G Is for Gumshoe

have touched up and snipped every four weeks. Her face was the perfect oval of a Renaissance painting. She had a flawless complexion-very pale, finely textured skin-pale hazel eyes, long fingers with lots of silver rings, expensive ones by the look. She was wearing an ice-blue silk blouse, a matching silk blazer, pale blue slacks that emphasized her tiny waist and narrow hips. She smelled of some delicate blend of jasmine and lily of the valley. In her presence, I felt as dainty and feminine as a side of beef. When I opened my mouth, I was worried I would moo.
    "God, how'd you end up with a piece of shit like Mark Messinger?" I blurted out instead.
    She didn't react, but Dietz turned and gave me a hard look.
    "Well, I really want to know," I said to him defensively.
    She cut in. "It's all right. I understand your curiosity. I met him one night at a party in Palm Springs. He was working as a bodyguard for a well-known actor at the time and I thought he had class. I was mistaken, as it turns out, but by then we'd spent a weekend together and I was pregnant-"
    "Eric," I said.
    She nodded almost imperceptibly. "That was six years ago. I'd been told I could never have children, so for me, it was a miracle. Mark insisted on marriage, but I refused to compound the initial error in judgment. Once Eric was born, I didn't even want him to see the child. I knew by then how twisted he was. He hired a high-powered attorney and took me to court. The judge awarded him visitation rights. After that, it was simply a matter of time. I knew he'd make a try for Eric, but there was nothing I could do."
    So far, she'd left more unexplained than she'd managed to clarify, but I thought it was time to back off and give Dietz room to operate. By unspoken agreement, this was his gig in much the same way the Bronfen interview had been mine. Dietz was getting into work mode, his energy intensifying, restlessness on the increase. He'd started snapping the fingers of his right hand against his left palm, a soft popping sound. "When did you last talk to him?" Dietz asked her.
    "To Mark? Eight months ago. In October, he picked Eric up at the day-care center and took him to Colorado, ostensibly for a weekend. He called me shortly after that to say he wouldn't be returning him. He does allow the boy to call me from time to time, but it's usually from a pay phone and the contact's too brief to put a trace on. This is the first time I've actually known where he was. I want my child back."
    Dietz said, "I can appreciate that. We understand Mark has family in the area. Will they know where he is?"
    She smiled contemptuously. "Not bloody likely. Mark's father denounced him years ago and his mother's dead. He does have a sister, but I don't believe they're on speaking terms. She turned him in to the police the last time he got in touch."
    "No other relatives? Friends he might have tried to contact?"
    She shook her head. "He's strictly solo. He doesn't trust a soul."
    "Can you suggest how we can get a line on him?"
    "Easy. Call all the big hotels. The cops quizzed me as to his whereabouts after the gold mart robbery. He'll be loaded and, believe me, he's the sort of man who knows how to treat himself well. He'll book himself into first-class accommodations somewhere in town."
    Dietz said, "Do you have a telephone book?"
    Rochelle crossed to the bed table and opened the drawer. Dietz sat down on the edge of the king-size bed and turned to the yellow pages. I could tell he was dying for a cigarette. Actually, if I were a smoker, I'd have wanted one myself. It was the same bed where I'd caught my ex-husband with a lover during the Christmas holidays. What a jolly season that was…
    Dietz looked at me. "How many big hotels?"
    I thought about it briefly. "There are only three or four that might appeal to him," I said, and then to her, "Will he be registered under his real name?"
    "I doubt it. When he's on the road, he tends to use one of his aliases. He favors Mark Darian or Darian Davidson, unless he's got a new one altogether, in which case I wouldn't know."
    Dietz had flipped through the yellow pages to the hotel/motel listings.
    "Hey, Dietz?"
    He looked up at me.
    "I'd try the Edgewater first," I said. "Maybe his showing up at the banquet last night was just a piece of dumb luck."
    He stared for a moment until the logic sank in. Then he laughed. "That's good. I like that." He found the number and punched it in, his attention focusing as someone picked up on