Bad Business (8 page)

I
was back in the Eisens' flossy new condo looking at the view again, and drinking a light scotch and soda. Ellen and Bernie were having martinis that Ellen had made while we men got comfortable. Sadly, Darrin couldn't join us.

“I don't know what to tell you, Spenser,” Eisen was saying. “I simply did not hire anyone to follow Ellen.”

I was particularly fond of people who barely knew me calling me by my last name.

“Well, Eisen,” I said. “Somebody was following her.”

“That's ridiculous,” Eisen said.

“It is,” I said. “But there you have it.”

“Honestly, Mr. Spenser,” Ellen said. “I don't believe anyone was following me.”

I smiled at her.

“You got it wrong, pal,” Eisen said.

I was even more fond of people who called me pal. I tried to remain focused.

“How about Gavin?” I said.

“Gavin?” Eisen said.

“Who's Gavin,” Ellen said.

“My information is that Gavin had Ellen followed.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eisen said. “Will you stop it. Why the fuck would Gavin hire somebody to follow my wife?”

“Darling,” Ellen said more firmly, “who is Gavin?”

“He's the chief of security at the shop,” Eisen said.

“So why would Gavin have your wife followed?” I said.

“He wouldn't, you idiot, don't you get it?”

“This might go better if you were more restrained,” I said.

“Restrained? You're lucky I don't throw you out.”

“One of us is,” I said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eisen said.

I took a deep breath, but it was too late. I found myself standing.

“It means that if you don't settle down I'm going to stick your foot in your ear,” I said.

He took an involuntary step backward and realized he had, and tried to compensate.

“You want to try it,” he said in a commanding voice.

“Oh, you men,” Ellen said. “You're just overgrown boys.”

“True,” I said. “But it's worth keeping in mind that I'm about thirty pounds more overgrown than your husband.”

I looked at Bernie for a moment.

“And, I would guess, four inches taller.”

“You think I can't handle myself?” Bernie said.

“You've probably been handling yourself too much,” I said.

Ellen giggled. I think we were both startled.

Bernie said, “Ellen, for God's sake.”

Ellen said, “Well, it was kind of funny. And, Bernie, get real. Look at him. He's much too big and strong.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She smiled at me and said, “You're welcome.”

“Okay, okay,” Bernie said. “We'll let it go for now.”

“Whew,” I said.

“But I want to know your scam.”

“Somebody spiked your open-marriage poster boy three times in the head.”

“Open marriage?” Bernie said.

“Darrin and I explained our arrangement to Mr. Spenser,” Ellen said.

“I would have thought it was none of his business,” Eisen said.

I thought he had a point.

“Oh, aren't you funny?” Ellen said. “Darrin felt it was the right thing to do. You know perfectly well that a relationship cannot be truly open if we are not truly open about it.”

Eisen nodded.

“I know, darling. I know.”

He looked at me.

“All the more reason that your story doesn't hold water. In a relationship like ours, there's nothing to hide. Why would someone follow either one of us.”

“My question exactly,” I said.

“Well, my man,” Eisen said to me. “If your story is
anything but some sort of clumsy attempt to extort money, then I guess you'll have to talk with Steve Gavin. I know nothing about any of this, and I'm sure Ellen doesn't either.”

“I don't,” Ellen said, “really.”

It was quite possible that they didn't. But Bernie knew it had happened. It would have been forcefully explained to him by Gavin, the moment after I left Gavin's office. It had almost certainly also been explained that his mouth should remain firmly shut on the matter. Which it would until I had something to pry it open with. I finished the last of my scotch and soda and put the glass down, centering it on the coaster. Tough guy like Eisen, you couldn't be too careful.

“Thanks for your time,” I said.

Eisen didn't say anything.

Ellen stood and said, “I'll walk to the door with you.”

After she closed the door behind me and while I was waiting for the elevator, I put my ear against the door. But I couldn't hear anything. Maybe there was nothing to hear. Maybe in open marriage you didn't get too attached to your non-spousal partner. Ellen had shown no sign that Trent Rowley's death made any difference to her. I wondered if she'd mourn Bernie. Or Darrin O'Mara. Maybe in open marriage you didn't get too attached to anybody. Easy come, easy go. Maybe open marriage was a crock. In the elevator, going down, I decided that it was.

N
o one was in the office at 9:15 in the morning when I showed up at the Templeton Group. No one arrived. I called them on my cell phone. An answering machine told me that they weren't there to receive my call, but that my call was important to them, and I should leave a message. I left my cell phone number. There was a sort of coffee shop–cafeteria on the lobby floor of 100 Summer, so I went down and ate two donuts and drank some coffee. At 10:30 I called Templeton again. Same machine. Same message. I left my cell phone number.

Back at my office, I opened all the windows so that the fresh exhaust fumes from Berkeley Street could dispel the stale air. Then I got the phone book out and looked up Jerry Francis and Mario Bellini. Neither was in Boston. I called information. That took a while, but eventually I found Jerry Francis in Dedham and Mario
Bellini in Revere. I called them. I got two more answering machines. I left my cell phone number.

I was beginning to feel lonely. I called Elmer O'Neill's number in Arlington. I got a machine. I left my cell phone number. After I hung up I stood for a while looking out my window. The weather was good. There were a number of well-dressed women moving past on Berkeley Street. I honed my surveillance skills on them for a while, and then, in the absence of a better plan, I closed up the office and drove out to Arlington to see if Elmer might show up.

The recycled gas station was closed, and locked. There was no
back in an hour
sign in the window. I sat in my car and did some more work on 411, looking for a home number and address. It was easy. He lived in Arlington, in his office. I got out and went and looked through the office front window. He wasn't in there. On the left wall there was a door to what had probably once been a service bay. I walked around and looked in a small window. It was Elmer's room. He wasn't in it. I drove up to Revere and located Mario Bellini's place on the first floor of a faded three-decker. He wasn't in it. Then I drove down to Dedham and tried Francis's pad in something brick that they probably called a garden apartment. Francis wasn't there. No one answered the door anywhere. Apparently all three lived alone. I called them all a couple more times on the drive back from Dedham. I didn't get anyone. I didn't bother to leave my cell phone number.

In the detective business when every avenue seems closed, the best thing to do is to find a really
good-looking woman and solicit her for sex. Susan was still with a patient when I got there, so I went upstairs to her apartment and sat on the couch with Pearl and drank some beer. Susan was as likely to drink beer as she was to bake a cherry pie. But she always kept a few bottles of Blue Moon Belgian White Ale on my account. Which I took to be strong evidence of her love.

In Susan's honor I drank the beer from the English pub glasses that she had bought for that purpose, and I was on the third beer when she came in.

“Last of the whack jobs?” I said.

“I try to think of them as patients,” Susan said. “But, yes, I have no more customers today.”

She came over and kissed me and Pearl, in that order, which I took to be another strong sign. Then she got herself a glass of white wine and sat on the couch with me, on the side away from Pearl.

“How goes the war on crime?” Susan said.

“Not well,” I said. “I can't seem to find any of my witnesses.”

“Really?” Susan said. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why did you think I came here?”

“Sex,” Susan said.

“Besides that,” I said.

“Tell me about it,” she said.

I did.

“Do you think anything has happened to them?” Susan said.

“There could be a hundred reasons why none of them is at their post,” I said.

“But it is somewhat coincidental that all three of them are not at their post simultaneously.”

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

I got careless with my beer glass for a moment, and Pearl slurped in a fast tongueful before I moved it to a more secure location.

“It's only dog slobber,” Susan said.

“Nothing wrong with dog slobber,” I said.

“Of course there isn't,” Susan said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Finish the beer,” I said.

“No.” Susan smiled. “I meant about the missing people?”

“I'll keep trying,” I said. “Probably talk with Gavin again.”

“Think you'll get anything from Gavin?”

“Probably not.”

“What do you want to know?” Susan said.

“Ultimately I want to know who killed Trent Rowley. But in order to do that it might help if I knew why Gavin was having people followed.”

Susan said, “Perhaps Darrin O'Mara would be worth a talk.”

“Matters of the Heart?”

“Un-huh. You mentioned that Ellen considers him her advisor.”

“And she might have sought his advice,” I said, “on other matters?”

“I believe that Darrin,” Susan said, “would argue that all matters are of the heart.”

“He would,” I said.

Susan turned her palms up in a gesture that said, “Well?”

She sipped her wine. I finished my beer. Pearl watched us intently.

“Do you think matters of the heart includes matters of the libido?” I said.

“Of course it does,” she said. “The distinction is artificial.”

“So love and desire are aspects of the same thing?”

“Um hm.”

“And you love me,” I said.

“Oh, oh!” Susan said.

I looked at her and waited.

“What about the baby?” Susan said.

“We could let her watch.”

“Oh, ick!”

“Or not,” I said.

“I do have a soup bone in the refrigerator,” Susan said, “that I keep for emergencies such as this.”

“So could we leave her here on the couch?” I said. “With the bone, sneak into your bedroom, and reconsider the connection between libido and love? While, oblivious, she gnaws happily away out here?”

“We'd be fools not to,” Susan said.

G
avin was waiting for me with two other guys in the hallway outside my office when I came to work in the morning carrying a large coffee in a paper cup.

“Spenser,” he said, “we need to talk.”

“Sure we do,” I said.

Gavin looked as chrome-plated and slick as he had the last time. The two men with him wore dark blazers and light gray slacks. On the breast pocket of each blazer the name Kinergy was spelled out in jagged script so it resembled a lightning bolt. Beneath the logo was the word
Security.
I unlocked the door and we went in. They came in after me and the last one closed the door. Gavin went to the client chair with arms. The other two men sat on the couch. It was Pearl's couch, but she wasn't with me, so I made no objection.

“Now,” Gavin said. “We need to talk.”

“You mentioned that,” I said.

Carefully, I took the plastic lid off my coffee and tossed it in the wastebasket.

“We'd like to hire you,” Gavin said.

“You three?” I said.

Gavin was not amused.

“No, no,” he said. “Kinergy.”

“So what are these guys for, to carry the money?”

“Our pipeline division is encountering vandalism problems, and we would like to employ you to look into that.”

“Wow,” I said. “Where are the problems taking place?”

“You'd be working out of our Tulsa office,” Gavin said.

“Tulsa,” I said.

“The pay would be ample and you'd be on full-time expenses. Everything first class. We have a very generous expense account policy.”

“Tulsa,” I said. “To track down vandals.”

“And,” Gavin said, “when you finish in Tulsa, there'd be other work. Southern California, for instance, or Vancouver.”

“You got any problems in Paris?” I said.

“We have an office in Paris,” Gavin said.

“Sacre bleu,”
I said.

“What?”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I speak so many languages . . .” Gavin obviously didn't know what I was talking about.

“So,” he said. “You have an interest? You could pretty well name your price.”

“How about the Templeton Group, or Elmer O'Neill?” I said. “What price did they name?”

“Excuse me?”

“I just wondered about your other hires,” I said.

“I'm sorry, we haven't hired anybody.”

“I was misinformed,” I said.

“So,” Gavin said brightly, “you interested?”

“Nope.”

Gavin was silent for a moment, his eyes behind the thick glasses getting narrow.

Then he said, “Think about this, Spenser. This is a good deal for you. This is a chance to establish a long-term relationship with what may be the greatest company in the country.”

“You wouldn't know who killed Trent Rowley, would you?” I said.

“That is a police matter,” Gavin said. “We are permitting the police to handle it.”

“So you haven't offered them a trip to Tulsa,” I said.

Gavin's eyes were now so narrow it was surprising that he could still see.

“I am trying to conduct this meeting in a businesslike and professional manner,” he said. “You do not make that easy.”

“Thanks for noticing,” I said.

Gavin was silent for a considerable time, giving me the slit-eyed stare, tapping his fingertips gently together under his chin. While he did that I used the time to look at the other two guys. They looked like they'd been hired for their looks, sent over by a casting company to play high-powered corporate security guys. One had a dark crew cut. The other had shaved his head. They were about six feet tall, the shaved-head guy a little taller, and they looked as if they got a lot of exercise.

When he'd softened me up enough with the flinty
stare, Gavin finally spoke. His voice was flat, and measured like a guy trying to overcome a stutter.

“We pride ourselves,” he said, “on being a can-do company. If the conventional businesslike and professional approaches are closed to us, we find other ways.”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“I admire that in any organization,” I said and looked at the guys on the couch, “don't you?”

Neither of them answered. Gavin spoke again.

“Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

“Same thing you've been saying since you came in with the Righteous Brothers. You don't want me trying to find out what happened to Trent Rowley. Or why you put a tail on Ellen Eisen and Marlene Rowley.”

Gavin hardened his stare, which was no easy task.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Gavin said slowly. “I came here to offer you a chance to make some serious money. You not only declined, you did so in an offensive manner, and I am just reminding you that we at Kinergy are used to getting what we want.”

“You know what would be really helpful to me?” I said.

“What?”

“If you could teach me that stare. I could frighten the knob off a door if I had that stare.”

Gavin held the stare for a moment, but he couldn't keep it up and shifted his gaze to the window behind me.

From the couch the shaved-head guy said, “Mr. Gavin, if it was okay with you, maybe we could teach him some manners.”

“Eeek,” I said.

Gavin kept looking out my window for a couple of
beats. I suspected he was counting. Then he shifted his gaze back to me.

“Not this time, Larry,” he said. “Not this time.”

“Larry?” I said. “How can you have an enforcer named Larry?”

Larry said, “You think there's something funny about my name, pal?”

“With your name,” I said. “With your act. With your haircut.”

“Larry,” Gavin said. “Shut up.”

Gavin stood. The two men on the couch stood.

“I want you to think hard on this,” Gavin said to me, bending slightly forward. “And we'll come back soon and make you the offer again.”

“Oh good,” I said. “It'll give purpose to my week.”

Nobody seemed to have anything to say about that, so, after a moment, the three of them turned and marched out.