“Seemed like.”
“Any idea why?”
“No.”
“Did you mention this to Mrs. Purcell?”
“Not right away. Not until later.”
“After he was found, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Said she couldn’t imagine what he’d been upset about. Unless it was just that he’d had too much. Things upset him easy when he took too much.”
“After he went outside, did anyone else go out through the kitchen?”
“Not that I saw. But I took the canapes in right afterward.”
“How long were you gone from the kitchen?”
“Couple of minutes.”
“Then you came back.”
“I did.”
“Did you stay in the kitchen after that?”
“Yes. Well, except for half a minute when I went to buzz open the front gate.”
“Buzz open the—You mean someone else arrived between nine-thirty and ten?”
“Just the deliveryman.”
“What deliveryman?”
“From Cabrillo Market. They stay open until eleven most nights and they deliver. We were almost out of champagne, so I—”
“How long after Mr. Purcell went outside did this deliveryman arrive?”
“Well … ten minutes or so.”
“Did he bring the champagne around here, to this door?”
“He did.”
“But Mr. Purcell wasn’t anywhere around by then.”
“I didn’t see him if he was.”
“Did you tell anyone else about the deliveryman? The police when they were here?”
“Don’t think so, no. I’d forgotten all about him until just now. I don’t see what a deliveryman—”
“Do you know his name?”
“Danny.”
“His last name?”
“No. He never said it.”
“Does he still work for Cabrillo Market?”
“He did the last time I called for a delivery.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Would he be Latin, this Danny? Speaks with a slight accent?”
“Why … yes. He’s Mexican. Now how did you know—?”
“Thanks, Lina. Thanks very much.”
I left her standing there with her mouth open. I didn’t rush around to the front gate, but then I didn’t take my time either. This was the first break I’d had, and it might just be a big one.
What better candidate for Tom Washburn’s mysterious caller than a Mexican deliveryman nobody had seen except the forgetful Lina?
What better witness to murder than an “invisible” man?
Chapter Thirteen
The Cabrillo Market was a fifth of a mile south on Highway 1, or Cabrillo Highway as it was called through here. It was a cavernous place with an old-fashioned oiled, black-wood floor —a combination market, deli, butcher shop, and liquor store. The woman behind the grocery check-out counter was busy with a line of customers; I didn’t want to incur anybody’s anger by interrupting, so I wandered into the back to the customerless deli counter.
The guy behind the counter was about my age, lean and sinewy inside one of those white full-length aprons that look like bleached-out overalls. I asked him if Danny was working today and where I might find him.
“Danny Martinez, you mean?”
“If he’s the deliveryman here.”
“Well, he used to be. Not any more.”
“Oh? As of when?”
“Two weeks ago. I had to let him go.” There was a note of regret in his voice. “I’m Gene Fuller, I own this place.”
I introduced myself, letting him have one of my cards at the same time, and said I wanted to talk to Danny as part of a confidential investigation I was conducting. To forestall questions I didn’t tell him the investigation had to do with the Purcell family. But he wasn’t the nosy type, as it turned out.
When he was done looking at my card I asked him, “Would you mind telling me why you let Danny go?”
“Well … he’s had it rough the past month and I can sympathize with that. But I got a business to run here, I got my customers to think about. Not to mention insurance on the truck—last thing I need is to get sued. People can do that, I guess maybe you know —sue an employer for negligence if one of his employees has a drunk-driving accident.”
“Danny was drinking on the job?”
“Yeah. Damn shame, all the way around.”
“Had he done that kind of thing before?”
“No, no. Up until last month he was always sober, a good worker.”
“What happened to change that?”
“His wife left him,” Fuller said. “Well, his common-law wife, I guess you’d call her. Took their kid, five-year-old boy, cute little guy—took him and all their savings and went back to Mexico.”