“Could be. Was Heck the only one who came in with representation?”
“From what I saw, Milo, but I couldn’t swear to it. So now you’ve got him connected to both your victims but with a rock-solid alibi for at least one. Going to question him about Martha?”
“Maybe.”
“Only maybe?”
“He’s got assertive legal representation.”
“Cutie Pie needs to allow it.”
“She does, indeed.”
“Still,” said Karski, “even with all this I can’t see any obvious reason for Heck to harbor a grudge against Martha. It’s not like she arrested him. More likely she cleared him, because, like I said, all of them were cleared. Even the doctors and the therapists Alberts used. That’s because his cases weren’t bullshit slip and falls, they were actually righteous. The problem was he didn’t disburse funds to his clients.”
I said, “Where did the money go?”
Karski grinned. “Finally, something I know.” He began ticking fingers. “First off was gambling—massive bets, six figures on sports, both online and casinos. Vegas blackjack and high-stakes poker. Then there were private planes togetto Vegas. And back. And Aspen, wherever. NetJets alone cost him nearly a mil a year. He also piled up art, furniture, clothes, cars. A lot of which turned out to be overpriced crap, just goes to show youcancheat a cheater. He had three huge houses but all were mortgaged to the hilt. But thebiggesthit Alberts took was on bad investments in the stock market. High-risk short selling, commodities, futures. It was like a primer on how to lose a fortune fast. My guys are getting backaches sitting at our desks all day expecting a big payoff and there’s goose-egg to recover. So the tents got folded overnight. Meanwhile, Alberts stalls his way out of prison with some sort of diminished-capacity bullshit. Haven’t heard he’s ever come up for trial, so I guess that’s still working.”
Recounting the details had flushed Karski’s face. He looked younger, more fit, perched on his chair with muscular tension that said ready to pounce.
Milo said, “Turns out he really is impaired, Walt. Pretty much vegetative.”
“That so?” said Karski. “Well, at least he told the truth once.”
His posture slackened as he drained a glass of juice, poured another. “The whole thing was about headlines, pure and simple. Want something to eat?”
“No, thanks. Anything else come to mind.”
“Sorry, no. Wish I could help more and feel free to follow up with questions but I can’t think of anything.”
“Thanks.”
“I guess I should be thanking you,” said Karski. “First time I’ve felt useful in a while. The whole retirement thing, you know?”
The door opened and the woman in the photos entered, carrying shopping bags. OshKosh B’gosh, Gap Kids. Thinner than in the image on the wall, her hair longer, allowed to gray.
Karski got to his feet and they shared a lip-peck.
He took the bags and deposited them on the kitchen counter. “Judy Grobel, aka my far better half. Hon, this is Milo and that’s Dr. Delaware.”
Judy Grobel shook our hands with the same quick firmness as her husband. “Psychologist.” She grinned. “No doubt Walt told you about our Rebecca.”
“He did.”
Karski returned. “Productive shopping for the munchkins?”
“Very. Our oldest, Mark, lives nearby in Goleta, he’s in tech, had the good graces to get married and produce grandbabies.”
Karski said, “Rebecca will get there.”
Judy Grobel crossed her fingers. Slate-blue eyes lowered to the table. “Enjoy the juice? Walt’s pride and joy, he raised the tree from a puppy.”
We smiled.
Milo said, “Delicious. We were just leaving.”
She looked at her husband. “Productive session?”
