I conceded another slice of cheese, two additional grapes, a water biscuit, and a slice of raisin bread. Thinking:Big Guy, you blew it.
Managing to withstand her urging to “try the butter, just a smidge, it’s from Denmark—okay, cholesterol, I get it. Then at least the jam, it’s a mixture of Alpine and conventional strawberries, a family in Milan—wait here one sec.”
She strutted out of the room and returned toting a leather-bound folio with both hands. Karen Amilyn Leavitt’s brief acting career was preserved between sheets of plastic. Semi-literate puff-piece reviews in a Beverly Hills throwaway paper, some dating back to high school days, had been preserved with additional photos from the Marilyn-clone shoot. Emphasis on come-hither headshots, lingerie glams, and airbrushed bikini poses.
Jane watched as I flipped pages. When I closed the book, I said, “Terrific.”
“She had so much potential.” She turned away, dabbed at her eyes.
I checked my phone and stood. “Oops, so sorry, I really need to go.”
“Police business? Something to do withher?”
“Yes.”
“Then be off,” she said. “Just as well. I’ve got a party to plan. The garden club, they love my palms.”
She directed my exit the same way she’d guided my entry: arm in arm, followed by a firm propulsion outdoors.
“When will you be able to clue me in, Doctor?”
“Soon as I can.”
“Grand,” she said, clapping her hands. “I want all the gory details, each and every one.”
Be careful what you hope for.
I drove south to Lomitas Avenue, hooked a right at Walden Drive, pulled over, and phoned Judge Martin Bevilacqua.
His clerk said, “I think he’s free,” and rang him in chambers.
A second later, Marty came on. “What’s up, Alex?”
“One more question about the Ansar divorce.”
“No new facts.”
“You mentioned art was part of the dispute.”
“Why does that matter to you?”
“It may connect to the murder.”
“One ofthemis involved? Oh, shit.”
“No direct involvement,” I said, “but our suspects claim to have sold to the Ansars. Any idea what?”
“Oh, man,” he said. “No, not a clue, Mister absconded with all of it according to Missus and she has no record other than it’s supposedly gazillions.”
“You have your doubts?”
“You know what it’s like. Everyone lies or at least exaggerates.”
“What kind of art does she claim he took?”
“Priceless Old Masters but she’s up the creek because there’s zero evidence. Are you telling me he hung out with really bad people?”
“He could’ve just been a customer.”
