The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,46
you’ve got no theorizing.”
“What can I say, Dr. Delaware? One gets used to cognitive limits but the imagination persists.” Another three nibbles washed down by tea. “Eight years ago, and then it turns up again, here. You see why I wanted to let you know.”
Milo said, “Deeply appreciated, Doctor. Was Skiwski’s case publicized?”
I got on my phone.
Basia Lopatinski said, “In local papers, of course.”
“Including the details—the guitar string?”
“Including that.”
“What about international exposure?”
“Did someone in L.A. read about it and decide to imitate? I have no idea how widely the story circulated.”
I held up my phone. “Nothing comes up here.”
Lopatinski said, “Perhaps it was covered in a Polish American paper. I will check, if you’d like.”
Milo said, “We’d definitely like.”
An expansive grin seemed to bisect her face. “May I assume you won’t—how do you say—rat me out?”
“To Eschermann? God forbid,” said Milo.
Lopatinski stared at him, then laughed. “You must be a detective.”
“On good days.”
I said, “An alternative to international coverage is someone living in Poland back then who moved here. Or corresponding with someone in Poland.”
“And then they decide to imitate? Psychopathic contagion?” said Lopatinski. “I had a case when I was in medical school in Poznan. Teenage girls coming down with what looked like bedbug bites that turned out to be psychosomatic eczema. One after the other, they’d break out into lesions. An entire school was quarantined before the truth emerged. But that is far from imitative murder.”
“Not contagion,” I said. “Just someone seeing possibilities.”
Lopatinski’s mouth narrowed as if yanked by a drawstring. First time she’d displayed anything other than cheer. “I reported all of my observations to a detective and he passed them along to a reporter as his own insight. I would hate to think that my communication was in any way responsible for a copycat.”
Milo said, “You did what you were supposed to, some idiot blabbed to the press. It’s always gonna happen. Unless no one ever talks to anyone about anything and that kinda sounds like the bad old days in Poland, no?”
“A detective and a psychologist?” said Lopatinski. To me: “Your good influence?”
Milo said, “What, I can’t be warm and fuzzy on my own? Bottom line, Doc, you’ve really helped, here. Thanks for going the extra mile. So was this piece of shit a decent musician?”
“Quite the contrary, Lieutenant,” said Basia Lopatinski. “Everyone said he played out of tune.”
* * *
—
He renewed his offer of indulgences from the butcher and when Lopatinski turned him down with a demure head shake, he thanked her again. As we headed for the door, he veered to the display counter.
“Pastries actually look pretty okay.”
He bought two dozen mixed, returned to Lopatinski’s table, and put the box down.
She said, “What’s this?”
“Thanks from the department.”
“Really—”
“No argument, Doc. You go beyond the call of duty, you get refined sugar.”
* * *
—
Outside the restaurant, he eyed the butcher shop for a moment, walked on by. “Now what? I subtly ask everyone at the wedding if they’ve ever been to Poland?”
“It’s the age of self-advertisement,” I said. “People put their vacations online. Why not start with Corinne and Denny. Maybe they like to travel.”
In the car, he punched numbers on a phone.
A subdued Corinne said, “VCR Staffing.”
“Hi, it’s Milo Sturgis. That story about Denny in Hawaii. Is that the only place he’s done it?”
“Probably. He just got caught that time.”
“Where have you guys traveled?”
“Why’re you asking this?”
“Trying to get to know him.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know: He’s an asshole.”
“So no European—”
“Of course we’ve been to Europe.” A beat. “Not for a while—at least ten years ago…no, thirteen. Baby was in high school, off on a senior trip. I’d travel all over the place but he likes the sun so it’s Costa Rica, Mexico, Belize, all that. He spends his time cooking his skin and checking out bikinis. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll contract melanoma or something.”
“Europe’s too cold.”
“Depends when you go. I used to like it in Paris. I mean no matter the weather, how bad can Paris be?”
“One of my friends told me Prague’s gorgeous,” said Corinne. “Maybe I’ll go by myself.” Her voice caught. “Maybe Paris wasn’t as good as I’m remembering. Maybe every time he went off on his own to take a walk he was doing something gross, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Sorry,” said Milo.
“No sorrier than me. This call, is he actually a suspect? I mean do I need