gave the match a shake and dropped it in the ashtray, easing the pack of matches back into his pocket again. I smelled sulfur and that first whiff of smoldering tobacco that to me smells like no other. Early mornings on the road, I catch the same scent drifting through the room vents in those hotels where the smokers aren’t properly segregated from the rest of us.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked. “I’m about to order another round myself.”
“I’d like that. Thanks.”
“What’ll it be?”
“Chardonnay would be fine.”
He held his hand up for the waiter, who moved over to the table and took the order. Eckert was having Scotch.
Once the waiter disappeared, his attention came back to me and he focused his gaze. “Who are you? A cop? Narc? IRS, what?”
“I’m a private detective, working for California Fidelity on the life insurance claim.”
“Dana just collected on it, didn’t she?”
“Two months ago.”
A group of guys in the bar burst into sudden harsh laughter, and it forced Eckert to lean forward to make himself heard. “How did all this business come to light?”
“A retired CF insurance agent spotted him in Mexico last week. I was hired to fly down the next day to verify the report.”
“And you actually verified that it was Wendell?”
“More or less,” I said. “I never met Mr. Jaffe, so it’d be hard for me to swear it was him.”
“But you did see him,” he said.
“Or someone damn close. He’s had surgery, of course. It’s probably the first thing he did.”
Carl stared at me blankly and then shook his head. A brief smile appeared. “I assume you’ve told Dana?”
“I just talked to her. She wasn’t thrilled.”
“I should think not.” He seemed to search my face. “What’s your name again?”
I took out a business card and passed it across the table. “You knew his kid was in trouble?” I asked.
Behind us, there was another burst of laughter, this one louder than the last. The guys were apparently having another tedious bawdy joke fest.
He glanced at my name on the card and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “I read about Brian in the paper,” he said. “This is curious.”
“What is?”
“The notion of Wendell. I was just thinking about him. Since his body never surfaced, I guess I always had my doubts about his death. I never said much. I figured people would think I was unwilling to face the facts. ‘In denial,’ they call it. Where’s he been all this time?”
“I didn’t have a chance to ask.”
“Is he still down there?”
“He checked out of the hotel in the dead of night and that’s the last I’ve seen of him. He may be on his way back.”
“Because of Brian,” he said, instantly making the connection.
“That’s my guess. At any rate, it’s the only lead we have. Not really a lead, but at least a place to start.”
“Why tell me?”
“In case he tries to make contact.”
The waiter returned with our drinks and Carl looked up. “Thanks, Jimmy. Put this on my tab, if you would.” He took the bill, tacked on a tip, and scrawled his name across the bottom before he handed it back.
The waiter murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Eckert. Will there be anything else?”
“We’re fine.”
“You have a good night.”
Carl nodded absentmindedly, regarding me with speculation.
I reached in my handbag and pulled a copy from the sheaf of composites Valbusa had done. “I have a picture if you want to see it.” I laid it on the table in front of him.
Carl stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, squinting slightly from the smoke as he studied Wendell’s face. He shook his head, his smile bitter. “What a fuck.”
“I thought you might be glad to hear he was alive,” I said.
“Hey, I went to jail because of him. Lot of people wanted a piece of my hide. When money goes down the toilet, someone has to take the blame. I didn’t mind paying my debt, but I sure as hell hated paying his.”
“Must have been
“Would you like a drink?” he asked. “I’m about to order another round myself.”
“I’d like that. Thanks.”
“What’ll it be?”
“Chardonnay would be fine.”
He held his hand up for the waiter, who moved over to the table and took the order. Eckert was having Scotch.
Once the waiter disappeared, his attention came back to me and he focused his gaze. “Who are you? A cop? Narc? IRS, what?”
“I’m a private detective, working for California Fidelity on the life insurance claim.”
“Dana just collected on it, didn’t she?”
“Two months ago.”
A group of guys in the bar burst into sudden harsh laughter, and it forced Eckert to lean forward to make himself heard. “How did all this business come to light?”
“A retired CF insurance agent spotted him in Mexico last week. I was hired to fly down the next day to verify the report.”
“And you actually verified that it was Wendell?”
“More or less,” I said. “I never met Mr. Jaffe, so it’d be hard for me to swear it was him.”
“But you did see him,” he said.
“Or someone damn close. He’s had surgery, of course. It’s probably the first thing he did.”
Carl stared at me blankly and then shook his head. A brief smile appeared. “I assume you’ve told Dana?”
“I just talked to her. She wasn’t thrilled.”
“I should think not.” He seemed to search my face. “What’s your name again?”
I took out a business card and passed it across the table. “You knew his kid was in trouble?” I asked.
Behind us, there was another burst of laughter, this one louder than the last. The guys were apparently having another tedious bawdy joke fest.
He glanced at my name on the card and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “I read about Brian in the paper,” he said. “This is curious.”
“What is?”
“The notion of Wendell. I was just thinking about him. Since his body never surfaced, I guess I always had my doubts about his death. I never said much. I figured people would think I was unwilling to face the facts. ‘In denial,’ they call it. Where’s he been all this time?”
“I didn’t have a chance to ask.”
“Is he still down there?”
“He checked out of the hotel in the dead of night and that’s the last I’ve seen of him. He may be on his way back.”
“Because of Brian,” he said, instantly making the connection.
“That’s my guess. At any rate, it’s the only lead we have. Not really a lead, but at least a place to start.”
“Why tell me?”
“In case he tries to make contact.”
The waiter returned with our drinks and Carl looked up. “Thanks, Jimmy. Put this on my tab, if you would.” He took the bill, tacked on a tip, and scrawled his name across the bottom before he handed it back.
The waiter murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Eckert. Will there be anything else?”
“We’re fine.”
“You have a good night.”
Carl nodded absentmindedly, regarding me with speculation.
I reached in my handbag and pulled a copy from the sheaf of composites Valbusa had done. “I have a picture if you want to see it.” I laid it on the table in front of him.
Carl stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, squinting slightly from the smoke as he studied Wendell’s face. He shook his head, his smile bitter. “What a fuck.”
“I thought you might be glad to hear he was alive,” I said.
“Hey, I went to jail because of him. Lot of people wanted a piece of my hide. When money goes down the toilet, someone has to take the blame. I didn’t mind paying my debt, but I sure as hell hated paying his.”
“Must have been
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