PI On A Hot Tin Roof

Looking into what happened to your boy.”
    His eyes reddened and watered. His expression didn’t change.
    “Is Mrs. Dorand home?”
    He grunted again, and heaved himself up, no easy feat. He was a large man—a lot bigger than Izaguirre—diabetic, perhaps. Pale, too. Maybe heart trouble.
    “It’s all right, I’ll knock.”
    “I’ll get her.” He evidently didn’t want her going into their house. A racist, maybe. In fact, she’d bet on it.
    Fay Dorand was a shortish, plumpish woman with an air of vitality about her. She had short, thick, auburn hair, more crinkly than curly, that sat on her head like a small bush. If she was a hairdresser, she should probably stick to other people’s heads. But she wore a pink smock, indicating that Izaguirre had been right.
    “It’s all right,” she said to her husband, as she slipped out onto the porch. “I just put her under the dryer.” She spoke to Talba. “Billy told me you want to talk about Jimmy.”
    Talba pulled out her license and a badge that could be had for eighty dollars if you were a P.I.—Eddie scorned the whole idea, but Talba found hers useful in cases like this. “I’m a private investigator, and a friend of Angela Valentino. Just talked to Ben Izaguirre—he said you might be able to clear up a few things for me.”
    The Dorands didn’t ask her to sit down, though Billy lowered himself again into a chair. “I know this is difficult,” Talba said. “I was wondering if you can give me some information about the accident.”
    Billy’s red-rimmed eyes bored into her so savagely she nearly had to look away.
    “They electrocuted him,” Billy said. “Just like a criminal.”
    There was so much anger in the man she wanted to take a step back. Willing herself to stand her ground, she spoke carefully. “Mmm. Mmm. Sounds like you’re saying you don’t think it was an accident.”
    Billy grunted again. “Bastards don’t care about nothin’ but money. Idiots wired the place wrong. Somethin’ wasn’t grounded, and Jimmy stepped in water while he was runnin’ the conveyor belt.” He sniffed. “Wasn’t but seventeen.”
    “I hear you filed suit against the marina.”
    “Our luck,” Fay said, “it woulda been heard in Buddy’s court.”
    Did she really think that could happen? Talba wondered, and thought it possible. These weren’t the kind of people who understood the finer points of law. “You think?” she said.
    “Hell, Buddy got what he deserved. I’m just sorry he won’t be around to pay us what he owes us.”
    “How about the electrician? Did you sue him, too?”
    “Hell,” Billy said. “There wasn’t no electrician. That homo Brad Leitner did all the wirin’ over there. Buddy was too goddam cheap to even hire a professional. And him with that mansion Uptown.” The word “mansion” came out as a sneer. “Ya ever seen that place? Makes Anne Rice’s house look like a cabin in the woods.”
    So Brad himself was responsible for the boy’s death. That, Talba thought, was what he was hiding. But maybe it wasn’t the whole story. Eddie had coached her carefully in lying and playing dumb and she was getting a lot better at both, but this time she wouldn’t even have to fake dumb. She had no idea if that homo remark was a routine insult or actually meant something. “Leitner’s gay?” she ventured. “I didn’t know that.”
    “Shit, you met the guy? Got a cute little earring in his ear and a shaved head. What more ya gotta know about him? Probably shaves his legs too. Him and that Champagne boy’s what we used to call asshole buddies. Go over and watch ’em in action.”
    Now that Talba thought about it, it was possible. They hugged a lot, but then, they’d suffered mutual tragedy. They behaved more or less like parts of a machine, too—or parts of a couple. And then there was that locker room story of Izaguirre’s—maybe Brad had been the grabber instead of Mike. But where all that got her she didn’t know.
    “Tell me something,” she said. “In your opinion, who is really responsible for Jimmy’s death? Buddy or Brad?”
    The Dorands looked at each other, maybe weighing the effect their answer could have on their lawsuit. Finally, Billy said, “Buddy, no question. Had to know better. Leitner’s only crime’s bein’ a moron. That and a fudgepacker.”
    Talba kept her face steady: wincing wouldn’t win her any points. “Mrs. Dorand? You agree?”
    Faye nodded, slowly. “Buddy. Family still owes