“In the event I stay, I think he’s still got a grudge, and I’m wondering what I’m in for here.”
“He works for Harold.”
“And did Bronson hire him?”
“He did.”
“Do you recall the circumstances?”
“The man before Hal was killed in an accident. It was very inconvenient for the firm and we were in desperate need of a replacement. Somebody recommended Hal.”
“Do you recall who?”
“Somebody at Morris Networks, I think.” He added, “Sean, I know you don’t like him, but he’s a hardworking son of a bitch. He rarely leaves before midnight. Same with his people. The associates appreciate that they’re always here to help when a hard drive crashes or they need instant administrative help.”
I said, “What about Sally?”
That question for some reason drew a funny look and he replied, “What about her?”
“Do any of the older partners remember her father?”
“A few. Melvin Sperling worked with him. Jimmy Martino, Jack Clatterman… maybe others. Why?”
“Do they remember her?”
“No. She wasn’t born till after her father moved on.”
I thought that over and asked, “Where’s her mother?”
“Is there a reason you’re asking?”
“We’re working together. I’d like to know more about her.”
He replied, “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I’m certain I don’t like it.”
We stared at each other a moment, and then it hit me. I mean, wow. I said, “Jesus, Cy, you’re screwing her, too?”
“That’s none of your damned business.” Which is how veteran politicians say yes.
Well, it was suddenly an awkward conversation. And neither of us spoke for half a minute or so.
Until I said, “She’s less than half your age.”
“Who seduces women who are my age?”
Good point. And in any regard, lecturing Cy on sexual morality and discrimination was beyond a waste of time, so instead I asked, “Did Lisa catch you with her?”
He smiled, though it was a strained, uneasy one. “More or less.”
“Uh-huh.” The lecture he really needed to hear had to do with his tastes in women. I repeated, “Tell me about her mother.”
“Her mother?” He looked at the far wall and asked, “I told you her father committed suicide?”
“Yeah.”
“The police found him in the garage, hanging from a rafter. Her mother was in the bedroom. He shot her in the head before he killed himself.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yes…” He cracked a knuckle and added, “He left a will stipulating that his daughter would become a ward of the state. Under no conditions would she be given to his detested father to raise. Sally was two at the time. She grew up in orphanages and foster homes.”
Cy then asked, “Sean, what’s going on here? Why are you interested in Sally?”
“I just like to know who I’m working with.”
He toyed with his cufflink and stared at the wall. I let him draw his own conclusions. There’s an old saying that a wise man never gets between a man and his girlies. It can be hard to comply with when it’s a man like Cy who screws half the city. Yet it’s still sage advice.
I left him there and returned to my office. A secretary brought me a cup of espresso, I turned on the TV, and I waited.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The call came at two, earlier than I expected, but given Hal’s absence, I can’t say the call itself was unexpected.
The voice belonged to Jack MacGruder in a tone that was anxious and strained, which was also expected. He identified himself as Thomas Pemberton, because Jack was tried and blue and really into all that smoke-and-mirror silliness. He reminded me of our appointment for a late lunch, and said he would be anxiously waiting my arrival: code word for get your ass here right now, Drummond.
So I left the firm and drove back to the Madison Hotel. But in fact, when I got to my room, not only was Jack there, so was his boss, Phyllis Carney, and of course, George Meany. They all shared a common expression, which is to say, a mixture of confused, angry, and very worried.
Meany seized the opening honors. He waved an arm and said, “You sit at that table.”
They remained standing. I knew the name of this game, and I replied, “I’ll stand.”
Well, they all looked at one another, the way lions look at one another when there’s only one carcass to go around.
Phyllis finally said, “You have a great deal of explaining to do, Drummond.”
“About what?”
“About what?” Meany repeated, and he looked at the other two. “You hear that?- about what? ”
MacGruder said, “Hal Merriweather’s body was found in his apartment this morning. There was a suicide note beside his bed, a Glock pistol in his hand, and a very large hole in his head.”
“Oh my God! Hal?… you’re sure?… suicide?” I shook my head. “Boy, you can never tell, can you? He seemed so happy… so, well, I guess, optimistic the last time I saw him.”
“Exactly when was that, Drummond?” asked Meany.
“Yesterday. We’d been having a few issues, minor tiffs really, and I stopped by his office to, you know, bury the hatchet.” I paused and then said, “Hey, wait a damned minute. You’re not thinking… I mean, you’re not accusing…” I shook my head. “Aw, Jack, you tell them. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. I was here in my room all night, under your surveillance. Your people even followed me to work. I’ll bet you guys even have my phones tapped.”
Meany started to say, “Drummond, you damn well-”
But Phyllis jumped in, informing me, “Also, Jason Morris was scuba diving off the Florida Keys early this morning. He went on a dive, and an hour later, his body was found.”
“Jason, too?” I shook my head again. “You know, I tell all my close friends, stay away from the risky stuff. I mean… sure you want the thrills, but is it really worth it? See what I’m talking about? Here’s this guy, so much to live for, big bucks, nice house, the ladies drooling all over him, and now he’s compost, right?”
Jack MacGruder said, “Stop the goddamn games, Drummond. Don’t treat us like idiots.”
“But Jack. I saw Jason just yesterday-healthy, full of life and promise. Okay, our meeting ended on a bit of an adversarial note, but in an odd way, you know, I liked Jason. I really did. But, you know what they say about accidents.” Obviously nobody replied to that, so I said, “Fate fears neither money nor power.”
Meany, a little put off by my bullshit, demanded, “How did you do it?”
“What, George?”
His finger shot up. “Don’t…” He drew a deep breath. “How did you arrange their deaths?”
“Am I a suspect again? Do I need a lawyer?”
Once burned, once learned, I guess, because George began making a really tortured effort to act circumspect and sly. He said, “Morris was murdered. Somebody cut the line to his airtank and held him down till he drowned. There are bruises on his arms, clear evidence he put up a fight.”
“Don’t assume it was done by a human. Jason liked to swim with sharks, you know.”
They all got my metaphor. But I can’t say anybody appreciated it.
MacGruder said, “You went back on our deal and you exposed these people, didn’t you?”
“Jack, I fully complied with the pact I made with Mr. Peterson. You have my word on this.”
