Free Serpent's Tooth by Faye Kellerman

“Harlan Manz had listed income from Greenvale Country Club on his 1040 federal tax forms—”
    “You’re bluffing,” Fine busted in.
    “As well as state—”
    “What is this? A shakedown?”
    “No, Mr. Fine, this is a simple fact-finding mission. Quiet, discreet, friendly. Be a shame if damaging information was leaked to the press, that an insane mass murderer once worked here as staff.”
    Fine raised his voice. “He was never on staff!”
    “You explain that distinction to the press.”
    “Now who’s threatening whom?”
    “I’m not threatening you, I’m telling you. Press wants information about Harlan, I’m more than happy to oblige. You want to sue me for false allegations, go right ahead. Only in court, you can’t bluff. Because if you do, that’s perjury.”
    Fine started to protest, but turned quiet. He buried his head in his hands. “The stupid idiot ! I told him it was strictly off the record. He promised me…” He looked up at Decker. “I can’t read your face. Ever play poker?”
    Decker took out a notebook and pen. “Tell me about Harlan.”
    Fine let out a gush of air. “Worked here about two years ago. Used the name Hart Mansfield…supposedly his stage name, though I’ve never seen him on any sort of a screen. A summer fill-in. All cash. Nothing on the books. That’s it.”
    “What were his assignments?”
    “Not much. Which was why he wasn’t on staff. He taught tennis when we were short-staffed. In the summertime, our regular instructors go on vacation.”
    “I was told he tended bar as well.”
    “He was an extra pair of hands when we had a big event.”
    “And you paid him in cash for bartending as well?”
    “Yep.” Fine bit his lip, ran a hand through his curly hair. “Not that I was doing funny business with the books. The cash-out was listed under miscellaneous expenses. I just never bothered to put him on the payroll.”
    “Owners know he worked here?”
    Fine rubbed his face. “Hasn’t come up…yet.”
    “You haven’t received phone calls from some of the membership?”
    “Sure I got a few phone calls. People asking ‘Was that asshole at Estelle’s the guy who used to work here?’ kind of thing. Names were different. I told them no.”
    “You lied?”
    “If it should come back to haunt me, I simply made a mistake because the names were different.”
    Fine grimaced.
    “You want to know something, Lieutenant? The people who called me…far from being squeamish…they hung up from the conversation disappointed . It was an exciting notion to them…a safe brush with the dark side. Personally, I think it’s sick. But then again, I just cater to the rich. I don’t really understand them.”
    “They accepted your denials?”
    “I tell them it’s not the same guy, they don’t have the conviction of character to debate me.”
    “And the owners don’t know about Harlan working here?”
    “No. Owners know a great deal about the membership, but not too much about staff. They don’t want to be bothered with business details. That’s what they pay me for. And like I said before, I’ve accounted for Harlan’s expenses. Just not on the payroll—”
    “Avoiding taxes and Social Security—”
    “Hired him as freelance. Club’s only responsible for the taxes and Social Security of its full-time employees. And Harlan never worked enough hours to warrant putting him on the payroll. Our books are clean. You find cause to subpoena our books, you won’t find a hint of an irregularity.”
    “Owners won’t be happy if Harlan’s alias is publicized.”
    “No, they won’t be. I’ll probably be blamed. And I’ll probably lose my job.”
    “That’s not my goal, sir.”
    “But it still may be an end result.” Fine blew out air. “Hell with it. What else do you want to know, Lieutenant?”
    “Harlan taught tennis?”
    “Yes.”
    “Groups? Individuals?”
    “Mostly private lessons.”
    “How was Harlan with his tennis students?”
    “Never had a