'It doesn't, does it? You know what it sounds like? Some Silicon Valley outfit that makes software.'
I said, 'Maybe the insurance company has a separate unit for policy redemption.'
'Maybe.'
'You sound dubious.'
'Well, it doesn't look like any insurance company check that I ever saw,' she said, fingering the photocopy. 'They're all computer-generated these days, and usually machine-signed. This is all filled in by hand with a ballpoint pen. And it looks as though it was signed with the same pen, and by the same person.'
'Viaticom,' I said.
'Whatever that means. No address, just Arlington, Texas.'
'Wherever that is.'
'Well, I can tell you that much,' she said brightly. 'It's between Dallas and Fort Worth. Where the Rangers play?'
'Oh, of course.'
'See? You knew all along.' She grinned. 'Are you going to have to fly down there? Or can you let your fingers do the walking?'
* * *
The 817 information operator had a listing for Viaticom. I'd have tried to wheedle the address out of her as well as the number, but before I could ask she shunted me to some digital recording that told, me, the, number, one, numeral, at, a, time. I can't figure out how those things work, but I know better than to try reasoning with them.
I wrote down the number and dialed it, and when a woman answered and said, 'Viaticom, good morning,' I had no trouble believing I was talking to somebody in Texas. It was all there in her voice—the boots, the big hair, the shirt with the pearl buttons.
'Good morning,' I said. 'I wonder if I could get some information on your company. Could you tell me—'
'One moment please,' she said, and put me on hold before I could finish my sentence. At least I was spared the canned music. I held for a minute or two, and then a man said, 'Hi, this is Gary. What can I do for you?'
'My name's Scudder,' I said, 'and I'd like to know something about your company.'
'Well, Mr. Scudder, what would you like to know?'
'For openers,' I said, 'I wonder if you could tell me what it is that you do.'
There was a short pause, and then he said, 'Sir, nothing would make me happier, but if there's one thing I've learned it's not to give interviews over the phone. If you want to come on over here I'll be more than happy to accommodate you. You can bring your notebook and your tape recorder and I'll kick back and tell you more than you maybe want to know.' He chuckled. 'See, we welcome publicity, but every phone interview we've ever done's turned into an unfortunate experience for us, so we just don't do them anymore.'
'I see.'
'Would it be hard for you to come on over and see us? You know where we are?'
'A hell of a long ways from where I am,' I said.
'And where would that be?'
'New York.'
'Is that right. Well, I wouldn't have said you sounded like a Texan, but I know you reporters move around a lot. I talked to a little old gal the other day, she was born in Chicago and worked on a paper in Oregon before she found her way to the Star-Telegram. You with one of the New York papers yourself?'
'No, I'm not.'
'Business paper? Not the Wall Street Journal?'
I might have tried fishing if I'd known what I was fishing for. But it seemed to me a more direct approach was called for.
'Gary,' I said, 'I'm not a reporter. I'm a private detective based here in New York.'
The silence stretched out long enough to make me wonder if the connection was still open. I said,
'Hello?'
'I didn't go anywhere. You're the one made the call. What do you want?'
I plunged right in. 'A man was killed here some weeks ago,' I said. 'Shot to death on a park bench while he was reading the morning paper.'
'I get the impression that happens a lot up there.'
'Probably not as much as you might think,' I said. 'Of course, there are people in New York who think folks in Texas are out robbing stagecoaches five days a week.'
'When we're not busy remembering the Alamo,' he said. 'Okay, I take your point. Myself, I haven't been in New York City since our senior trip in high school. Lord, I thought I was hip, slick, and cool, and your town made me feel like I just fell off a hay wagon.' He chuckled at the memory. 'Haven't been back since, and I'm one Texan who doesn't wear a string tie or carry a gun, so I sure didn't shoot that fellow. How's Viaticom come into play?'
'That's what I'm trying to find out. The name of the deceased is Byron Leopold. Approximately four months before his death he deposited a check from you in excess of fifty thousand dollars. That was virtually his only
