LITMIR.BIZ

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said he’d absolutely be able to recognize the voices. But I don’t know if that would hold up in court.”

      “You said that Harriman mentioned names that only an insider would know about. And you’re telling me that you’re not interested in talking to these guys?” When Decker didn’t answer, she said, “Let me look, Peter. Chances are I might not recognize anyone or they’re not in there.”

      He remained silent.

      Rina said, “Whoever did it shouldn’t be walking free and clear. If it was anyone else other than Cindy, Hannah, or me, you’d be hounding them.”

      “That’s probably true.”

      “All I’d be doing is looking at mug shots.”

      “It’s not the looking at the mug shots I mind. It’s the recognizing part that makes me nervous.”

      She laid her cheek on his arm. “Don’t worry. I have a big, strong man to protect me. He has a gun and he knows how to use it.”

      He awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. When the door opened, letting in artificial light, he announced he was awake and sat up. Rina told him that Willy Brubeck was on the line and it sounded important.

      Decker said, “What’s up, Willy?”

      “I just got off the phone with Milfred Connors. He’s willing to talk to us.”

      “Okay.” Decker turned on the nightstand lamp. “When?”

      “Tonight. I told him we’d be there as soon as we could. He lives in Long Beach so we better get a move on it. Want me to pick you up?”

      Decker’s brain was still in a fog. He checked the nightstand clock. It was quarter to eight. He’d slept for seven hours. “Uh, sure. That sounds fine.”

      “That’s good ’cause I’m right outside your door.”

      “You are?” Decker stood up and stretched. “I need about ten minutes to shower and dress. Come inside and wait.”

      “Sounds good to me. Tell me, Rabbi. Does your wife still bake?”

      Decker laughed. “We’ve got some leftover layer cake. I believe it’s chocolate. You can have as much as you want.”

      “Just a slice if you don’t mind.”

      “Not at all. I’ll ask her to put a pot of coffee on. We working dogs live on caffeine and sugar.”

      Unlike most coastal regions, Long Beach never commanded the spectacular real estate prices common in other So Cal beach communities, probably because the city’s tenor was more industrial than resort. From the 405 south, Decker was offered a bird’s-eye view of the refineries belching out smoke followed by acres of car lots. That didn’t mean there weren’t some nice areas: certainly the old downtown area with its hotels and the famous aquarium had been revamped to attract the tourists. Still, most of the residential areas were made up of modest homes when compared with other shoreline districts.

      Milfred Connors lived in a small California-style bungalow—stucco exterior and red-tiled roof illuminated by a streetlamp. It was one story sitting on a bumpy lawn almost devoid of landscaping. The cracked walkway led up to a dilapidated porch. The light was on and Decker rang the bell. The man who answered was stoop shouldered and rail thin. He had wisps of gray tendrils atop his head and a long, drawn face. He appeared to be around seventy plus or minus five years. He had on a white shirt, slacks, and slippers. He stepped aside so that the detectives could come into the house.

      The living room was neat and spare, the furniture including a floral couch, a leather recliner, and a flat-screen TV sitting on a plywood bureau. Scarred wood floors but quarter sawn oak, Decker noticed. They were original to the house.

      “Have a seat.” He offered them the sofa. “Would either of you like some coffee or tea?”

      “I’m fine,” Decker said, “but thank you.”

      “Me too, thanks,” Brubeck said.

      “Then just give me a minute to get my tea.” He disappeared and came back a minute later holding a steaming mug. He sat on his leather recliner but didn’t recline. “Is the visit about the Kaffey murders?”

      Decker said, “Yes, in a way.”

      “Horrible thing.”

      “Yes, it is.” Decker paused. “You worked for the company for a long time.”

      “Thirty years.”

      “Ever get a chance to see Guy interact with his brother or his sons?”

      “All the time.”

      “What would you say about their relationships?”

      “Well, now …” Connors sipped tea. “Guy could be rough. But he could be nice, too.”

      “Did you get along with him?”

      “I wasn’t on the same plane. Guy Kaffey was up here.” Connors extended his arm. “I was down here.” The accountant lowered his arm.

      “Yet you saw him all the time.”

      “He was always checking the books. Not just me, everyone. I was one of about twenty.” There was a long pause. “You want to talk to me because I was fired for embezzling.”

      “We want to talk to a lot of people, but you did make the list.”

      “Lucky me.” Connors took a sip of tea. “It isn’t what you think. I was fired, but no criminal charges were ever filed against me.”

      “Yet you didn’t protest the termination,” Decker said. “You didn’t file any wrongful suit against the company.”

      When Connors didn’t answer, Brubeck pulled out his notebook and a pen. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

      “It’s complicated.”

      “I’m sure it is.” Decker took out his pad of paper and a pencil. “How about if you start from the beginning.”

      Connors took another sip of tea. “I worked for Kaffey for thirty years. Never asked anything from him, but he sure as hell asked a lot of me. Unpaid overtime, on-call twenty-four/seven, especially during tax time. I did it all without a complaint. But then my wife got sick.”

      Decker nodded.

      “It was only me and my wife,” Connors told him. “We never had kids. Lara was a preschool teacher so I suppose she got her kid fix by her job. And me, I’m a numbers person, not a people person. Lara made all the social decisions.”

      “That’s usually the way it is with married folk,” Brubeck said.

      “Well, that was the way it was for us.” He warmed his hands on the tea mug. “I went to work, I came home. Whatever Lara planned was okay by me.” His eyes welled up with tears. “She died five years ago from the big C. I can’t seem to move on.”

      “My sympathies,” Brubeck told him.

      “Must have been hard,” Decker said.

      “It was hell, Lieutenant. She was in pain constantly. Even doped up, she was in pain. It was a very long illness. We had insurance, but it didn’t pay for everything. When regular medicine didn’t work, we tried experimental things that insurance wouldn’t cover. We ate through my paycheck, we ate through our savings. The next stop was selling the house. I couldn’t do that to her, but I didn’t want to give up on treatment either.”

      Decker nodded and asked him to go on.

      “I swallowed my pride and asked Mace Kaffey if he could arrange a loan for me. I knew Mace better than Guy, and everyone at the company knew that Mace was an easier touch than Guy.”

      “How long ago was this?” Decker asked Connors.

      “Maybe six

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