The Death Box(51)
“Did you speak to him very much, ma’am?” Delmara asked.
“A little. Mr Paul, he weren’t a big talker.”
“He have this crowd over much, the ornery critters?”
“Purty regular, twict a month or so.’ She paused in thought, tapping the cigarette on the tray. “’Cept I never saw them there when he had his niece visitin’.”
“Niece?”
“A year or so back. He had his niece come and stay with him for a couple months. He was keepin’ the girl while her parents went through tough times. It was sad.”
“Tell me about the niece, Ms Doyle.”
She frowned through curling blue smoke. “Hardly ever saw her cuz she stayed inside. Sixteen or thereabouts. Pretty li’l thing, skinny as you git, though. Big sad eyes.”
“Caucasian?”
She shrugged. “Musta been a mix to be his blood niece, with Mesican or Cuban or whatever. I been livin’ in Floridy almost eight years an’ I sure cain’t tell. Them people seems able to, but I cain’t.”
“The girl never came out? Went places?”
“I only found out she was over there when she came busting out the door onct, cryin’ her eyes out. Mr Paul grabbed her up in his arms and carried her back inside. He looked over and saw me watching. That’s when he come and told me the story.”
“About tough times?”
She stubbed out the smoke and shook her head. “The father – he musta been the white one – had cancer in his backside, y’know, and was dying. But since he couldn’t be like a man to her no more, the mother had found herself a boyfriend and wanted the daddy to sign the papers so she could get married to the boyfriend. When Mr C told me, he ’bout near busted down crying and I understood the troubles that poor girl was going through. And now I understand about the parties being stopped whilst the girl was livin’ there.”
“The barbecues?”
“Makes sense, you think about it,” Miz Doyle said, lighting another smoke. “As young and pretty as that li’l girl was, Mr Paul didn’t want them rough types around her, bad influences and all. Musta been why he kep’ her in the house all the time: He was watchin’ out for her.”
I shot a glance at Gershwin. His eyes crossed and his mouth dropped in mock amazement.
“Did you get the niece’s name?” Vince asked.
“He never brought her to the fence to be formerly innerduced, but I once or twict heard some yellin’ from over there. I think that poor child’s name was Zora.”
I looked at Gershwin, rolling his eyes. Zorra was Spanish for slut.
That seemed to be the extent of Miz Doyle’s recollection of Paul Carosso. Still, the trip added new knowledge to our scant portfolio.
“What a fine humanitarian Paul Carosso is turning out to be,” Vince said as I headed back to the site and his vehicle. “Caring for a distraught young girl like that.”
Gershwin was in the back seat and leaned close. “Funny, the only relatives we found didn’t want anything to do with Carosso. They lived in New Jersey and seemed real happy to have a lot of landscape between them and him. Right, Big Ryde?”
Delmara turned the proboscis my way. “Big Ryde?”
“Don’t bring it up,” I said. “A phase he’s going through. I find it interesting that the niece was visiting about the time the Hondurans were put in the cistern, given Morningstar’s estimates.”
“What you thinking?” Delmara asked. “About the young lady and the timing?”
“I dunno yet. You got anything, Zigs?” I shot a glance into the rearview. He leaned back, crossed his arms and looked out the window.
“All I know is I’m coming back to Ms Doyle’s house tomorrow.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I’m gonna sell that lady the Brooklyn Bridge. Twice.”
Arriving at the site, we noted that Gershwin had been wrong about Rayles visiting. When we dropped Delmara at his cruiser the HS honcho and his pet poodle were just leaving the tent.
“Is there a reason you’re here, Detective Ryder?” Rayles called while the shiny shoes flashed toward us.
“Been out with our good buddy Vince here.” I didn’t mention we’d gone along on the interview and Delmara, an intuitive sort, didn’t mention it either.
“Funny your using the excavation site as your meeting point,” Pinker said, giving me his standard hard eye.
“Funny ha-ha, or otherwise?” I asked, head canted in innocent curiosity.
“Not funny at all,” Rayles said, stepping up. “I expect you’ve got a lot on your new plate at FCLE, Detective. I’m not planning on seeing you here again, correct?”