'Would you mind transmitting your credentials?'
Either Thomson didn't trust the label from Nohar's office comm, or he was politely looking for an excuse to hang up. Fortunately, Nohar's wallet with his PI licence was sitting on top of the comm and he didn't have to stand up to get it. He slid his license into the fax slot on his comm and hit the send button. Thomson nodded when he saw the results. 'I can give you ten minutes.' At the length this guy spoke, that wouldn't give Nohar much. 'When did Johnson die?'
'I am given to understand the time of death was placed sometime in the middle of the week of the twentieth—'
'July twentieth?'
'Of course.'
'When was the last official contact with Johnson?'
'As we have informed the police, he attended a political fund-raiser Saturday the nineteenth. He didn't come in to work the following week—'
'Didn't this strike anyone as odd?'
Thomson was undoubtedly irritated by Nohar's interruptions, but he hid it well. 'No, it is an election
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S. ANDREW SWANN
year. It's common for executive officers to be pulled away from the desk for trips, speeches, press, and so on. Johnson was the chief executive under Binder, he often did such things on his own initiative—'
'Do you know what he was doing?'
'No. If it wasn't dealing with the media, it was not my department. Now, if you don't mind, the time—'
It didn't feel like ten minutes to Nohar. 'One more thing.'
Nohar thought he heard Thomson sigh. 'What?'
'About the three million dollars the police believe was stolen from the campaign—'
Thomson interrupted this time. 'I am sorry, but I do not have the authority to discuss the financial details of the campaign.'
Ah, Nohar had finally run into the brick wall. 'I am sorry to hear that. You see, I have conflicting information. I simply want to know if the three million was physically in Johnson's possession, in cash—'
'I said, I can't discuss it.'
Try another tack. 'Who has access to the campaign's financial records?'
Thomson was shaking his head. He even grinned a bit, showing a gold tooth that had to be decorative. 'Me, the legal counsel, the campaign manager and his executive assistant, and the finance chairman, of course.'
'Thank you.'
Thomson chuckled. 'I'm afraid they can't help you. No one but Binder has the authority to release confidential financial data. Except, of course, disclosures required by law.'
'Or a subpoena,' Nohar muttered.
'I would call that a disclosure required by law. Now, as I said before, my time is limited. I really must go.'
'Thanks for your help,' Nohar said, nearly choking on the insincerity.
'You're welcome. It's my job,' Thomson replied, just as insincere, but much more professional.
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55
The line was cut and Nohar was left staring at a test pattern.
Nohar ran through the record of the conversation a few times. It irritated him that Thomson was right. Nothing was hi the conversation he wouldn't be able to get from the police record or the news. Reviewing the tape didn't tell Nohar anything more, other than the fact Thomson lived in a ritzy penthouse overlooking downtown— Thomson's home comm faced a window.
The comm told him it was fifteen after. It was time to call Manny down at the pathologist's office. Nohar wanted to set up a meeting for tonight. One he hoped would be more fruitful.
CHAPTER 5
During the night, the rain turned into a deluge. Nohar didn't feel half as uncomfortable under the sudden thunderstorm as he had in the misting drizzle in the cemetery. The dark violence of it suited him.
Coventry suited him.
The three block area was a ragged collection of bars close to the East Cleveland border. It was far enough away from the heart of Moreytown to see the occasional pink in the area. As always, there were two patrol cars, the riot watch, one on either end of the strip. Nohar passed one of them at the
intersection of Coventry and Mayfield, and, while it was too far for him to see it, he knew its twin was parked in the old school parking lot, three blocks away.
Like Nohar's neighborhood, Coventry was blocked off from car traffic by three-meter-tall concrete pylons left over from the riots. Graffiti wrapped around the rectangular blocks, as if the strip were trying to escape its arbitrary confines by oozing through the gaps.
The rain hadn't slowed things down. Ten-thirty at night and the street was packed with the backwash of Moreytown. The downpour couldn't remove the omnipresent smell of damp fur.
Nohar made his way down the center of the old asphalt strip. He passed canines, felines, a knot of rodents in leather vests and denim briefs—he avoided the slight scent of familiar perfume—an unfamiliar ursine, a loud lepus shouting at a rapt vulpine congregation. The people around him only made the briefest im-FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
57
press ion. A few shouted greetings. Nohar waved without quite noticing who they had been.
His destination, Watership Down, was one of the few bars on the Coventry strip that was actually owned and operated by a morey proprietor-—Gerard Lopez, a lepus. The reason Nohar chose to frequent this particular bar, out of the two dozen on the strip, was the high ceiling. This was one of the few places he could get fully toasted and not end up bashing his head into a ceiling fan or a light fixture.
Nohar entered the bar, shook some of the rain out of his coat, and took his regular seat, a booth in the back that had the seats moved back for people his size. The table was directly underneath a garish framed picture someone had once told him was an original Warner Brothers* animation cell. It was a hand drawn cartoon of a gray bipedal rabbit in the process of blowing up a bald, round-headed, human. Lopez had mounted a little brass plaque under the picture. It said, '1946—Off the Pink.' Even if it was a joke, Nohar was glad that most humans didn't come down to Coventry.
Manny was waiting at the bar. He bore down on Nohar's booth carrying two pitchers of beer. Alert black eyes glanced over Nohar as the quick little mongoose put the pitcher on the table. 'Nohar, you look like hell.'
Nohar's mind had drifted off the case and on to Maria. He was at once irritated and defensive. Manny was the only real family Nohar had. The mongoose had come to America with Nohar's parents, and had been there when Nohar's mother had died. When he was younger, Nohar had resented him. It was still hard for Nohar to accept Manny's concern with good grace.
It had taken finding his real father to allow Nohar to appreciate Manny.
'Maria dumped me.' Nohar poured himself a beer and downed it.
Manny slid into the opposite side of the booth and
58 S. ANDREW SWANN
chit tared a little in sympathy. 'That's hard to believe. After the last time I saw you two together, it looked like you finally found the right one,'
'I thought so myself. Always do.'
'Do you want to talk about it?'
'I want to talk to an M.E., not a psychiatrist.'
