while she did another?”
“I don’t make those kind of judgments,” he said. “We all have our masks. If it was a flaw in Maude, it was a flaw she shared with most of those kids’ parents.”
“But Maude, with her Puritan ethic—”
“I repeat, I don’t make judgments. Want a beer?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said.
We all have our masks. … I sat in the deck chair next to his while he went into the cabin, a tall, sinewy and apparently adjusted man. But we all have our masks.
He came back with four cans of Olympia in a rusty bucket of ice cubes. He handed me a can and took his seat again. “Who put out that suicide story down at headquarters?”
“It wasn’t official. The uniformed officer who answered the call made some casual remark about it looking like suicide. It still does, technically. But not psychologically.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
I nodded.
He put the cold can of beer to his sweaty forehead. “She was up here two days before she died. Something big was troubling her this time, something bigger than runaway kids or mistreated Chicanos. Usually, when she had her long nose in somebody else’s business, she confided in me. But not this time.”
“Maybe she was having personal problems.”
“Maybe. I was never a man for investigative police work. Parole and probation, that was my bag. When I worked with Maude, before I retired, it was usually about cutting down some kid’s probation period. She was sharp about the ones we could save.”
“You retired young,” I said.
He smiled. “Is that an accusation? I was never on the take, if that’s what you mean. I’m single and a man of simple tastes and I invested my pennies wisely. Is Vogel working with you?”
“For a couple days, according to the chief. Sergeant Helms will stick with it after that, I guess.”
“Good combination. Vogel’s got the brains and Helms knows the people. Helms grew up with the people he’s now putting into the clink.” He smiled. “Or else he’s lecturing to them. The new cop image, that’s our Sergeant Helms.”
I said nothing.
“Getting along all right with Vogel?” he asked. “You two tangled once, didn’t you?”
“We did. I get along with him now. I get the feeling Helms doesn’t like him much.”
“A lot of the boys down there don’t. Vogel can read without moving his lips and some cops are suspicious of that. And they might wonder about him playing poker with Pontius.”
“Paul Pontius? Why does that name seem famous to me?”
“You don’t remember? The L.A. Times gave it half a page when the story broke. They do love to put the rap on anything that happens in Miami.”
Miami, that was the trigger word. “I remember now,” I said. “It was that real-estate investment trust the S.E.C. was investigating, and the Justice Department, too. A Mafia front outfit, wasn’t it? They bilked a lot of rich men out of some big money.”
“Right. And who came down from San Francisco to defend them? What big-shot attorney got all seven of them off scot-free?”
“Paul Pontius.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “There are some things I could tell you about this town, but maybe I’d better keep my big mouth shut.”
“Whatever you tell me will stay with me,” I said. “I’m not a cop, and I can keep a secret. And maybe what you tell me will find us the bastard who killed your good friend Maude.”
“Okay. Another beer?”
“I’m ready for it.”
He tossed me a can. “That new condominium development out near the university, that’s all mob front money. So is that new hotel down near the beach, and a number of apartment houses in town. You see, this is a retirement town. And all kinds of people retire here, including several mob big shots who are getting long in the tooth.”
“Do you have some names?”
“Not at the moment. If your investigation leads you along that route, I might change my mind.”
“The local police aren’t worried
“I don’t make those kind of judgments,” he said. “We all have our masks. If it was a flaw in Maude, it was a flaw she shared with most of those kids’ parents.”
“But Maude, with her Puritan ethic—”
“I repeat, I don’t make judgments. Want a beer?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said.
We all have our masks. … I sat in the deck chair next to his while he went into the cabin, a tall, sinewy and apparently adjusted man. But we all have our masks.
He came back with four cans of Olympia in a rusty bucket of ice cubes. He handed me a can and took his seat again. “Who put out that suicide story down at headquarters?”
“It wasn’t official. The uniformed officer who answered the call made some casual remark about it looking like suicide. It still does, technically. But not psychologically.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
I nodded.
He put the cold can of beer to his sweaty forehead. “She was up here two days before she died. Something big was troubling her this time, something bigger than runaway kids or mistreated Chicanos. Usually, when she had her long nose in somebody else’s business, she confided in me. But not this time.”
“Maybe she was having personal problems.”
“Maybe. I was never a man for investigative police work. Parole and probation, that was my bag. When I worked with Maude, before I retired, it was usually about cutting down some kid’s probation period. She was sharp about the ones we could save.”
“You retired young,” I said.
He smiled. “Is that an accusation? I was never on the take, if that’s what you mean. I’m single and a man of simple tastes and I invested my pennies wisely. Is Vogel working with you?”
“For a couple days, according to the chief. Sergeant Helms will stick with it after that, I guess.”
“Good combination. Vogel’s got the brains and Helms knows the people. Helms grew up with the people he’s now putting into the clink.” He smiled. “Or else he’s lecturing to them. The new cop image, that’s our Sergeant Helms.”
I said nothing.
“Getting along all right with Vogel?” he asked. “You two tangled once, didn’t you?”
“We did. I get along with him now. I get the feeling Helms doesn’t like him much.”
“A lot of the boys down there don’t. Vogel can read without moving his lips and some cops are suspicious of that. And they might wonder about him playing poker with Pontius.”
“Paul Pontius? Why does that name seem famous to me?”
“You don’t remember? The L.A. Times gave it half a page when the story broke. They do love to put the rap on anything that happens in Miami.”
Miami, that was the trigger word. “I remember now,” I said. “It was that real-estate investment trust the S.E.C. was investigating, and the Justice Department, too. A Mafia front outfit, wasn’t it? They bilked a lot of rich men out of some big money.”
“Right. And who came down from San Francisco to defend them? What big-shot attorney got all seven of them off scot-free?”
“Paul Pontius.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “There are some things I could tell you about this town, but maybe I’d better keep my big mouth shut.”
“Whatever you tell me will stay with me,” I said. “I’m not a cop, and I can keep a secret. And maybe what you tell me will find us the bastard who killed your good friend Maude.”
“Okay. Another beer?”
“I’m ready for it.”
He tossed me a can. “That new condominium development out near the university, that’s all mob front money. So is that new hotel down near the beach, and a number of apartment houses in town. You see, this is a retirement town. And all kinds of people retire here, including several mob big shots who are getting long in the tooth.”
“Do you have some names?”
“Not at the moment. If your investigation leads you along that route, I might change my mind.”
“The local police aren’t worried
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