The plate of hard cookies arrived along with our espressos. Eileen Paxton patted the waiter’s hand, selected a crescent, broke it in half, nibbled the tip.
“What did you do?” I said.
“I yanked Jerry’s goddamn hand out of there, told him what I’d do to his balls if he ever tried that again. He’s despised me ever since, and the feeling’s mutual. Not just because of that. Because of what he does to my sister.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s cheated on her consistently throughout the marriage.”
I didn’t answer.
She said, “Trust me, I know the bum. All those business trips, doing God knows what. The looks he gives me when we’re alone. Gives other women—the girls he hires as secretaries.”
“What about them?”
“Sluts. They’re supposed to be doing secretarial work, but don’t look as if they know how to type. He goes off doing his thing, doing God knows what, and Sheila basically lives alone. She has no friends, no social network. Which is the way it was when we were growing up. I always had a huge social circle. Sheila had trouble relating.”
I said, “Doing God knows what. Sheila said he was a metals dealer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Paxton said airily. She chewed on a biscotti.
“You have doubts?”
“He must do something, the bills get paid. Yes, he travels around trading aluminum, whatever. But when my husband—my new one—tried to talk to him about investing, Jerry wasn’t interested. And Ted’s a fabulous broker, someone who could help Jerry. My sense is Jerry isn’t great at what he does, has to hustle just to keep his head above. He moves his office every few years, travels all the time.”
“Hires sluts as secretaries.”
She hesitated. “Maybe I was being a little harsh. I just know what he did to me on the dock that day. And the way his eyes rove.”
I said, “You’re thinking this could be related to Gavin.”
“I want you guys to have all the facts, and I know no one else will give them to you. The family’s screwed up, and Gavin was a weirdo. I know Sheila and Jerry are going to tell you he was just a regular kid before the accident, but that’s not the way it was. Gavin had problems.”
“What kinds of problems?”
Eileen Paxton rubbed the biscotti against her top teeth, as if caressing the enamel. Her tongue snaked out and tickled the pastry, then she took a hard bite and chewed slowly.
“I wouldn’t be telling you this except I don’t want you misled.”
“We appreciate that, ma’am,” said Milo.
“Well, good,” said Paxton. “Because I do feel uncomfortable, divulging family issues.” She sipped latte like a cautious cat, licked foam from her upper lip.
“What kinds of problems did Gavin have?” I said.
“Like father, like son.”
“He was sexually predatory?”
“That sounds too harsh,” she said. “Gavin hadn’t developed into a predator. Yet. But he was . . . okay, there’s no reason not to tell you: Last year, Gavin ran into some legal problems over a woman.”
“Beth Gallegos,” said Milo.
Paxton’s face slackened with disappointment. “So you know.”
“It came up recently, ma’am. In fact, we were just talking about it to your sister.”
“You’re serious? Sheila must have gone bonkers. She blamed the victim, right?”
“Exactly, ma’am.”
“That’s always been her way of dealing with stress,” said Paxton. “My poor sister lives on another planet—well, yes, that was part of what I was going to tell you. But that was only Gavin’s most serious problem, there have been others.”
“Other women he stalked?”
“I know of at least one girl he harassed, and my guess would be more. Because that kind of behavior’s a pattern, right?”
“Sure,” said Milo. “Who’s the other victim?”
“Gavin had a girlfriend—some rich kid from the Flats, I only met her once, skinny little blond thing with a nose like a hawk. I found her kind of snotty. Her father’s a prominent jingle writer. Gavin got sexually aggressive with her, and she dumped him.”
“How do you know about this, ma’am?”
“Because Gavin told me.”
“Gavin talked to you about his personal issues?”