was because he was still afraid of what I knew, or might know, or could figure out. He couldn’t take the risk that I might go to the police with my story.
I walked out.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said as I left.
He slammed the door behind me.
I was glad I came up. I’d learned a lot and, without even realizing it, made some decisions.
In a way, Arlo Pelz and I now had something in common. We both had something on Cyril Parkus. Arlo had Lauren’s secret, whatever it was, and I knew that she was being blackmailed, and that her husband knew the guy who was doing it.
It didn’t seem like I had all that much, but it was enough to make Cyril Parkus very nervous. Enough to try buying me off and, when that failed, using intimidation to get his way.
Neither worked. If anything, he’d encouraged me.
I was going to find Arlo Pelz and whatever it was that Lauren killed herself to escape.
The only trouble was, I had no idea how I was going to do it.
Chapter Twelve
C arol was waiting for me at the Caribbean, sitting on a chaise lounge facing the entrance. She was in her business clothes, and she had the morning paper on the chaise lounge next to her.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to work?” I asked.
“I thought you’d want to talk.”
“About what?”
She held up the Valley section of the Los Angeles Times. On the front page was a picture of Lauren, which I guessed was taken at a party, a picture of the wrecked cars on the freeway, and an article about the suicide.
I took the paper and quickly scanned the article. It was mostly about the traffic accident she caused, and the people in the hospital, who were in satisfactory condition with all kinds of broken bones. There was a little bit about Lauren and how shocked the community was by her suicide. The article said she was an active fundraiser for local charities and was survived by her husband in Camarillo and a mother in Seattle.
I handed the paper back to Carol. “I told you she needed help.”
Carol nodded. “I’m sorry, Harvey.”
“It’s not your fault.” I was saying that a lot lately.
“It’s not yours, either.”
I nodded, but really only to be polite. I wasn’t sure she was right. I told her that I saw the suicide, and that I’d talked to Cyril Parkus, and that even though he threatened me, I was going to continue my investigation.
Carol smiled, which I thought was kind of odd.
“I knew you would,” she said, like she was glad, or proud of me, when just the other night she was scowling with disapproval over the idea that I hadn’t walked away from it. I’ll never understand women.
“I think I can help you,” she said. “Do you still have that car rental agreement?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d like to take it to work with me; maybe I can use Arlo’s VISA number to run a credit check on him and get you an address.”
That was a great idea.
Who’d have thought having a friend at a mortgage company would come in handy on an investigation?
I was learning that there were other ways for a private eye to get information without having a love-hate relationship with a cop.
“You’re my Peggy
and
my Susan Silverman,” I said.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Peggy was the secretary for private eye Joe Mannix. She did all the important research for him while he ran around beating people up. Susan Silverman is a shrink who sleeps with Spenser, another private eye. She gives him philosophical insight into how noble and good he is and they are, and how it’s okay he’s killed a dozen people because he’s so noble and good, and then she fucks his brains out.”
“Is this your way of saying you expect me to go to bed with you now?”
That hadn’t occurred to me, but since she’d mentioned it, I didn’t want to entirely dismiss the idea.
“No, but if that’s what you want …” I let my voice trail off suggestively.
“Get me the rental agreement, Harvey.”
She said it in a way that not only made it clear my
I walked out.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said as I left.
He slammed the door behind me.
I was glad I came up. I’d learned a lot and, without even realizing it, made some decisions.
In a way, Arlo Pelz and I now had something in common. We both had something on Cyril Parkus. Arlo had Lauren’s secret, whatever it was, and I knew that she was being blackmailed, and that her husband knew the guy who was doing it.
It didn’t seem like I had all that much, but it was enough to make Cyril Parkus very nervous. Enough to try buying me off and, when that failed, using intimidation to get his way.
Neither worked. If anything, he’d encouraged me.
I was going to find Arlo Pelz and whatever it was that Lauren killed herself to escape.
The only trouble was, I had no idea how I was going to do it.
Chapter Twelve
C arol was waiting for me at the Caribbean, sitting on a chaise lounge facing the entrance. She was in her business clothes, and she had the morning paper on the chaise lounge next to her.
“Shouldn’t you be on your way to work?” I asked.
“I thought you’d want to talk.”
“About what?”
She held up the Valley section of the Los Angeles Times. On the front page was a picture of Lauren, which I guessed was taken at a party, a picture of the wrecked cars on the freeway, and an article about the suicide.
I took the paper and quickly scanned the article. It was mostly about the traffic accident she caused, and the people in the hospital, who were in satisfactory condition with all kinds of broken bones. There was a little bit about Lauren and how shocked the community was by her suicide. The article said she was an active fundraiser for local charities and was survived by her husband in Camarillo and a mother in Seattle.
I handed the paper back to Carol. “I told you she needed help.”
Carol nodded. “I’m sorry, Harvey.”
“It’s not your fault.” I was saying that a lot lately.
“It’s not yours, either.”
I nodded, but really only to be polite. I wasn’t sure she was right. I told her that I saw the suicide, and that I’d talked to Cyril Parkus, and that even though he threatened me, I was going to continue my investigation.
Carol smiled, which I thought was kind of odd.
“I knew you would,” she said, like she was glad, or proud of me, when just the other night she was scowling with disapproval over the idea that I hadn’t walked away from it. I’ll never understand women.
“I think I can help you,” she said. “Do you still have that car rental agreement?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d like to take it to work with me; maybe I can use Arlo’s VISA number to run a credit check on him and get you an address.”
That was a great idea.
Who’d have thought having a friend at a mortgage company would come in handy on an investigation?
I was learning that there were other ways for a private eye to get information without having a love-hate relationship with a cop.
“You’re my Peggy
and
my Susan Silverman,” I said.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Peggy was the secretary for private eye Joe Mannix. She did all the important research for him while he ran around beating people up. Susan Silverman is a shrink who sleeps with Spenser, another private eye. She gives him philosophical insight into how noble and good he is and they are, and how it’s okay he’s killed a dozen people because he’s so noble and good, and then she fucks his brains out.”
“Is this your way of saying you expect me to go to bed with you now?”
That hadn’t occurred to me, but since she’d mentioned it, I didn’t want to entirely dismiss the idea.
“No, but if that’s what you want …” I let my voice trail off suggestively.
“Get me the rental agreement, Harvey.”
She said it in a way that not only made it clear my
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