South Phoenix Rules (David Mapstone Mystery 6)

“Bi-polar? Any mental illness? On any anti-depressants?” Spoken like the former husband of a psychologist. “Did she have a history of emotional problems?”

Felix shook the big head sparingly several times. “She was a sweet girl.”

“Did she have enemies?” I asked.

“Of course not.” It was the first time his voice had showed anything other than a careful detachment.

I asked other questions. When was the last time he had spoken to her? Two days before her death. How was she? Everything seemed fine. No change in her voice? Nothing new going on in her life? No. No. His voice grew more taut.

Expanding on my winning interpersonal skills, I continued.

“What was she doing in Zisman’s condominium?”

“What the hell business is…?” He stopped himself.

“We’re going to need to know.” This from Peralta’s deep, authoritative voice, before which the toughest cops had quailed.

Felix allowed the slightest sigh. “I don’t know. I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t even think she knew the man. She had a boyfriend in San Diego. I can give you his name.”

Peralta leaned back and said nothing. Felix rolled his head and knocked out a kink with such force that his neck emitted a sharp pop and I wondered for a second if he might have injured himself.

He was fine. “Money won’t be a problem.” He floated the fee schedule back across Peralta’s desk.

Peralta tapped his pen against the pad. He didn’t need a case. Sharon, his ex, had made sure he was set up with money for life and his only vices were guns and beer. I did. I was already digging into savings that had never been plentiful. Lindsey had a good job and her paycheck dropped into our joint checking account every two weeks. But I was reluctant to use her money. I had never thought of her money and my money during our marriage, but that was before the annus horribilis we had gone through. Money would be nice right now, but I wasn’t sure I wanted it from this particular case.

“Let me take down a little more information and we’ll make a preliminary investigation,” Peralta said. “After that, I’ll decide if we’re going to continue.”

“Fair enough,” Felix said.

The “little more information” took another forty-five minutes.

Afterward, Felix pushed across a thick envelope. “I hope ten thousand is enough for a retainer.”

My greedy heart leapt. My nervous leg didn’t celebrate by calming down.

&nbsp

; Peralta studied the contents. I could see hundred-dollar bills.

“I didn’t want to wait for a check to clear,” Felix said. “I’d appreciate it if you can start now.”

Maybe Peralta nodded, but the man stood. He handed each of us a card with his name and number. No address.

“What’s your line of work, Mister Smith?”

“Between jobs.”

Peralta didn’t push the question so I let it be.

Felix shook our hands. He gave me a long, vise-like shake. I gave it back as hard as I could and met his stare full on. If he was packing, my peripheral vision wasn’t good enough to pick it up.

“I hope you don’t mind if I also check you out.” Peralta’s voice snapped the moment.

“Not a bit.”

Felix pivoted and pulled out a platinum money clip. From this, he handed the big man a driver’s license. When Peralta had written down what he wanted, he gave it back and thanked him.

Felix let the money clip fall into his pocket. “You can’t be too careful.”