Free Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) by Stuart M. Kaminsky

got a record. Goes back thirty-two years. Spent two years in a California prison for nearly killing a man who he said was diddling his movie-star wife.”
    “Claire Collins,” I said.
    “That’s the one. William Trasker was Walter Trasnovorich when it happened. Legally changed his name when he got out in 1972.”
    “Who was the man he almost killed?”
    “Actor,” said Dixie. “Movie name, Don Heller. Real name, Franklin Morris. Want to know Roberta Trasker’s name before it was Claire Collins? Roberta Goulding, but I think there’s a name even earlier. There’s a big blank in her life from the age of zero to about seventeen. I’ll keep working on it.”
    “Trasker have any family?” I asked. “Brothers, sisters?”
    “I can find out,” she said.
    I thought for a second. I could call Roberta Trasker for an answer, but I don’t like telephones. I don’t like the dead space I’m expected to fill on them and Roberta Trasker might give me a lot of dead space.
    “See what you can find,” I said. “I’m going out of town tomorrow. You can leave a message on my answering machine if you find anything. And there’s someone else I’d like you to check on: Kevin Hoffmann, the real-estate developer.”
    “Got it. I’ll have to bill you some more,” Dixie said apologetically. “I’m a working girl with two cats.”
    I hadn’t seen any cats in her apartment but I believed her.
    “Okay,” I said, and hung up to look at Sally, who was looking back at me with slightly raised eyebrows that held a question.
    “Long story,” I said. “You have time for the China Palace buffet?”
    Sally looked at her watch.
    “No,” she said. “I’ve got to put in at least another hour filling out reports and then get home to the kids.”
    “I’ll bring you some carryout. Cashew chicken and hot-and-sour soup?”
    The China Palace was three minutes away on Fruitville.
    “And a bunch of egg rolls for the kids,” she said, reaching down for her purse under the desk.
    “On me,” I said. “I’ve got a paying client, remember?”
    “Kenneth Severtson.”
    “I’m going to Orlando tonight,” I said. “His wife and children are there with—”
    “Andrew Stark,” she finished. “You have a plan?”
    “No,” I said. “Find her, watch, maybe talk to her. Maybe I just tell Severtson where they are. He tells his lawyer. Think that’s a good idea?”
    “Probably not,” she said. “I don’t think Kenneth Severtson’s likely to handle the situation very well. It’s better if you talk to her. If she won’t come back, Severtson can get a lawyer. They’re his children, too.”
    “But that would take time,” I said.
    “And money,” she added. “And she could be out of Florida before the paperwork could get done so someone like you could serve it.”
    “What do you have on the family?”
    She reached over to a stack of files leaning against the glass at the back of her desk, fished through them, and came up with the one I wanted. I knew she couldn’t let me read it, but that didn’t stop Sally from answering some questions.
    “Your own words,” I said.
    “My own words,” she said, pursing her lips. “Kenneth Severtson is not the Cosby dad, but he’s not Homer Simpson either. He’s got a temper. He’s tough to get through to. They have credit-card payment problems, even talked about bankruptcy. His business is good, but they spend like its Microsoft. He took it out on his wife. The police were called in. He needed help. He doesn’t trust therapy and resented our intervention. Janice isn’t a mouse, but she isn’t a dragon. Good mothers can do dumb things when it comes to their kids. I had her down as a loyal wife who was willing to put up with a lot to keep her marriage and family together.”
    “Things have changed,” I said.
    “Andrew Stark,” she said. “Stark isn’t an old friend of the family. Went into partnership with Kenneth Severtson a few years ago. Definitely a shady background.