X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“Fire away,” she said.

“Does the name Pete Wolinsky mean anything to you?”

“Sure. I knew Pete. Not well, but when I heard he was shot to death, I didn’t know what to think. Is that why you’re here?”

“Not exactly. The police arrested the perpetrator, but the case hasn’t been set for trial. What interests me is peripheral. Was he a patient of yours?”

“I prefer calling them ‘clients,’ but no.”

“Good. That’s great. I’d hate asking you to violate a confidence.”

“No danger there,” she said with a polite smile.

“Can you tell me how you knew him?”

“Call it ‘old business’ for simplicity’s sake. Our paths crossed years ago, and then he showed up again last spring.”

Chances were good the “old business” she was referring to was the lawsuit she’d filed against Ned Lowe. I nearly mentioned him, but I decided to wait, curious to see if she’d volunteer the name.

“So Pete initiated contact?” I asked.

“Yep. We got together twice, with maybe three or four weeks between meetings. When I didn’t hear from him again, I didn’t think anything about it. When I found out he’d been killed, I was taken aback.”

“That was a tough one,” I said, my tone noncommittal.

“What’s the nature of your interest?”

“His widow’s a friend of mine. Pete left Ruth with a pile of debt and his affairs in disarray. She’s got an IRS audit coming up, so we’ve been going through his effects, looking for financial records. Yesterday I found a mailing pouch concealed under a false bottom in a banker’s box. The mailer was addressed to a priest in Burning Oaks, postmarked 1961. There was also a list hidden in the pages of a document in the same box. Your name was on it.”

“What kind of list?”

“Six women’s names, which he’d encrypted for reasons unknown. My landlord identified the cipher and provided me the key.”

“I didn’t know Pete was into cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

“I guess he was; in this regard, if nothing else.”

She studied me. “Now you’re trying to determine if there’s a link between the names.”

“Exactly.”

“Can you give me the other five?”

“Sure.”

I opened my shoulder bag and took out my index cards. I removed the rubber band and sorted through the first few until I found the notes I’d made. “There’s a Susan Telford in Henderson, Nevada, and a woman named Janet Macy in Tucson, Arizona.”

She shook her head to both.

“Shirley Ann Kastle from Burning Oaks?”

“I know who she is, but the reference is secondhand. I never met her myself. And the fourth?”

“Lenore Redfern, also from Burning Oaks. There’s also a Phyllis Joplin from Perdido.”

“This is about Ned Lowe, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible. I’m not sure.”

“Back up a step. You said Pete’s widow is a friend. Were you and Pete also friends?”

“Sorry. I should have filled you in. We worked for the same detective agency many years ago. I was just starting out and needed six thousand hours for licensing purposes. Pete was pals with Ben Byrd and Morley Shine, the guys who ran the firm. To be honest, I know about the lawsuit you filed against Ned Lowe in that same time period.”

“How long did you work there?”

“From 1975 to 1978, when I left to open an office of my own.”

“I thought Pete was a partner in the agency.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Not directly, but that was the impression he gave.”

“Well, it’s not true. He didn’t even work there full-time. He did occasional contract work.” I was doing a poor job of concealing my dislike, which might have been a mistake. If she was crazy about Pete, I didn’t want to put her off.

Her response was mild. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t like his distorting the facts. Ben and Morley kept him at arm’s length.”

“And why was that?”

I considered my reply. No reason to offend on the off chance she thought he was a model citizen. “I don’t see the point in going into it,” I said.

“If you’re asking about Pete, your history with him is relevant, don’t you think?”

I entertained a small debate. If I wanted information from her, I was going to have to prime the pump. The problem was I’d have to be circumspect, which is not my strong suit. I chose my words carefully. “Pete had trouble distinguishing right from wrong. He was usually hard up for cash and willing to cut corners when it came right down to it.”