her husband placed a gnarled hand on her rounded lap, patting it as if it were a cat.
"Mom.. .Mama," Warren said, reaching over his father to put a hand on her shaking arm. "Mama, I'm sorry. I'm not saying Tanya did kill herself, but I want to know the truth. If she did do that to herself, I want to know why, if she didn't, then I want to know how she really died." He turned back to me, his eyes red-rimmed. "Mr. Quant, we are serious about this. If Tanya died some other way...well, we can't let that rest. You understand?"
"I do." I picked up a pen and pulled a pad of paper in front of me to indicate I was ready to do business.
"You understand that I may not be able to get any more out of the police than you did, so I'll need all the information you can give me on Tanya: where she worked, where she lived, who her friends were. What she did for fun, what enemies she might have had, what worried her, that sort of thing. Can you help me with any of that?"
Warren looked down at his hands, embarrassed. He named the place she worked, gave me her address 22 of 163
3/15/2011 10:56 PM
D: BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...
and phone number and then stopped. He leaned forward and slid a set of keys across my desk. "These are Tanya's keys. For her apartment and car and that sort of thing, I guess. I'm not exactly sure what they're all for. You can use them to...to find out the rest."
Boy, when he said they didn't know her, they really didn't know her.
"I'm flying back to Seattle on Wednesday after I get my parents settled in back at home." He slid a business card towards me. "But you can call me any time at the numbers on there. I'd like to help in any way I can...I just can't think how, other than to hire you."
I nodded mutely and stared at the nearly bare page on the pad in front of me. Not much to go on. We spent the next few minutes going over the business part of hiring a PI; son and parents bickered briefly over who would pay me until I mentioned my hourly rate and then the parents soundlessly backed off.
After that we were done and I showed them out.
"Kirsch," came Darren's standard barked telephone greeting.
"Quant," I woofed back and immediately heard him groan. "I just had a visit from the Culinares. Wanna tell me what that's about?"
"Whatsamatter? You not accepting new clients these days? It looked like you had plenty of time on your hands the other day, sitting around in your panties and sleeping till noon." A standard Kirsch slam.
"Ever hear of someone taking a vacation?" I retorted.
"Ever hear of boxer shorts?"
Oooo, that pinched. Bastard. "Ever hear of nose hair clippers?"
"What do you want?" He always gives up so easily. "I ain't got all day here, y'know."
"Not that I don't appreciate the business, Darren, but what's up with the Culinares? Did you send them my way because of the note, or because you felt sorry for them or because you think there's something more to the case than a simple suicide?"
"Isn't that your job to find out? Isn't that what the I in PI stands for?"
"Don't jerk me around. You obviously want me to help these people or else you wouldn't have given them my name. So help me help them."
"There's not much I can tell you, Quant," he said, his voice settling into a more businesslike tone. "As far as we're concerned, Tanya Culinare committed suicide. There was no sign of a struggle, or anyone else in her apartment at the time of her jump, or anything else to suggest foul play."
"Then why send the Culinares to me if you believe that?"
He was quiet.
"It's the note, isn't it? The one with my name and number."
"It's the only thing that doesn't quite fit the picture, Quant. Otherwise I would have told the Culinares to save their money rather than spend it on a detective. Which, by the way, was their idea in the first place, not mine. But when they asked if I knew of anyone, well, given the note and all, I thought you might be the right choice." The Culinares and
"Mom.. .Mama," Warren said, reaching over his father to put a hand on her shaking arm. "Mama, I'm sorry. I'm not saying Tanya did kill herself, but I want to know the truth. If she did do that to herself, I want to know why, if she didn't, then I want to know how she really died." He turned back to me, his eyes red-rimmed. "Mr. Quant, we are serious about this. If Tanya died some other way...well, we can't let that rest. You understand?"
"I do." I picked up a pen and pulled a pad of paper in front of me to indicate I was ready to do business.
"You understand that I may not be able to get any more out of the police than you did, so I'll need all the information you can give me on Tanya: where she worked, where she lived, who her friends were. What she did for fun, what enemies she might have had, what worried her, that sort of thing. Can you help me with any of that?"
Warren looked down at his hands, embarrassed. He named the place she worked, gave me her address 22 of 163
3/15/2011 10:56 PM
D: BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...
and phone number and then stopped. He leaned forward and slid a set of keys across my desk. "These are Tanya's keys. For her apartment and car and that sort of thing, I guess. I'm not exactly sure what they're all for. You can use them to...to find out the rest."
Boy, when he said they didn't know her, they really didn't know her.
"I'm flying back to Seattle on Wednesday after I get my parents settled in back at home." He slid a business card towards me. "But you can call me any time at the numbers on there. I'd like to help in any way I can...I just can't think how, other than to hire you."
I nodded mutely and stared at the nearly bare page on the pad in front of me. Not much to go on. We spent the next few minutes going over the business part of hiring a PI; son and parents bickered briefly over who would pay me until I mentioned my hourly rate and then the parents soundlessly backed off.
After that we were done and I showed them out.
"Kirsch," came Darren's standard barked telephone greeting.
"Quant," I woofed back and immediately heard him groan. "I just had a visit from the Culinares. Wanna tell me what that's about?"
"Whatsamatter? You not accepting new clients these days? It looked like you had plenty of time on your hands the other day, sitting around in your panties and sleeping till noon." A standard Kirsch slam.
"Ever hear of someone taking a vacation?" I retorted.
"Ever hear of boxer shorts?"
Oooo, that pinched. Bastard. "Ever hear of nose hair clippers?"
"What do you want?" He always gives up so easily. "I ain't got all day here, y'know."
"Not that I don't appreciate the business, Darren, but what's up with the Culinares? Did you send them my way because of the note, or because you felt sorry for them or because you think there's something more to the case than a simple suicide?"
"Isn't that your job to find out? Isn't that what the I in PI stands for?"
"Don't jerk me around. You obviously want me to help these people or else you wouldn't have given them my name. So help me help them."
"There's not much I can tell you, Quant," he said, his voice settling into a more businesslike tone. "As far as we're concerned, Tanya Culinare committed suicide. There was no sign of a struggle, or anyone else in her apartment at the time of her jump, or anything else to suggest foul play."
"Then why send the Culinares to me if you believe that?"
He was quiet.
"It's the note, isn't it? The one with my name and number."
"It's the only thing that doesn't quite fit the picture, Quant. Otherwise I would have told the Culinares to save their money rather than spend it on a detective. Which, by the way, was their idea in the first place, not mine. But when they asked if I knew of anyone, well, given the note and all, I thought you might be the right choice." The Culinares and
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