5.
 John Doyle, of an address in Chula Vista, was the registered owner of the roadster in the photo. I drove down there the next day, and found myself sitting in a rather prim Catholic living room in the old part of town. The lady pouring coffee and smoking cigarettes opposite me was smallish, heavyish, grayish, and angryish. Not the kind of anger that flares, but the kind that's a long slow burn, that shines out of the eyes heavy with hurt. "I gave him my best years," she said, pouring. The coffee smelled good. I palmed two Benzadyl; coffee was about all I could stomach. Her smoke was making me dizzy. "I don't call him a son-a-bitch. I don't call him nothing. He was a good father to our three kids. He was a good husband, I thought, only what did I know was going on in that fat head of his?"
I didn't bother asking what happened. It's the oldest story in the world. Instead, I showed her the photo. She didn't flinch as she looked down one side of her face without moving her head or finding an expression. "Is this the girl?" she asked, and it was clear she'd never seen the woman her husband had run off with.
"Her sister," I said.
She stared at her adversary's sister and I couldn't figure what went on in her mind.
"How did the girl get on his car?" I asked.
She poured more coffee. "She climbed? He put her there? How do I know, Mr. Lambert?"
"Seth." I sipped the scalding brew. She was alone in the empty nest, and the big eagle had flown. The lady gave good coffee. I thought of the fat couple waiting for their money and shuddered. "Mrs. Doyle, your husband went and married the sister of the girl in the picture, Did you have any indication beforehand?" What I meant to find out was if she'd ever met Liana.
Before I could hone my question, she jumped in: "Mr. Lambert, John was always a bit different. Worked in the tire business for twenty years, but he was a frustrated artist. I suppose I should have known he was getting edgy. I never actually saw him looking after other women, but he became rather distant. And then!"
"Then?"
"Then, Mr. Lambert, he was having conversations with the Holy Ghost."
"Oh really?"
"Well, that's what he told me." She put more sugar in her coffee. "That's when I knew my John was not entirely balanced."
"So he was a religious person, huh?" I was starting to get bored. "What exactly did he talk with the Holy Ghost about, Mrs. Doyle, do you know?"
She waved her hand. "Oh, just nonsense. The Holy Ghost told him to take up photography, for one thing."
I was interested again. "Photography, Mrs. Doyle? And did he?"
"Oh yes. He spent our Christmas money on a camera and a tripod and who knows what else. That was nearly three years ago, right before he left me. And then he took up with some enormous Mexican girl he met at a church bingo, right under my nose." She snickered. "Can you imagine? I was slim as a reed when we married. He always told me I was slim as a reed. And then he goes and..."
"Thank you, Mrs. Doyle. I'll call you if I need anything more."
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