Serpent’s Tooth. Faye Kellerman

was told he tended bar as well.”

      “He was an extra pair of hands when we had a big event.”

      “And you paid him in cash for bartending as well?”

      “Yep.” Fine bit his lip, ran a hand through his curly hair. “Not that I was doing funny business with the books. The cash-out was listed under miscellaneous expenses. I just never bothered to put him on the payroll.”

      “Owners know he worked here?”

      Fine rubbed his face. “Hasn’t come up … yet.”

      “You haven’t received phone calls from some of the membership?”

      “Sure I got a few phone calls. People asking ‘Was that asshole at Estelle’s the guy who used to work here?’ kind of thing. Names were different. I told them no.”

      “You lied?”

      “If it should come back to haunt me, I simply made a mistake because the names were different.”

      Fine grimaced.

      “You want to know something, Lieutenant? The people who called me … far from being squeamish … they hung up from the conversation disappointed. It was an exciting notion to them … a safe brush with the dark side. Personally, I think it’s sick. But then again, I just cater to the rich. I don’t really understand them.”

      “They accepted your denials?”

      “I tell them it’s not the same guy, they don’t have the conviction of character to debate me.”

      “And the owners don’t know about Harlan working here?”

      “No. Owners know a great deal about the membership, but not too much about staff. They don’t want to be bothered with business details. That’s what they pay me for. And like I said before, I’ve accounted for Harlan’s expenses. Just not on the payroll—”

      “Avoiding taxes and Social Security—”

      “Hired him as freelance. Club’s only responsible for the taxes and Social Security of its full-time employees. And Harlan never worked enough hours to warrant putting him on the payroll. Our books are clean. You find cause to subpoena our books, you won’t find a hint of an irregularity.”

      “Owners won’t be happy if Harlan’s alias is publicized.”

      “No, they won’t be. I’ll probably be blamed. And I’ll probably lose my job.”

      “That’s not my goal, sir.”

      “But it still may be an end result.” Fine blew out air. “Hell with it. What else do you want to know, Lieutenant?”

      “Harlan taught tennis?”

      “Yes.”

      “Groups? Individuals?”

      “Mostly private lessons.”

      “How was Harlan with his tennis students?”

      “Never had a complaint. If I had, Harlan would have been out on his ass.” Fine smiled, but it lacked warmth. “I wish someone had complained. It would play a lot better with the bosses if I had fired the guy.”

      “Why didn’t you hire him on as a regular?”

      “’Cause he was a jerk. Sure, he was okay for an occasional lesson, but that’s about all. All these wannabes.” He shook his head. “If I hired tennis instructors and bartenders on the basis of stability, I wouldn’t have much of a roster. Harlan was also chronically late and drank a lot. But …”

      The manager paused, held a finger in the air.

      “He usually showed up when called. And that’s about as much as you can hope for in a temp. You have no idea how flaky a summer staff can be.”

      “I’ve heard that Harlan had some potential as a tennis player.”

      “Actually, he wasn’t bad. Wasn’t pro quality, of course, but he had some power serves. Good speed. A natural athlete. But that isn’t enough. You want to make it big, you’ve got to work … train. We’ve got a couple of members on the circuits. They train here every single day, usually start at something like six in the morning. They’re talented, but even more, they’re dedicated. Harlan? Sure, he had some talent, but he lacked drive. Takes a heap of both to make it in the pros.”

      “Did Harlan have any regular students when he worked here?”

      “Strictly fill-in. His schedule changed daily depending on who was on vacation or who called in sick.”

      “Did he ever get chummy with any of his students?”

      “If he did, I never heard about it.”

      But Decker wasn’t so sure that Fine was being up front. “If you didn’t get complaints about him, did you ever get compliments about him?”

      A fire lit in Fine’s eye, smoldered quickly. “No.”

      “None of your ladies ever say to you what a fine teacher he was?”

      “Are you implying something?”

      “Asking a question, sir.”

      Fine said, “It was a long time ago, Lieutenant. I don’t remember so well.”

      “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me names?”

      “You’re right about that. Anything else?”

      “Just one more question. Were any of the people tragically murdered at Estelle’s also members of the club?”

      Fine turned red. “You know I’m not going to answer that. I think I’ve been very patient.”

      Decker smiled. “You’ve been helpful. Thank you.”

      Fine said, “Explain something to me, Lieutenant.”

      “If I can, sure.”

      “What do you possibly … hope to accomplish by digging up Harlan aka Hart’s past? He’s dead. I thought analyzing nutcases was the bailiwick of shrinks, not cops.”

      Man had a point. Decker’s job was cleaning up the crime scene, not doing psychiatric Monday morning quarterbacking. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he was there … trying to make sense out of the incomprehensible.

      Decker said, “This was a horrible event. A very big case with lots of publicity, lots of questions and finger-pointing. LAPD has a vested interest in tying up loose ends.”

      Fine was incredulous. “That’s it? You take time away from my business to grill me … just to tie up loose ends?”

      “Yes, sir, that’s exactly right. I’m tying up loose ends. You know why, Mr. Fine? Because you leave a loose end hanging around, the sucker has an annoying tendency to unravel.”

       9

      Marge knocked on Decker’s doorjamb, walked through the open door to his office. “A one eighty-seven came in while you were gone—a domestic turned nasty. Wife took the bullet between her eyes. I was in court, so Oliver and Martinez caught the call. If you want, I can go join them.”

      Decker frowned, took off his reading glasses. “Why didn’t someone page me?”

      “We did,” Marge said. “You didn’t answer.”

      “What?” Decker checked his pager. “What the …” He stared at the blank window, flicked his middle finger against the instrument. When nothing happened, he tossed it on his desk. “Remind me to pick up