she’d used when she applied for the job. It matches a Simone Chambord, all right, but that person turns out to be an eighty-nine-year-old woman living in a rest home in New Orleans. I called over there and the director informed me Mrs. Chambord had advanced Alzheimer’s, had been that way for five years.”
“Jack and Daisy’s search didn’t pull that up?”
“They were focused on relevant criteria. Criminal record, poor credit.”
“Good point,” I said. “Advanced Alzheimer’s would sure inhibit criminality.”
Banfer shook his head. “The potential ramifications for Gold Standard are obvious but no harm was intended.”
Milo said, “Your clients provided a con artist as a nanny for movie stars’ kids, did the same for a woman who ended up dead. Yeah, I’d say those are ramifications.”
“That’s a tiny proportion of all the wonderful people Jack and Daisy have connected with wonderful clients.”
Recited with all the conviction of a gulag loyalty pledge.
I said, “Unfortunately, you’re only as good as your last picture.”
Banfer sighed. “I’ve advised Jack to sit tight, but obviously he’s on pins and needles. To make matters worse, Daisy knew nothing about any of this.”
Milo said, “Unhappy wife, unhappy life.”
“It’s a mess, all right. By the way, I did check out Ms. Betts’s Social Security and it comes back to her. Have I missed something? Because she and Chambord seem an unlikely pairing.”
Milo said, “Nothing crooked has turned up on Adriana.”
“That baby found at the park-those bones-what’s the connection?”
“Don’t know yet, Floyd. That’s why we wanted to talk to Jack and Daisy.”
“Well, they certainly can’t tell you anything about
“Qeesha-Simone-was hired twenty-three months ago. What about Adriana?”
“Recently. Around three, four months ago according to Jack.”
“He can’t be more precise?”
Banfer stared straight ahead.
Milo said, “He destroyed the files?”
“I can’t get into that.”
“Your client got rid of potential evidence. If you advised him to do that you could be facing obstruction charges.”
“Same answer, I’m afraid.”
Banfer turned to Milo. Milo glared and Banfer faced forward again. “Let’s put this in context: I’ve been more forthcoming than I need to be, given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances are those, Floyd?”
“No charges have been filed against anyone, you’re at the supposition stage, fishing around, and neither I nor my client is obligated to talk to you about anything. However, we
“Fair enough,” said Milo.
Sudden switch to an easy, amiable tone. Banfer risked another try at eye contact. Milo smiled.
“Well,” said the attorney, “it’s good to see we’ve reached a meeting of the minds.”
“I agree. Now how about we talk to Jack, directly.”
“You feel that’s necessary?”
“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t, Floyd.”
Banfer sighed again, punched numbers on his cell phone. “Hey, it’s me … as well as can be expected … I told them that … they still want to talk to you … I’ll stay right here, not to worry … might as well, you’ve got nothing to hide … sooner’s better than later, Jack, let’s get it over with and move on … we’re on the parkway between Beverly and Camden … good idea.” Clicking off, he studied the traffic. “On his way.”
Jack Weathers wore a blue cashmere blazer, a white silk shirt, dove-colored slacks, blue suede loafers with gold buckles. If they recast
The shuffling gait of an old, weary man.
I got up and vacated the space next to Banfer. Weathers hesitated.
Milo said, “Take a load off, Jack.”
Weathers’s jowls quivered. Pink capillaries laced the whites of his eyes. A couple of cuticles were rubbed raw, detracting from an otherwise perfect manicure.
He sat down heavily and Banfer filled him in on what we knew. When Banfer wanted to, he could be concise.
Jack Weathers laced his hands together, stared at his knees.
Milo said, “Tell me everything you remember about the woman who called herself Simone Chambord.”
“What’s her real name?” said Weathers.
“Why don’t you let me do the asking so you can do the answering.”
Weathers’s head snapped back.
Floyd Banfer said, “Let’s keep it streamlined, Jack, and they’ll be out of your hair.”
Weathers said nothing. The group of younger Persian women returned. His attention shifted to shapely rears, and that seemed to relax him.
He said, “Good-looking girl, black but lightish. I figured her for a wannabe actress.”
“Because of her looks.”
“That and she had a way about her.”
“What way was that, Jack?”
“Vivacious,” said Weathers. “Theatrically vivacious.”
“Like she was playing a role.”
“This town, everyone plays a role. What I’m getting at is everything was just a little bit exaggerated.” He studied Milo. “You’re kind of central-casting yourself.”
“So you figured Simone for a wannabe.”
“But she had the right credentials for the child-care job. Experience, letters of reference.”
“From who?”
“Previous employers.”
“How about some names?”
“Don’t recall,” said Weathers.
“How about checking the file?”
“No file.” Weathers colored. “We turn everything over regularly.”
“Paper buildup.”
Floyd Banfer rubbed one leg against the other.
Jack Weathers said, “Exactly.”
“Okay,” said Milo, “but when she applied you must’ve called her references. Any memories of who they were and what they told you?”
“Nah, I’ve got so many applications, nothing stands out.”
“Business is good.”
“Can be,” said Weathers. “All I can tell you is she checked out.”
“Wannabe actress,” said Milo. “Guess you see a lot of that.”
“I go in assuming the real agenda is advancing their careers. Or so they believe.”
Milo said, “Doesn’t work that way?”
“Works against them.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because once someone’s seen as being in a service position they tend to be … always seen that way.”
