Cinderella (19 page)

    Otto asked if Jenny Santoro had given an address here in Calusa.

    The girl told him No, but that wasn't unusual. Lots of people rented a car before they'd found a place to stay. She had given her home address, though, as 3914 Veteran Avenue in Los Angeles, California.

    Jenny Santoro.

    More editorializing here. Otto was astonished that she was Italian. That long blonde hair? Those blue eyes? Italian? Well, now he had a name, and now he had to start all over again with the new name.

    By the end of the next day, Wednesday, June 4, Otto was beginning to think the Jenny Santoro was a phony, too, this despite the fact that you had to show a driver's license before any rental company would let you drive off with a car. Otto noted gratuitously, however, that you could buy a phony driver's license for a hundred bucks anyplace in America, and since the work he'd been doing all day long-the same routine checks he'd made for Angela West-were coming up blank for Jenny Santoro, there was a strong likelihood that the lady was carrying queer documents.

    On Thursday, June 5, Otto went back to the South Dixie Mall.

    He went back there because Cinderella (or Angela West or Jenny Santoro) had been carrying a shopping bag, and it was safe to assume there'd been something
in
that shopping bag and reasonable to expect she'd made a purchase in the mall, perhaps in the bookstore, perhaps in one of the other shops.

    He showed the bookstore clerk the picture Larkin had given him and asked if this girl had made any purchases and if so how she had paid for them. He was praying for a check with a name and an address printed on it. He told the clerk, by the way, that he worked for a credit-card verification agency, whatever that was, and was trying to track down a stolen card.

    The clerk recognized the photo, said Yes, this girl had bought a book just the other day, and then checked her receipts. The book was something entitled A
New View of a Woman's Body.
It cost $8.95, and Cinderella had charged it to MasterCard. The name was another name entirely.

    Jody Carmody.

    Otto showed her picture in every store in the mall, using the same credit-card verification routine, wanting to know if she'd bought anything, and if so whether she'd used either a credit card or a check. He was still hoping she'd used a check in one of the stores. A saleswoman in a record shop recognized the picture, told Otto she'd bought some tapes and paid for them by credit card. Visa, this time.

    The name on the card was Melissa Blair.

    Otto went back to the bookstore, bought a copy of the book for himself, and drove to his office where he asked May to check all the tri-city phone directories for either a Jody Carmody or a Melissa Blair. May came up blank. Otto continued reading the book Cinderella had bought.

    It was, he discovered, a sort of illustrated guide with chapter headings like "Self-Examination" and "A Woman's Re-productive Anatomy" and "Universal Health Problems of Women" and "Feminist Abortion Care" and so on.

    Otto wondered if the choice of this particular book had any connection with the visit Cinderella had made to the Medical Arts Building.

    Had she gone to see an obstetrician/gynecologist?

    On Friday, June 6-two days before his murder-Otto went back to the Medical Arts Building, carrying with him the picture of Cinderella. He spoke to four OB-GYNs, the last of J whom-a man named Dr. Schlemmer-identified the picture and said Yes, he had examined the girl, who had given her name as Mary Jane Hopkins and her address as 1237 Hacienda Road on Whisper Key. She had paid for the visit in cash. When Otto asked why she had come to see him, Dr. Schlemmer said that was privileged information.

    Otto wondered if she was pregnant.

    That same afternoon, Otto drove out to 1237 Hacienda Road, which turned out to be a place called Camelot Towers, which was a six-story condominium with ten apartments on each floor. He checked in the resident manager's office for the name Mary Jane Hopkins. No such person living there. He showed the picture of Cinderella at the Jacaranda Ball, the one Larkin had given him. Ice-blue gown. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, wide smile on her face. The resident manager said she did not recognize the girl in the picture. By eight o'clock that night, he had knocked on the doors of seventeen apartments and showed Cinderella's picture to eleven people.

    Five of those people said she looked familiar but they hadn't seen her around in a while

    Three of those people said they'd never seen her in their lives.

    Two said they may have seen her, but they weren't sure.

    One said he'd seen her in the parking lot only yesterday, but he couldn't remember which space she was parked in.

    Otto got home at about eight-thirty.

    He planned to go back to the condo on Saturday morning- and again on Sunday if necessary-to knock on more doors, showing the picture and trying to learn why she had given this particular address to Dr. Schlemmer.

    That was the last of the handwritten notes.

    Otto was killed on Sunday night.

    

    

    "What are you talking about?" Larkin said, and leaned toward Matthew. "He
found
her? And he didn't
call
me?"

    "No, no, he-"

    "You just said he spotted-"

    "Yes, but-"

    "So why didn't he…?"

    "What happened was-"

    "Yeah, how about it? I'm the man was paying his bills, and I'm the last to-"

    "The notes were still in his handwriting," Matthew said. "They hadn't been typed yet. I'm sure Otto planned-"

    "So what'd the notes say?"

    Matthew told him what the notes had said. They were sitting on the deck of Larkin's house, looking out over the water. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and thunderclouds were already massing.

    "You're kidding me," Larkin said.

    "No, I'm serious."

    "Cinderella?"

    "Yes."

    "The picture I gave him?"

    "Yes."

    "I don't believe it," Larkin said.

    "It's what happened."

    "I don't believe in coincidences like that," Larkin said, shaking his head.

    "Well," Matthew said.

    "I just don't believe it."

    "Anyway…" Matthew said, and began telling the rest of the story.

    Every now and then, Larkin interrupted.

    "Did he get the license plate?"

    And…

    "Italian, I can't believe it. She looked like an Indiana wheatfield."

    And…

    
"Another
name? What is she, a
spy?"

    But mostly he listened. And when Matthew finished telling him that Otto had planned to check out that condominium again on Monday, Larkin shook his head and said, "Fuckin' bad break."

    "Mr. Larkin," Matthew said, "the reason I'm here, I know you went to Otto because you considered this a confidential matter-"

    "Very," Larkin said.

    "-and I assure you I'm well aware that I've already breached your privacy by reading Otto's reports. I wouldn't have done that if I didn't feel so strongly about this. I don't like the idea of someone killing him, Mr. Larkin. I don't like it at all."

    "Neither do I."

    "The reason I'm here… is there anything you can add to what you already told Otto? Anything that might shed some light on why he was killed? Because you see-"

    "I told him everything. The girl stole my watch, I wanted him to find her."

    "Because you see, in his notes, Otto seemed to think there might have been some significance to the girl's visit to a doctor's office and her purchase of a book about a woman's body. What I'm asking… is there anything Otto
didn't
know, anything you
didn't
tell him, that might have had some bearing on his murder?"

    "Like what?"

    "Like… Mr. Larkin, was the girl pregnant?"

    "What?"

    "Was she pregnant? Angela West, Jenny Santoro, Jody Carmody, Melissa Blair… Cinderella? Was she pregnant?"

    "How the hell would I know? I only saw her that one night."

    "Never saw her after that, is that right?"

    "Never."

    "Do you have any reason to believe she might have
become
pregnant that night?"

    "Why would I believe that?"

    "Well… forgive me… but was any sort of contraception used?"

    "What kind of question is that?" Larkin said angrily and rose suddenly and began pacing the deck. Beyond him, out over the water, there were distant flashes of lightning.

    "I'm sorry I have to ask such a personal question, believe me," Matthew said. "But in his notes Otto speculated that perhaps the girl's visit to an OB-GYN's office, coupled with her purchase of the body-book, might indicate she suspected she was pregnant. Otto's intuitions were usually pretty sound, Mr. Larkin. And since this happened almost two months ago, it
is
possible, after all, that-"

    "The girl was a pro," Larkin said. "Pros don't get pregnant."

    "Well, you don't know for a fact that she was a professional."

    "Amateurs don't fuck a guy's brains out and then steal his watch," Larkin said.

    "Maybe not," Matthew said.

    "Anyway, what if she
is
pregnant, which I doubt. What does that have to do with Otto's murder?"

    "I don't know," Matthew said.

    "I don't see any connection at all. Even if she…"

    He suddenly stopped pacing.

    "Or is
that
it?" he said. "Is
that
why you're here?"

    "I don't know what you mean," Matthew said.

    Larkin was standing before him now, hands on his hips, looking down at him. Lightning streaked the distant sky again. "You think
I
might've killed Otto, don't you?" he said. "Or
had
him killed."

    "No, I don't," Matthew said.

    "You come here asking me did I knock her up…"

    "You're misunderstanding my-"

    "Bullshit. What is it you're thinking? That Otto was about to
learn
the fuckin' bitch got herself pregnant? That it was me who decided to take him off the case? Permanently? Is that what you're thinking?"

    "No. But if she
is
pregnant…"

    "Who gives a shit
what
she is?" Larkin said. "I
hope
she is, you want to know. With a fuckin' Mongolian
idiotl"

    His vehemence startled Matthew. Out over the water, there was more lightning, and now the sound of distant thunder.

    "I'm trying to say if Otto was close to making such a discovery, then it's possible that
someone
-maybe even the girl herself-wasn't too keen on having the information made public."

    "Well, the
someone
wasn't me. And you know something? You're right, you
did
breach my privacy by reading those reports and I'm starting to get a little bit pissed, okay? So maybe you oughta just get the fuck out of here, okay? Do me that favor."

    "I was hoping-"

    "You were hoping wrong."

    "Sorry to've bothered you then," Matthew said and rose, and started for the steps leading down to the side of the house.

    "And let me tell you something else," Larkin said. "I've already put somebody else onto finding little Cinderella, and he's not the gentleman Otto was. So I don't think he'd appreciate your snooping around."

    "Thanks, I'll remember that," Matthew said.

    "I think you better," Larkin said.

    

    

    Lightning flashed far out over the water.

    From where they sat on a deck overlooking Calusa Bay, Ernesto and Domingo and the two other men glanced up briefly at the jagged yellow streaks and then turned away from the water and continued talking. They were conversing in low, controlled voices because they were discussing dope.

    The two men with Ernesto and Domingo took turns addressing Ernesto. They had figured the other one didn't have any English at all. If they'd been a bit more astute, they'd have realized Domingo was listening to every word and not missing very much. Instead, they kept everything going to Ernesto.

    The one who was talking now was a hefty man wearing a short-sleeved sports shirt, tan slacks, and loafers with no socks. He was something like thirty years old, Ernesto guessed, and he brought to the selling of his dope the intensity an IBM salesman might have brought to the selling of a typewriter or a computer. He enjoyed his job, this man. He enjoyed the big bucks to be made in his job. His name was Charlie Nubbs. Ernesto didn't think that was his
real
last name, Nubbs. But that was how the man introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Charlie Nubbs, we hear you're looking to buy some heavy machinery. "

    Heavy machinery was cocaine, Ernesto guessed.

    Ernesto and Domingo had spread the word around cautiously. Told a few people here and there that they had cash and were looking to spend it on choice blow. Let it be known they were looking for at least ninety-percent pure, which is what the girl had stolen from Amaros. Two, three keys, they said. Actually, the girl had stolen
four
keys, no wonder Amaros wanted to hang her from the ceiling. Four keys of nine-oh pure? Shit, man!

    Nobody knew they were looking for Jenny Santoro, of course. All anybody knew was they were looking for dope. What they were hoping was somebody would say "Hey, there's this chick in town she fell into some very good stuff and she's looking for buyers." That's what they were hoping. So far, nobody knew such a chick.