"I think that's a safe bet. She'd never tolerate his profiting from Bobby's death. My God, it was the worst possible move he could have made as far as she's concerned. Besides which, it sets him up as a murder suspect."
"My father wouldn't kill anyone!"
"That's what he says about you."
"Well, it's true. I didn't have any reason to want Bobby dead. Neither of us did. I didn't even know about the money and I don't want it anyway."
"Money might not be the motive," I said. "It's an obvious place to start, but it doesn't necessarily go anywhere."
"But you don't think Daddy did it, do you?"
"I haven't made up my mind about that yet. I'm still trying to figure out what Bobby was up to and I need to fill in some gaps. Something was going on back then and I can't get a line on it. What was his relationship to Sufi? You have any idea?"
Kitty picked up her cigarette, averting her gaze. She took a moment to tap the ash from the end, and then she took a last, deep drag and put it out. Her nails were bitten down so far the pads of the fingers seemed like little round balls.
She was debating something with herself. I kept my mouth shut and gave her some room. "She was a contact," she said finally, her voice low. "Bobby was doing this investigation or something for somebody else."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"It had to be the Frakers, right? I talked to Sufi last night, and the minute I left, she hightailed it over to their place. She was in there so long, I finally had to go home."
Kitty's eyes came up to mine. "I don't know for sure what it was."
"But how'd he get into it? What was it about?"
"All I know is he told me he was looking for something and he got the job out at the morgue so he could search at night."
"Medical records? Something stored out there?"
Her face closed down again and she shrugged.
"But Kitty, when you realized someone was trying to kill him, didn't you figure it was connected to that?"
She was chewing on her thumbnail in earnest by now. I saw her eyes flick and I turned around. Dr. Kleinert was standing in the doorway, staring at her. When he realized I'd seen him, he looked over at me. His smile seemed forced and it was not full of merriment.
"Well. I didn't know you were entertaining this morning," he said to her. Then briefly to me, "What brings you in so bright and early?"
"I just stopped by on my way to Glen's. I've been trying to persuade Kitty to eat," I said.
"No need for that," he said easily. "This young lady has an agreement with me." He gave a practiced glance at his watch, adjusting the face of it on his wrist before it disappeared up his cuff again. "I hope you'll excuse us. I have other patients to see and my time is limited."
"I'm on my way out," I said. I glanced at Kitty. "I may give you a call in a little while. I'll see if Glen can stop in to visit you."
"Great," she said. "Thanks."
I waved and moved out of the room, wondering how long he'd been standing there and how much he'd heard. I was trying to remember what Carrie St. Cloud had said. She'd told me Bobby was involved in some kind of blackmail scheme, but not the usual kind with money changing hands. Something else. "Somebody had something on some friend of his and he was trying to help out," was the way she'd put it as nearly as I could remember. If it was extortion, why didn't he go to the police? And why was it up to him to do anything?
I got back in my car and headed out to Glen's place.
Chapter 21
It was just after nine when I pulled into Glen's driveway. The courtyard was deserted. The fountain sent up a column of water fifteen feet high, cascading back on itself in a tumble of pale green and white. I could hear a power mower whining from one of the terraces in the rear and rainbirds were jetting a fine spray into the giant fern, dappled with sunlight, that bordered the gravel walks. The air seemed tropical, scented with jasmine.
I rang the bell and one of the maids admitted me. I asked for Glen and she murmured something in Spanish, raising her eyes to the second floor. I gathered that Glen was upstairs.
The door to Bobby's room was open and she was seated in one of his easy chairs, hands in her lap, her face impassive. When she caught sight of me, she smiled almost imperceptibly. She was looking drawn, dark lines etched under her eyes. Her makeup was subtle, but it only seemed to emphasize the pallor in her cheeks. She wore a knit dress in a shade of red too harsh for her. "Hello, Kinsey. Come sit down," she said.