Deeper Than the Dead

62

“Oh God, this is embarrassing,” Peter Crane groaned, looking at the arrest report—complete with mug shot—Mendez had put down on the table in front of him. He sighed and looked away.

“What you do in your free time is your business, Dr. Crane. I don’t want an explanation,” Mendez said. “I’m not going to tell your wife. I don’t need another homicide to investigate. You seem like a nice enough guy.

“My problem with this is that on that same night, in that same vice sweep, Julie Paulson was arrested.”

“Who’s Julie Paulson?”

“Julie Paulson was a prostitute. Not long after her arrest in Oxnard, she turned up at the Thomas Center. And not long after that, she turned up dead.”

“I don’t know anything about that!” Crane said, shocked.

Mendez made a pained face. “But you do, Doctor. Actually, you brought that murder up the first day we spoke.”

Crane looked confused for an instant. “The girl that was murdered last year? The one found outside of town? I read about that in the newspaper!”

“I have a hard time with that,” Mendez said. “I don’t believe in coincidences—especially not when they start to pile on top of each other.

“Julie Paulson was a prostitute in Oxnard. You were arrested for soliciting a prostitute in Oxnard. Julie Paulson comes to Oak Knoll. You live in Oak Knoll. She gets in the program at the Thomas Center. You work with the women at the Thomas Center. She ends up dead. Karly Vickers goes missing. You knew Lisa Warwick . . .

“Can you see where all these things might lead me, Dr. Crane?”

Crane rubbed his hands over his face. “Oh my God.”

Mendez let him stew for a minute, tapping his pen on the tabletop slowly as the seconds ticked past.

“I didn’t know Julie Paulson,” he said at last. “The girl I got arrested with in Oxnard, Candace, I used to see her from time to time.”

“You were a regular customer is what you’re saying?”

Crane closed his eyes like he had a bad headache. “I’m not proud of it. And it’s not that I don’t care about my wife. It’s just . . . Janet has some . . . issues—”

“I really don’t want to know about that,” Mendez said. “Really.”

“I know you’ve only seen the worst of her,” Crane said. “This week has been a nightmare. She’s really not a bad person. I don’t cheat on her in the truest sense of the word—”

“Don’t care. Really.”

If Peter Crane wanted absolution he was going to have to consult a priest. Mendez had no interest in arguing the definition of adultery. The man was fucking women other than his wife—that pretty much defined the word for him.

Crane sighed. “After I got arrested, I stopped going down there.”

“And Julie Paulson moved here,” Mendez said. “You’re not helping yourself here, Dr. Crane.”

“I’m telling you what happened,” he said, exasperated. “I can’t help it that that girl moved here. It’s a free country. Maybe she had a friend here, but it wasn’t me.”

“And you stopped going to Oxnard.”

“Yes.”

“And . . . ? What? You gave up prostitutes? You gave up sex?”

“I . . . have . . . Oh Jesus,” he muttered, looking down at the floor. “I have an . . . arrangement . . . with a woman in Ventura.”

Mendez slid a paper and pen across the table to him. “I’ll need her name and phone number.”

Crane looked like he wanted to be sick. Mr. Respectable Upstanding Citizen frequenting prostitutes.

When he had written the information Mendez took the paper. “I’ll be right back. You want a coffee or something?”

“No. Thank you,” Crane said, staring at the table.

Mendez went across the hall and handed the paper to Hicks. Vince and Dixon were watching the monitor. Crane sat with his head in his hands.

“Good job, kid,” Vince said. “You’ve got him twitching.”

“Man, he’s sweating like a horse,” Mendez said. “Can you imagine what his wife would do to him if she found out where her pillar of the community has been?”

Hicks laughed. “Yeah, his pillar’s been all over the place.”

“Although, you can hardly blame the guy,” Mendez said. “That wife of his . . . She’d be like fucking a bear trap.”

“Press him about last night,” Vince said. “Ask him how his card game went.”

Mendez poured himself a cup of coffee and went back into the interview room.

“So how was your card game last night?”

“My what?”

“Your wife told us you weren’t home last night because you were playing cards.”

“Oh.”

“Where were you? Ventura?”

“No. Janet and I had a fight.”

“What about?”

“She was angry that Tommy’s teacher had asked him some questions about our home life. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, my wife can be a formidable character in an argument,” he said. “It’s been a long week. I’d just had it. I didn’t want to hear any more, so I went out.”

“Out where?”

“I had dinner at O’Brien’s Pub, watched the American League Championship game. Around nine Steve came into the bar—”

“Steve Morgan?”

“Yeah. We sat around and cried in our beer until closing time.”

“What was his problem?”

“A fight with his wife. What else? She kicked him out.”

“Why did she throw him out?”

“She accused him of having an affair, which has gotten to be a routine thing with her.”

“Is he?” Mendez asked. “Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.”

He didn’t answer for a while, turning words over in his head, trying to choose them carefully. “Steve’s a complicated guy.”

“I don’t care,” Mendez said. “I want to know: Was he having an affair with Lisa Warwick?”

Peter Crane rested his elbows on the table and hung his head, looking defeated.

“Don’t fuck around with me, Dr. Crane,” Mendez said sharply. “The woman was murdered. Was he having an affair with her?”

“Yes.”