W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

He drove south on the 101 while Willard removed the report and read it. Pete was uncomfortably aware of Willard’s mounting distress. He took the off-ramp at the bird refuge, where he pulled into the abbreviated parking strip twenty-five feet from the water’s edge. As a goodwill gesture, he’d picked up a bag of assorted doughnuts and two oversize cups of coffee he hoped would pacify Willard’s angst. He experienced a twinge of guilt when Willard saw the photographs, almost as though he’d betrayed the man himself.

Once Pete shut down the engine, they sat in the car. Pete was quiet, looking out at the saltwater lagoon where a passel of ducks squatted on the muddy shore. Certain times of the year, the lagoon threw off an aroma of rotten eggs. Pete didn’t know how any of the nearby businesses could survive. Across from the parking lot, there was a restaurant, an athletic facility, and a bar called CC’s, the Caliente Café, where the off-duty cops hung out. Today the odor wasn’t too bad. The lagoon smelled faintly dank with a secondary aroma of soggy vegetation and bird doo-doo.

Willard held the papers loosely in his lap. “This is embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t take that attitude. At least you know your instincts were good. Only difference is Dr. Reed’s not the one you should be worried about. From the information I managed to dig up, this is a former high school classmate. Fellow named Owen Pensky.”

Willard’s expression was a curious mix of perplexity and gloom.

Pete said, “I don’t mean to suggest a course of action. That’s your decision. I will say if it was me, I’d push this. Right now you really don’t know what’s going on.”

“Why’s she even talking to the guy? I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you don’t have all the information. If I might make a recommendation, your next move would be to put a tap on the line.”

“Are you talking about tapping our home phone?”

“Well, if she’s calling him on her work phone, that’s a tricky proposition. I’m not sure how I’d get into the lab to put a bug on that line. Simpler and more sensible to monitor her calls from home. That might tell us where to go next.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I understand,” Pete said. “The connection with this Pensky fellow may be entirely innocent. High school buddy lives in Reno? No big deal. She knows she’ll be in town for this conference so she sets up a meeting to say howdy and catch up on old times. I suspect there might be something more, but we’re not going to know unless I’m authorized to act.”

“Shit.”

“No need to assume the worst. There’s probably more to it than meets the eye, but from what I observed, I don’t believe it’s anything of a romantic nature.”

“What is it then?” Willard sorted through the pages a second time and then studied the copies of the black-and-white photos from the high school yearbook. His complexion, ruddy by nature, now looked like he’d spent too much time under a heat lamp.

“I wouldn’t want to speculate. She ever mention this Pensky fellow?”

“No.”

“She might have looked him up when she got to Reno, on the off chance he was still in town. Old high school chum, a classmate. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But look how intense they are.”

“Fellow might have marital issues. Had you thought of that? She calls him to say hi, letting him know she’s in town, he might have jumped at the idea of having a confidante.”

“Is he married?”

“Records check is next on my list if you decide to proceed. I didn’t have a chance to go over to the Washoe County courthouse while I was there. Enough going on at the hotel that I felt my time was better spent on the premises.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Up to you,” Pete said. “Phone calls in the bedroom with the door shut? I don’t like the sound of that.” He paused to shake his head. “Easiest solution is to install a bug.”

“Stop saying that. I don’t like spying on her. It’s not right.”

“It’s a little late to fret when you have a guy like me chasing all the way to Reno to take photographs. What’s the point of stopping short when it might all be easily explained?”

Willard sank into a brooding silence.

Pete had to suppress his impatience. Here he was spoon-feeding the fellow, coaxing him toward the obvious conclusion. Nothing as persuasive as a self-generated decision even if it was Pete nudging him in the right direction. Let Willard think he’d come up with it on his own. Pete grew uneasy, wondering if he’d pushed the man too hard. “Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. You love your wife, so it’s natural to want to maintain trust. At the same time, I can think of other explanations for what seems troublesome.”