“He was already drinking too much, even then, but it was his flat feet that did him in. Broke his heart. Wouldn’t come see me off when I left for Fort Hood, silly old goat. But we hooked up again after the war. Diamond Head took me back soon as I got home. That was when it was still owned by the family, not like nowadays when it’s all a bunch of bosses out in the suburbs who don’t care if you live or die.” He paused to finish his tea. “You gotta do something about it, doll, go find who killed him.”

I sat up, startled. “I don’t think the police are treating it like a murder case. You heard what Finchley said. He stumbled and fell while he was drunk and someone rolled him into the canal. I suppose some punk might have killed him after rolling him.” I tried to imagine canvassing Pilsen for teenage drug lords and shuddered.

“Damn you, no!” Mr. Contreras shouted. “What would he’ve been walking around the river there for? That ain’t sense. There’s no place for anyone to walk—it’s all company docks and barbed wire and dumps. You going to join the cops in pinning accident or suicide on him, you can just take your butt to hell as fast as possible.”

I looked at him, astonished by the violence of his language, and saw the tears coursing down his leathery face again. I knelt by his chair and put an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, hey, don’t carry on like that. I’ll talk to Vishnikov in the morning and see what he thinks.”

He grabbed my hand in a fierce hold, his jaw working as he tried to control his face. “Sorry, doll,” he said huskily. “Sorry to break down and take it out on you. I know he was a pain in the tail, all that drink, but when it’s your oldest friend you kinda overlook it.”

He took his hand from mine and collapsed his face into his palms, sobbing. “I should never have made him leave. Why did I have to make such a goddam fuss over the puppies? Peppy don’t notice that kind of stuff, people snoring, it’s all one to her. Why didn’t I just let him camp out here a few days?”

18

Not the Jewel in the Crown