I said, “Cheerful.”
Milo said, “Maybe it’ll rub off.”
He lifted a door-knocker shaped like a dolphin and let it drop. Seconds later the door opened on a tall, thin, bald man with a bushy white beard, wearing a white polo shirt, baggy blue linen pants, and huarache sandals.
“Milo? Walt Karski. And you must be the doctor.”
“Alex Delaware.”
Quick, firm handshake. “My daughter’s a psychologist, works at Sloan Kettering in New York with cancer patients.”
Milo said, “He did that, too.”
“Did you?”
I said, “Pediatric oncology.”
Walt Karski flinched. “Rebecca says it’s tough work but rewarding, but I can’t imagine kids. Come on in.”
He stepped back and we entered an open-plan layout with windows on three sides. Living room, dining area, a white-on-whitekitchen that looked new. A door to the left led to a hallway backed by a rear window framing an eyeful of green.
The furniture was rattan with brown hibiscus-patterned pillows and a circular glass table. On the walls were soft-focus seascapes and photos of Karski, a plump blonde his age, a couple in their twenties with two small children, and a young woman in doctoral graduation regalia. Dark-blue hood, same as the one I’d worn years ago.
Sometimes retired people display career mementos. No indication how Walter Karski had spent his working days.
He settled facing us, crossed long, tan legs, and placed his hands on his knees. “So here we are. I always wondered if someone would get curious.”
Milo said, “About the Alberts case.”
“About tons of money spent to boost a rich kid’s career. You know about Van Osler’s connections?”
“Governor’s cousin.”
“Plus his parents are big-money Northern Cal types, the guy grew up in Atherton,” said Karski. “He gave speeches to us about justice but you could tell he didn’t mean it. That politician look, you know? We all figured the plan was to confiscate a whole bunch of money in order for him to look heroic so he could run for something. But wouldn’t you know it, Alberts was broke.”
I said, “Cancel the whiz-bang press conference.”
Karski smiled. “Exactly, whimper, no bang. Van Osler moved to New York and went white-shoe corporate and the rest of us civil servants got reassigned. Haven’t heard from him since.”
Milo said, “He dropped dead at a country-club dance.”
Karski blinked. “Did he. Yeah, he always had that flushed look. And now here I am talking about him and the good old days. Never figured it would be due to a homicide, let alone Martha’s. Fill me in however much you feel you can.”
Milo gave him the basics. When he got to Lynne Gutierrez, Karski’s eyes widened.
“The daughter, too?”
“Afraid so. A few days later.”
“Wow.”
Milo continued. When he got to Martha’s dismemberment, Karski’s face compressed.
“My God, that sounds psychopathic weird—am I wrong, Doctor? Can’t see how any of it would relate to a ten-year-old fraud investigation.”
Milo said, “Not on the surface but there was another murder shortly before Martha and both have connections to Alberts.”
“Another. Good Lord.” Karski slumped. Reacting like a civilian. Aka a normal person. Retirement can be like that. I never hardened when I worked the cancer ward but I was able to focus and keep my feelings secondary. Years later I visited and found myself fighting tears.
