah, Sarah invited her to a dinner party at their house. Val needed a date, so she asked me.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Far from it. Val had flirted with an orthopedist the entire evening. Soon after, she hooked up with the bone-jockey.
Katz said, “After that, I ran into him a couple of times. You know, like once you meet someone, you notice him. He always seemed like a mellow guy. He’s younger than Sarah, by the way.”
“And that means…”
Katz held up the palms of his hands and shrugged. “Nothing. That time at their house, he seemed pretty in love with her.”
“She’s a beautiful woman,” said Two Moons. “I know how pissed I was after Olafson criticized my wife. No telling what an army-trained Israeli might have done, finding out that Olafson had planned to stomp out his wife’s business.”
Dr. Oded Levy’s office suite occupied the entire ground floor of a medical building on St. Michael’s east of Hospital Drive, due south of St. Vincent Hospital. The waiting room was empty and discreet, with butter-colored leather sofas and Indian rugs over wide-plank oak floors, copies of Architectural Digest and Santa Fe Style fanned out carefully on granite-topped tables.
Katz categorized the rock automatically. Spotty ribbon gneiss. Slabs of the stuff stood feet from his window at home.
A pretty receptionist greeted them. When they asked to see Dr. Levy, she stayed pretty and friendly.
“He just left for lunch.”
“Any idea where?” said Darrel.
“The Palace,” she said.
They drove to the Plaza, found curbside parking, then walked to the Palace Hotel. Dr. Oded Levy was sitting in the old Victorian dining room by himself, tucked away in a red leather corner booth, eating fried trout and drinking Diet Coke.
“Steve,” he said. Even seated, his size was evident. Katz knew him to be six-four or -five, trim and broad-shouldered. He had tan skin and black curly hair cut short.
“Dr. Levy.” Katz introduced Two Moons.
“You two must be working hard,” said Levy. “You deserve a nice lunch.” The doctor had the faintest of accents. His hands were the size of baseball mitts, with long tapered fingers manicured perfectly. His crimson silk tie was knotted loosely under a spread-collared sky-blue shirt. A navy cashmere blazer was folded neatly over the top of the booth.
“How do you know we’re working hard?” said Katz.
“The murder of Mr. Olafson. It’s all over the Santa Fe New Mexican. In the Albuquerque Journal, too.”
“I haven’t had a chance to read the paper,” Two Moons said.
“Probably just as well,” Levy said. “Also, Valerie told Sarah that you’re working the case.” Levy gestured to his right. Where the blazer sat. “Long as you’re here, care to join me?”
“Actually,” said Darrel, “we came to talk to you.”
Levy’s eyebrows arched. “Really. Well, then sit down and tell me why.”
The surgeon resumed eating as Katz told him. Levy made a point of cutting his trout into precise squares, impaling the fish on his fork, and studying each bite before moving it smoothly to his mouth. When Katz finished, he said, “Last year he tried to buy Sarah out, and when that failed, he threatened to destroy her business.”
“Any particular reason he’d have it in for her?” said Katz.
Levy thought about that. “I don’t believe so. Sarah felt it was schadenfreude.”
“What’s that?” said Darrel.
“A German word,” said Levy. “Joy at the suffering of others. Olafson was a power-hungry man, and, according to Sarah, he wanted to dominate the Santa Fe art scene. Sarah’s established, successful, and well liked. For a man like that, she’d be an appealing target.”
“Not pleasant, Doc,” Katz said. “Some guy gunning for your wife.”
“An interesting choice of words.” Levy smiled. “Not pleasant at all, but I wasn’t worried.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sarah can take care of herself.” The surgeon ate another forkful of trout, drank some soda, looked at a wristwatch as thin as a playing card, and put cash on the table. “Back to work.”
“Liposuction?” said Darrel.
“Facial reconstruction,” said Levy. “A five-year-old girl was injured in an accident on 25. It’s the kind of surgery I really enjoy doing.”
“The opposite of schaden-whatever,” said Two Moons.
Levy looked at him quizzically.
“Joy at the recovery of others.”
“Ah,” said Levy. “Never thought of it that way, but yes. I like that very much.”
Leaving the restaurant, Two Moons said, “What do you think?”
“He’s big enough,” said Katz. “See the size of those hands?”
“His prints should be on file, too. State medical board.”
They walked to the Crown Victoria, and Two Moons got behind the wheel. “Must be strange… putting together a kid’s face.”
“Impressive,” said Katz.
A mile later, Two Moons said, “Be a shame to put a guy like that out of commission.”
Back at the station, they called the medical board and put in a request for Dr. Oded Levy’s prints. Processing and retrieval would take days. There was no way to fax the data directly to the crime lab.
“Unless we get the chief on it,” said Two Moons.
“For that we’ll need more.”
“Levy’s probably not going anywhere.”
“You like him for it?” Katz said.
“Not really, rabbi. What about you?”
“At this point, I don’t know what I like.” Katz sighed. “This one’s getting that smell. The reek of failure.”
By day’s end, they had a pleasant surprise, though a minor one: The techs had set out for Embudo to print the Skaggses, and the job was completed. The computerized scan had begun, and initial data would be in by five p.m. Any ambiguous findings would trigger a hand check by the lab’s head print whiz, a civilian analyst named Karen Blevins.