When Milo finished filling Karski in on Sophie Barlow, he uncrossed his legs and stroked his beard.
“So the connection is this gal once had a thing with Heck but she wasn’t at all involved with Alberts.”
“Not that we’ve found, so far.”
Karski said, “Crazy…listen, I’m not going to tell you how to do your job but on the surface it sounds kind of tenuous.”
“It does, Walt, but you follow the breadcrumbs you get tossed. And what are the odds of two strangulation homicides popping up within weeks of each other?”
“Never worked any homicides directly, just some organized-crime money stuff related to hits,” said Karski. “You’re going to give me a number, huh?”
Milo cited the statistics.
Karski whistled. “See what you mean. What about the blunt force to the daughter?”
“More common but still less frequent than guns or blades.”
“Three atypicals. So what’s your working hypothesis on all this?”
“Wish we had one. That’s why we’re here.”
“Don’t know how I can help but I’ll try. Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“We’re fine.”
“I’m thirsty from gardening, hold on.”
Karski strode to the kitchen, took a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge, and brought it over with three glasses festooned with Disney characters.
“Sure I can’t pour you? Freshly squeezed from my Valencia out back.”
“In that case, sure.”
“Here you go…I grew up back east and I know I’m sounding like a total rube, but the ability to go out and pick fresh fruit still awes me.”
We drank.
I said, “Delicious.”
Karski beamed and sat back. “So how can I help you?”
Milo said, “Let’s start with what you remember about Martha.”
“What I remember…okay, didn’t hang out with her but she impressed me as a really hard worker. Little busy bee. When she wasn’t interviewing POIs, she was at her desk, writing, filing, never looking up. Then she’d straighten the desk. Take her time doing it before leaving without a word. Neat as a pin.”
I said, “Not very social.”
“Not in the least,” said Karski. “But to be fair there wasn’t much socializing going on, period. We weren’t exactly a team.”
I said, “People working in the same room but not together.”
“Precisely, Doctor. We were on one side of the room, you guys on the other. And not by accident, Van Osler set out to divide us from the get-go. Wanting control, you know?”
I said, “Where was the workspace?”
“Rented warehouse east of downtown. Van Osler brought in a construction crew to build a corner suite for himself. With windows. Besides that, there was one interview room and the rest was a big open space with no view of anything but walls. Our guys called it The Wasteland.”
“Control. The politician thing.”
