Internal Medicine had found that chocolate lowered blood pressure. She thought Eugene could use a little stress reducer. Maybe I’d down a few of those babies myself.
Charley and I walked to my car, dodging puddles filled with earthworms stranded aboveground after the rain. None of them looked as if they were strong swimmers. I guess learning the backstroke wasn’t a high priority in worm world.
“Thanks for taking this job, Charley. I appreciate it.”
“Like I told you this morning, I’m pretty busy at the moment, so I may need some help from you and the kid. Computer searches. That sort of thing.”
“You can count on us, Charley. Do you really think Roberto Ortiz broke into Helen’s condo?”
He shrugged. “It’s just one theory. We might get lucky if they find fingerprints and match them to a suspect, but Ewing is right: these types of burglaries are rarely solved.”
“How come?”
“For one thing, this wasn’t done by a pro. They don’t ransack a place. That’s usually done by somebody acting on impulse, like a hype looking for his next fix. He cruises by a residence, checks the door to see if it’s open or if the lock can be easily defeated. He’s in a hurry because he doesn’t know who lives there or when they’ll be home. He breaks in and tears the place apart, looking for anything he can fence on the street. Then he moves to another neighborhood.”
“Do you think Lupe’s murder and Helen’s burglary are one crime or two?”
“I don’t want to speculate. I just don’t have enough information.”
When we reached the car, I opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “So what do you want me to do?”
Charley watched as I buckled my seat belt. “Nothing at the moment. I’ll check out the ex and that Rossi character later this afternoon. For now, I’m going to hang around here and talk to the neighbors. See if anybody saw anything unusual last night. I can also contact a buddy of mine who used to work for the Beverly Hills PD. He might be able to call in a few favors and find out what evidence they have against Roberto Ortiz.”
“I’ll ask Eugene to do an Internet search to see if he can find out any more about that quetzal feather.”
“What for?”
“It might be a clue. I mean, how did a feather of a rare bird found only in the jungles of Central America end up in a chocolate store in Beverly Hills?”
Charley was silent for a moment. “Okay. He can look up stuff on the computer, but that’s it. I don’t want him pulling a Philip Marlowe on me, thinking he can solve the case himself.”
His concerns were justified. A few months back, Eugene had invented an alter ego and set off on his own to interview suspects in one of Charley’s cases. The information he collected had been helpful, but he could have ended up in a body bag. Charley didn’t want any more close calls. Neither did I.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll make sure he understands.”
Charley ambled back toward Helen’s condo to interview her neighbors, and I headed to Nectar.
Chapter 7
“I can’t believe Helen’s being victimized again,” Eugene said. “How is she holding up?”
“I’m on my way to Nectar right now. I’ll tell you more when I get back to the office. In the meantime, Helen hired Charley to look into a few problems she’s having. We’re going to help him with some research. Can you look up more information on the quetzal?”
“It’s a clue, isn’t it? I knew it. Have no fear. Bix Waverly is on the job.”
Bix Waverly was the pretext name Eugene had used in that unauthorized investigation he undertook for Charley. In private investigator parlance, a pretext is a lie you tell people in order to get information you probably wouldn’t get under normal circumstances. It’s a tricky and sometimes dangerous game to play. I remembered Charley’s admonition.
“All I want you to do is download anything you find on the bird. No phone calls. No interviews. No
Charley and I walked to my car, dodging puddles filled with earthworms stranded aboveground after the rain. None of them looked as if they were strong swimmers. I guess learning the backstroke wasn’t a high priority in worm world.
“Thanks for taking this job, Charley. I appreciate it.”
“Like I told you this morning, I’m pretty busy at the moment, so I may need some help from you and the kid. Computer searches. That sort of thing.”
“You can count on us, Charley. Do you really think Roberto Ortiz broke into Helen’s condo?”
He shrugged. “It’s just one theory. We might get lucky if they find fingerprints and match them to a suspect, but Ewing is right: these types of burglaries are rarely solved.”
“How come?”
“For one thing, this wasn’t done by a pro. They don’t ransack a place. That’s usually done by somebody acting on impulse, like a hype looking for his next fix. He cruises by a residence, checks the door to see if it’s open or if the lock can be easily defeated. He’s in a hurry because he doesn’t know who lives there or when they’ll be home. He breaks in and tears the place apart, looking for anything he can fence on the street. Then he moves to another neighborhood.”
“Do you think Lupe’s murder and Helen’s burglary are one crime or two?”
“I don’t want to speculate. I just don’t have enough information.”
When we reached the car, I opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “So what do you want me to do?”
Charley watched as I buckled my seat belt. “Nothing at the moment. I’ll check out the ex and that Rossi character later this afternoon. For now, I’m going to hang around here and talk to the neighbors. See if anybody saw anything unusual last night. I can also contact a buddy of mine who used to work for the Beverly Hills PD. He might be able to call in a few favors and find out what evidence they have against Roberto Ortiz.”
“I’ll ask Eugene to do an Internet search to see if he can find out any more about that quetzal feather.”
“What for?”
“It might be a clue. I mean, how did a feather of a rare bird found only in the jungles of Central America end up in a chocolate store in Beverly Hills?”
Charley was silent for a moment. “Okay. He can look up stuff on the computer, but that’s it. I don’t want him pulling a Philip Marlowe on me, thinking he can solve the case himself.”
His concerns were justified. A few months back, Eugene had invented an alter ego and set off on his own to interview suspects in one of Charley’s cases. The information he collected had been helpful, but he could have ended up in a body bag. Charley didn’t want any more close calls. Neither did I.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll make sure he understands.”
Charley ambled back toward Helen’s condo to interview her neighbors, and I headed to Nectar.
Chapter 7
“I can’t believe Helen’s being victimized again,” Eugene said. “How is she holding up?”
“I’m on my way to Nectar right now. I’ll tell you more when I get back to the office. In the meantime, Helen hired Charley to look into a few problems she’s having. We’re going to help him with some research. Can you look up more information on the quetzal?”
“It’s a clue, isn’t it? I knew it. Have no fear. Bix Waverly is on the job.”
Bix Waverly was the pretext name Eugene had used in that unauthorized investigation he undertook for Charley. In private investigator parlance, a pretext is a lie you tell people in order to get information you probably wouldn’t get under normal circumstances. It’s a tricky and sometimes dangerous game to play. I remembered Charley’s admonition.
“All I want you to do is download anything you find on the bird. No phone calls. No interviews. No
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