J is for Judgement

to say to him. He saw me headed in his direction and focused on me as I drew within range. "Carl?"
    He smiled at me politely. "That's right."
    "Kinsey Millhone. May I join you?"
    I held out my hand. He half rose from his chair and leaned forward courteously, shaking hands with me. His grip was aggressive, the skin on his palm icy cold from his drink. "If you like," he said. His eyes were blue, and his gaze was unyielding. He gestured toward a chair.
    I placed my handbag on the floor and eased onto the- seat adjacent to his. "I hope I'm not intruding."
    "That depends on what you want." His smile was pleasant but fleeting and never really reached as far as his eyes.
    "It looks like Wendell Jaffe is alive."
    His expression shifted into neutral and his body went still, animation suspended as if from a momentary power loss. For a split second it flashed on me that he might have been in touch with Wendell since his disappearance. He was apparently willing to take my word for it, which saved all the bullshit Dana'd put me through. He assimilated the information, sparing me additional expressions of shock or surprise. There was no hint of denial or disbelief. He seemed to shift into gear again. He reached in his jacket pocket smoothly and took out a pack of cigarettes, his way of stalling until he could figure out what I was up to. He shook several cigarettes into view and held the pack out for my selection.
    I shook my head, refusing.
    He put a cigarette between his lips. "Will it bother you if I smoke?"
    "Not a bit. Go ahead." Actually I abhor smoking, but I wanted some information and I didn't think it was the time to voice my prejudice.
    He struck a paper match and cupped his hands around the flame. He gave the match a shake and dropped it in the ashtray, easing the pack of matches back into his pocket again. I smelled sulfur and that first whiff of smoldering tobacco that to me smells like no other. Early mornings on the road, I catch the same scent drifting through the room vents in those hotels where the smokers aren't properly segregated from the rest of us.
    "Would you like a drink?" he asked. "I'm about to order another round myself."
    "I'd like that. Thanks."
    "What'll it be?"
    "Chardonnay would be fine."
    He held his hand up for the waiter, who moved over to the table and took the order. Eckert was having Scotch.
    Once the waiter disappeared, his attention came back to me and he focused his gaze. "Who are you? A cop? Narc? IRS, what?"
    "I'm a private detective, working for California Fidelity on the life insurance claim."
    "Dana just collected on it didn't she?"
    "Two months ago."
    A group of guys in the bar burst into sudden harsh laughter, and it forced Eckert to lean forward to make himself heard. "How did all this business come to light?"
    "A retired CF insurance agent spotted him in Mexico last week. I was hired to fly down the next day to verify the report."
    "And you actually verified that it was Wendell?"
    "More or less," I said. "I never met Mr. Jaffe, so it'd be hard for me to swear it was him."
    "But you did see him," he said.
    "Or someone damn close. He's had surgery, of course. It's probably the first thing he did."
    Carl stared at me blankly and then shook his head. A brief smile appeared. "I assume you've told Dana?"
    "I just talked to her. She wasn't thrilled."
    "I should think not." He seemed to search my face. "What's your name again?"
    I took out a business card and passed it across the table.
    "You knew his kid was in trouble?" I asked.
    Behind us, there was another burst of laughter, this one louder than the last. The guys were apparently having another tedious bawdy joke fest.
    He glanced at my name on the card and tucked it in his shirt pocket. "I read about Brian in the paper," he said. "This is curious."
    "What is?"
    "The notion of Wendell. I was just thinking about him. Since his body never surfaced, I guess I always had my doubts about his death. I never said much. I figured people would think I was unwilling to face the facts. 'In denial,' they call it. Where's he been all this time?"
    "I didn't have a chance to ask."
    "Is he still down there?"
    "He checked out of the hotel in the dead of night and that's the last I've seen of him. He may be on his way back."
    "Because of Brian," he said, instantly making the connection.
    "That's my guess. At any rate, it's the only lead we have. Not really a lead, but at least a place to start."
    "Why tell me?"
    "In case he tries to make