alone for a minute, if that'll be all right."
"That's fine. May I offer you a cup of coffee?" The door closed behind Zina, and he shook his head as Jessie indicated a chair near her desk and then sat back down in her own. She swiveled to face him. "What can I do for you, Inspector? Miss Nelson said it was urgent."
"Yes. It is. Is that your Morgan outside?" Jessie nodded, feeling queasy under the sharp look in his eyes. She was wondering if Ian had forgotten to pay his tickets again. She had had to fish him out of jail once before, for a neat little fine of two hundred dollars. In San Francisco, they didn't fool around. You paid your tickets or they took you to jail. Do not pass Go, and do not collect two hundred dollars.
"Yes, that's my car. My name's on the plates." She smiled pleasantly and hoped that her hand didn't shake while she lit another cigarette. It was absurd. She hadn't done anything wrong, but there was something about the man, about the word "Police," that produced instant guilt. Panic. Terror.
"Were you driving it yesterday?"
"No, I was in New York on business. I flew back last night." As though she had to prove that she was out of town, and for a legitimate reason. This was crazy. If only Ian were here. He handled things so much better than she did.
"Who else drives your car?" Not "does anyone else?," but "who else?"
"My husband does." Something sank in the pit of her stomach when she mentioned Ian.
"Did he drive it yesterday?" Inspector Houghton lit a cigarette of his own and looked her over, as if assessing her.
"I don't know for certain. He has his own car, but he was driving mine when he picked me up at the airport. I could call him and ask." Houghton nodded and Jessica waited.
"Who else drives the car? A brother? A friend? Boyfriend?" His eyes dug into hers on the last word, and at last she felt anger.
"I'm a married woman, Inspector. And no one else drives the car. Just my husband and I." She had gotten the point across, but something in Houghton's face told her it was not a victory.
"The car is registered to your business? You have commercial plates, and the address on the registration is this store." Store! Boutique, you asshole, boutique! "I assume you own this place?"
"That's correct. Inspector, what is this about?" She exhaled lengthily and watched the smoke as she felt her hand shake slightly. Something was wrong.
"I'd like to speak to your husband. Would you give me the address of his office, please?" He instantly took out a pen and waited, holding it poised over the back of one of his cards.
"Is this about parking tickets? I know my husband... well, he's forgetful." She smiled for Houghton's benefit, but it didn't take.
"No, this is not about parking tickets. Your husband's business address?" The eyes were like ice.
"He works at our home. It's only six blocks from here. On Vallejo." She wanted to offer to go with him, but she didn't dare. She scribbled the address on one of her own cards and handed it to him.
"Thank you. I'll be in touch." But what the fuck about, dammit? She wanted to know. But he stood up and reached for the door.
"Inspector, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd tell me what this is about. I--" He looked at her oddly again, with that searching look of his that asked questions but did not answer them.
"Mrs. Clarke, I'm not entirely sure myself. When I am, I'll let you know."
"Thank you." Thank you? Thank you for what? Shit. But he was already gone, and as she walked back into the main room of the boutique, she saw him get into an olive green sedan and drive off. There was another man at the wheel. They traveled in pairs. The antenna on the back of the car swung crazily as they drove toward Vallejo.
"What was that all about?" Katsuko's face was serious, and Zina looked upset.
"I wish to hell I knew. He just asked me who drives the car and then said he wanted to talk to Ian. Goddammit, I'll bet he hasn't been paying his parking tickets again." But it didn't