Damage

17

Ro Curtlee and his lawyer, Tristan Denardi, sat at the bar at Tadich Grill, both of them eating cioppino.

"I know you're not supposed to ask," Ro was saying. "I know you don't want to know. But I'm telling you anyway. I wasn't anywhere near the place. I did not kill Nunez, though it doesn't break my heart to see her out of the picture."

"Well, she's not quite out of the picture, Ro." Denardi, for all of his theatrics in the courtroom, cut a more or less paternal, patrician, low-key figure. A full head of silver hair, an unlined face that suggested time spent in a tanning salon, a beautifully cut Italian suit with a gold silk tie. "They're still going to use her testimony from last time."

"Sure. But it won't be her on the stand giving it again. You said they're just going to read what she said last time, right?"

"Right. There's no other option."

"So how convincing is that going to be?

"Not very. And I know and agree, it's a definite plus for us. Although I admit I would have liked it better if she were still alive and we could persuade her not to testify at all. Or even to change her testimony. Plus, then there wouldn't be any question at all of your possible involvement in her death."

Ro rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you…?"

Denardi raised his hand, palm out. "I understand that. I'm not accusing you of anything, Ro. It's just that the timing, her dying in the week after you're released. You have to admit it's unfortunate."

"Not my problem, Counselor. And not yours." With his good hand, Ro stabbed a scallop. "Seems to me our one problem remaining is that other witness, Gonzalvez. We've got to find her and make her change her mind either about what she's going to say or whether she really wants to say it at all. We don't want her showing up as a surprise if this thing ever goes back to trial."

"No. I understand that. But as I've explained to you, she disappeared right after your trial. She's likely to stay disappeared. I think that if your parents haven't been able to locate her, it might prove to be a little difficult for anybody else."

Ro shook his head. "I don't buy it."

"Why not?"

"Because they weren't really looking for her. They were going to hassle her, maybe, put her out of work if they could, but once she was gone they let it go. What was the point? But now, for us, it's a different story. Now, she alone could swing a jury. You see that?"

"I acknowledge the possibility, yes."

"Well, then, I say we find her first."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"You got private eyes who work for you, don't you?"

"Sure. Several."

"Well, put one of them on it."

"You know, Ro, the rumor is she's in Guatemala. She's really not coming back."

"I'm just saying, why not be sure?" In spite of how he'd left it with Arnie Becker, Glitsky had his tape recorder out on Michael Durbin's desk in the back of the shop. The door was closed behind them, rendering into a muted white noise the normal business dealings taking place out front among the customers. Glitsky had recognized Liza Sato among the employees right away from his Saturday morning interview, and twice now, in his peripheral vision, he'd noticed her at the window, coming back to check on how things were going between her boss and the cop.

He'd already covered Durbin's belated and labored explanation of his tardiness coming into work last Friday morning. Durbin had then mentioned his suspicions about Ro Curtlee, and Glitsky had dutifully listened and asked the appropriate questions. Now, though, with that line pretty much played out, he thought he'd bring things a little closer to home. "But having been at the arraignment, you knew about the recent history between me and Ro? The arrest and so forth?"

"Sure."

"I'm just curious why you didn't come by and say hello to me then."

"Well, you were obviously busy and in the middle of things. And I was way back in the gallery. I would have had to wait and then walk back through a lot of people. And then of course I didn't have anything specific to talk to you about, either."

"So what happened this morning, with the phone call to me?"

"Well, I put it together about Ro and me yesterday and I thought you'd understand. I mean, knowing all the background with Ro and me and all."

"It would be easier to sell the idea to me, is that it?"

"I didn't really think of it in those terms. I figured I'd pass along whatever I knew to you. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Well," Glitsky said, "as far as that goes, you did fine."

"That's a relief. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just thought… well, you know. Ro. He's a dangerous man."

"Yes, he is."

"Listen." Durbin cleared his throat. "Could we take a short break, maybe get us something to drink? I'm dying of thirst. Could I offer you some water? Coffee? Coke? Only diet, I'm afraid."

"Thanks. I'm good, but you go ahead."

Durbin got out of his chair and walked around Glitsky and out into the hallway. Glitsky turned off his tape recorder and looked around at the small, well-ordered office. At a glance, it reinforced his view that Durbin was an organized, well-ordered guy.

After a minute or so, he returned with a clear plastic cup full of ice cubes and an oversize plastic bottle of Diet Coke. He poured a splash into the glass, let the foam settle, and poured a little more, then placed the bottle on the desk between them.

Glitsky turned his tape recorder back on. "When we talked Saturday," he began, "you mentioned that you and your wife were having some troubles."

Durbin stopped mid-drink and set his glass down. "I don't understand," he said. "Why does that possibly matter now?"

"Why would it matter any less than two days ago?"

"Because two days ago we didn't know that Ro had killed Janice. Now we do, so what difference does it make if things had been a little difficult lately?"

Glitsky framed his answer carefully. "Just because Ro had a reason to kill Janice doesn't mean that he did, or someone else did not. We don't know that Ro did."

Durbin's voice got loud. "The hell we don't. What the hell more do you need?"

Keeping his calm, Glitsky replied. "We need evidence, sir. Fingerprints, DNA, somebody seeing him at your house. Something a jury will need to convict."

"So go look around him to find your evidence. You're not going to find it sniffing around whatever problems my wife and I might have been having."

Glitsky, somewhat taken aback, slowed himself down before he replied. "I get to ask the questions here, sir. If you don't want to answer them, that's fine. But we'll have the answers sooner or later."

"Are you seriously telling me I'm a suspect here?"

"I don't have a suspect yet. I'm looking for one."

Durbin slammed his fist on the desk. "You got one, for Christ's sake. You need a map? Can I draw you a picture? It's Ro Curtlee."

Glitsky took a beat. "Was it you who was having an affair?"

Durbin shook his head. "Jesus Christ! I don't believe this." He paused. "Should I be getting myself a lawyer?"

"That's your absolute right, if you feel you need one."

"This is bullshit."

"No, sir. It's a murder investigation." Glitsky sat back, his mouth set in a thin line. "And for the record, you should know that I'm not a fan of that kind of language. So we can either be civil with each other or not. Again, it's your choice. I'm trying to find out everything I can about your wife so I'll have a better idea of where to look if I'm going to locate her killer. Do you want to help me or not?"

"Of course. In fact, I've given him to you."

"And I'll be looking into that, I promise. In the meantime, you're here and I need to know who your wife might have been seeing. Or who you were."

Slumping back, Durbin sucked in a lungful of air. Brooding for another moment, at last he said, "I wasn't having an affair. With her, I'd bet one of her patients."

"Do you have any idea how long this might have been going on?"

"I don't know anything about it, except just the bare fact, and maybe not even that. We hadn't been… intimate… for a couple of months. At least a couple of months, though I wasn't keeping track. A long time, I'll say that. But I don't want you thinking I didn't love her anymore, because I did. I do. I was sure we'd come out of it."

"So you never called her on it? Confronted her directly?"

"No."

"Not on last Friday, either?"

"No. Not then. Not ever." He suddenly reached for the glass in front of him and drank deeply from it. "You ever go through a bad time with your wife, Lieutenant? Sometimes you just wait it out, you hope something gives."

"Of course." Glitsky had no intention of discussing anything about his marriage with Michael Durbin, or anyone else for that matter. "Would you happen to have a list of her patients?" he asked.

"No. They'd be at her office, over by Stonestown." Durbin gave him the exact address and suite number. "If you can get at 'em. She was super-protective about her records. Patient/doctor privilege, you know."

"I've heard of it. Is there anything else you can think of that you might want to tell me about?"