“Before we heard about his death,” Natalie said, blowing air into her bangs. “Gotta be three years. My mom had a party for her seventy-fifth. Freddie was her godson, and she flew him in.” She looked from me to Frank. “I gotta say, I’m confused. Why is the FBI looking into my cousin’s death? I spoke to local police in Hambis the other day. The medical examiner saidthey’dbe looking into it.”
I studied Natalie. “Certain circumstances with your cousin’s death came to the attention of the federal government,” I said. “Were you familiar with how Freddie earned a living?”
“No,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something illegal.”
I looked to Frank.
The possibility of Richie talking to Natalie Kastner was the main reason we’d driven down to Lucas Beach. If Richie hadn’t, Natalie could only be counted on for background information on Freddie. But if she hadn’t seen her cousin in three years, what context could she provide?
Frank took out the composite sketch of El Médico and handed it to Natalie.
“Does this man look familiar to you?” he asked.
Natalie took the photo, and a sort of quarter smile formed on her face. At the same time, she shook her head.
“Take your time,” Frank said. Which is something Cassie used to say a lot when we were partners. Computer scientists, I often told her, have estimated that the human brain moves at a speed of one exaflop, or about one billion calculations per second.No oneneeds to take their time.
“No,” Natalie said. “Sorry.”
Frank squinted. “You were nodding, though. Almost… smiling.”
“Yeah, well, the picture reminded me of someone. A kid, from when I was young.”
“From around here?” Frank asked.
“Over the bridge,” Natalie said, gesturing out the open window. “One of the big beach houses. They’ve all been torn down. Almost all of them are resorts now. We used to go up there for parties. But… part of the face is wrong, so I think he just looks like a lot of people, you know? Sort of a… generic face.”
As she spoke, Natalie rose and closed the windows, a gust of wind picking up and rattling behind them.
“We believe this is someone Freddie knew,” I said, hoping that would get her to take a second look.
“Well then, for sure it’s a no,” she said.
I blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“My mother loved Freddie, Agent Camden,” Natalie said. “But you know—he wasn’t like us.”
“Us who?” I asked.
“You know—me… my brother, Andrew.” She paused. “Freddie was my mom’s sister’s kid. Her only kid. So we took him every summer. But we weren’t always together, if you know what I mean.”
This woman spoke in innuendo, and I was not following her.
“No,” I said, my voice sounding irritated as I heard it. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“My mom would get us all ready in the morning, right? Swimsuits. Check. Sunblock. Check. Me, Andy, and Freddie. Leaving for the beach all together, right? One happy trio.”
“Right,” I said.
“Except we didn’t hang out together,” she said. “We hadourpeople—”
“And Freddie had his,” I finished her sentence.
“Exactly,” she said, sitting back in her chair.
“So whowouldFreddie associate with?” Frank asked.
“Surfers,” Natalie said, turning to him. “Stoners. Kids who took the bus over to the beach.”
