Free Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Page A

that much harder, that much more frustrating. You couldn’t identify the owner of a telephone voice you’d never heard, couldn’t put the arm on somebody who refused to come out into the open. All you could do was wait for whatever happened next.
    He drove to South Park on Saturday morning, as he sometimes did when he wasn’t otherwise occupied, and Tamara was there as usual, talking to Bill on the phone. She gestured to Runyon to get on the line in Bill’s office for a conference call. He did that, asked after Kerry. “Getting better,” Bill said. “We’re taking it one day at a time.” He seemed in good spirits, upbeat, but Runyon couldn’t help wondering if he were putting on a front so they wouldn’t worry. Be just like the man to do that—think of the feelings of others in the midst of his own crisis.
    It was Tamara who brought up the Daniels case. Evidently she’d been discussing it with Bill. Runyon had given her full reports on his East Bay interviews, the Lands End bust, his growing reservations, and she’d shared the information with Bill to get his input.
    â€œIf you’re ready to dump it now, Jake, that’s okay with us.”
    â€œYou mean turn it over to Alex or Deron?”
    â€œNo, I mean dump it, period. Let her go to some other outfit. We’ve got a near-full caseload—we don’t need any more of her money. Or any more of her lies. I caught her in another one yesterday.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œDid some more checking on her,” Tamara said. “All that stuff she fed us about fund-raising for charities? Pure crap. Lighthouse for the Blind never heard of her. Nor has the Foundation for AIDS Research, or the Breast Cancer Fund, or any other charity organization I checked with. All fabricated so she’ll look like a better person than she is.”
    â€œInsecure,” Bill said. “And immature. People who tell the kinds of lies she does usually are.”
    â€œScrewed up, in any case.”
    Runyon asked, “Any indication of what she does do with her time?”
    â€œNot that I could find out,” Tamara said. “Doesn’t travel—no record of airline ticket purchases or a passport application. Doesn’t run up large credit card bills. Doesn’t belong to Facebook or Twitter or Linked-In. Doesn’t seem to do much of anything except sit on what’s left of that money she inherited like a goose on a bunch of golden eggs.”
    Bill said, “Maybe she hasn’t figured out what to do with it yet.”
    â€œ I’d know what to do with it, that’s for damn sure. Most people would.”
    â€œMost people have interests, hobbies, goals. Jake’s reports indicate she’s one of the few who doesn’t. No social life, doesn’t do much except live vicariously through the idiot box.”
    â€œThen why move to the city, buy into a place like Bayfront Towers?”
    Runyon said, “Told me she’d always dreamed of living in San Francisco. Her only dream, maybe.”
    â€œShe had at least a couple of men in her life before,” Tamara said. “You’d think there’d be plenty now, with all the green she’s got.”
    â€œNew in the city, hasn’t met anybody yet who appeals to her.” Except me, Runyon thought but didn’t say.
    â€œBut she doesn’t seem to be out looking. How come?”
    â€œHer marriage was a bitter failure,” Bill said. “Her fiancé was about to call things off when he died. Maybe the combination turned her off relationships.”
    â€œNot enough so that she wasn’t screwing her boss.”
    â€œJake’s impression, not a proven fact. She could still be off men except for the occasional fling.”
    â€œWell, she’s a liar for sure. And a pain in the ass. Looks to me like she’s been both all her life.”
    â€œShe’s still in trouble,” Runyon