“What else does she say?”
David stared at me. His blue eyes were weary but they didn’t waver. “She knows I’m married,” he said finally. “She mentioned Stephanie’s name, and a couple of events Steph has been at recentlyfund-raising things. She threatened to call her.”
I nodded. That was more than a glance through his wallet, though the research wouldn’t have been hard. David was a reasonably high-profile guy in some circles, and Google would do the trick. I recalled the mentions in the trade rags, last August, of David’s promotion to head of mergers and acquisitions at Klein. Those articles would probably appear at the top of the search results, but Stephanie’s name would come up too, along with a skein of social contacts.
“She’s done some homework,” I said.
Irritation rippled across David’s face. “You think?” He stalked to the kitchen counter and picked up his coffee mug. He drank from it and grimaced and emptied it in the sink. “Cold,” he said. He made it an accusation.
“Has she made good on her threats?”
“Do you think I’d be here if she had? There wouldn’t be much point, would there?”
I counted to ten again, and then to twenty. I was getting good at it. I’d had a lot of practice with David. “Has she tried to make good on them?”
“Does her little visit to my place count? Thank God Steph wasn’t home for that. Thank God I took care of the fucking doormen this Christmas.”
“So Stephanie doesn’t know about her?”
“No,” David said. His voice was empty of emotion again. “And neither does Ned, and I intend to keep it that way.”
A fine ambition, I thought, though perhaps not realistic. “Does Stephanie know about the other wo-”
“No, goddammit, and can we stick to the point here?” David’s fingers were white on the edge of my kitchen counter. I was running out of numbers.
I took a deep breath. “What happened when you and Wren were together?”
David’s look was a mix of irritation and are you some kind of idiot? “What do you think happened? And if you’re looking for details, forget-”
“I’m not. But did she say or do anything out of the ordinaryanything to make you think she had another agenda?”
“There was nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Conversation tends to be…limited, and that’s how it was with her. She was maybe a little quieter than some of the others, a little more…inwardly turned…but that’s all.”
“And you didn’t say anything to her? Anything that might lead her to believe-”
“To believe what, that we were going to run off together or something? Get a cottage by the sea and raise a new generation of Marches? Do you think I’m stupid?” It was one of many thoughts that were colliding in my head, and that I’d so far managed to keep to myself. But David wasn’t making it easy. He jabbed his fingers at me. “And what happened to sticking to the fucking point?”
“That would be a lot easier if you would tell me just what the fucking point is. What is it you want from me?”
“I want you to find this Wren, for chrissakes- to find out who she is and where she lives. To find out as much about her as she has about me. And then I want you to talk to her. Make it clear that I have no interest in seeing her- or hearing from her- ever again. Make it clear I won’t sit still for extortion or manipulation or…whatever the hell she has in mind. Make her understand there are consequences.” His voice was shaky at first but steadied with talk of action. The fantasy of control over this sorry situation was short-lived, though, and worry filled the silence when his speech was done. His gaze, fixed on me, was more desperate than resolute.
“You have the wrong idea about what I do.”
David snorted. “I know just what you do, John. You rummage around in people’s lives- you go through their garbage and their dirty laundry. You find them, and you find out about them, all the things they want kept private, all the secret things. I know exactly what you do, and this is right up your alley.”
“I don’t do kneecaps, David.”
He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. There was genuine surprise in his voice. “You think that’s what I’m asking for? Jesuswhat kind of person do you think I am?” It was a good question, and I realized then that I didn’t have a clue.
“What kind of consequences did you have in mind, then?”
“I don’t intend to have my life overturned, or to have my pocket picked. If she won’t take the hint from you, the next message will come from a lawyer- a high-priced, tireless, nasty one, with a taste for human flesh. That’s the message I want you to send.”
I thought about that for a while. “Assuming I can find her-”
“Assuming? I thought you were good at this.”
“I am good at it, but there’s nothing certain in this work. Assuming I can find her, and deliver your message, there’s still the possibility that lawyers might not frighten her.” David’s face said the notion was unfathomable. I went on. “She might not have any assets worth going after, or- if she’s nuts enough- she might not care. She might even like the attention.”
A shudder went through him and he pulled his hand again and again through his glossy hair. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” he said finally. “First find her.” He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples and looked smaller still.
“You could just let her find you, you know- just wait until she calls and agree to a meeting and send your message in person.”
“I’m done waiting!” David said, and smacked his fist on the countertop. “I won’t have this hanging over my head any longer, and I won’t dance to her tune. If she calls, fine- I’ll agree to a meet, and you can go, but I’m not sitting on my hands until that happens.”
I carried my coffee mug to the kitchen and filled it and wandered to a window. David eyed me warily and I looked back. He was just two years my senior, but in the gray morning light, with the color wrung from his eyes and his expensive woolen skin hanging sadly from his narrow shoulders, he might have been a hundred.
“What is it?” he asked finally. “If it’s money you’re worried about- don’t. I don’t expect a family discount or anything; I’ll pay full freight.”
Full freight. Jesus. I shook my head. “There are other PIs in the world, David. Why do you want to hire me?”
“You think I like the idea? Trust me, I don’t. But I like even less the thought of going to a total stranger. That’s all I need right now is some sleazebag careening around in my life, upending things or…God knows what.” David paused and the small sour smile came and went again. “You’re at least a sleazebag I know. You’re the lesser evil.”
I looked at David and nodded. It was the first really straight answer he’d given me all morning.
2
Hendry’s was a sleek boutique hotel in NoLita- a luxurious, low-key sanctuary built inside the sandblasted shell of what used to be five adjoining brick tenement buildings. The patrons these days ran not so much to huddled masses as to movie people, rock stars, fashionistas, and, on three afternoons this past fall, David and Wren. According to David, Wren had suggested the place and had taken care of booking the rooms, and I went there on Tuesday morning in the hope of charming, confusing, or otherwise persuading someone to let me have a look at the registration records. Other than establishing that Wren had expensive taste, it was mostly a waste of time.
Given the nature of their clientele, the Armani-clad people who manned the polished perpetual twilight of Hendry’s lobby were exquisitely sensitive to matters of privacy, and quite immune to my manipulations. The records were a nonstarter and so was peeking at security camera footage, and I found only one person with more to offer than a tastefully muted threat of removal from the premises.
Her name was Vera, and when she wasn’t checking people in and out of Hendry’s, she was a film student at
