She didn't look up from her wine glass. 'Thank you,' she said. Her voice was tight.
'Got an address for Brad?' I said.
Silently she found a business card in her purse and took it out and handed it to me. The card read Brad Sterling, Promotions. Nice card. Good stock. Raised lettering. Not the kind of card you passed out if you were on the verge of dissolution. Unless you didn't want people to know you were on the verge of dissolution. Susan sat quietly while I looked at the card. Her shoulders hadn't eased much. She didn't look at me.
'You sure you want me to look into this?' I said.
'Absolutely,' she said.
I nodded. This thing showed every sign of not working out well for me.
'I'll get right on it in the morning.' I said.
chapter two
TWO INSURANCE BUILDINGS tower over the Back Bay. The Hancock building is pretty good-looking if the windows don't fall out. The Prudential is ugly. Brad was in the Prudential. On the thirty-third floor. His receptionist looked like a J. Crew model, blonde Dutch boy haircut and slightly hollow cheeks.
'Do you have an appointment?' she asked.
She thought it unlikely but was being professional about it. The waiting room was empty.
'No,' I said. 'I don't.'
She looked doubtful. Doubtful was a cute look for her.
'Well,' she said, 'I'm not sure…'
I gave her my card. The one that had my name and address but no reference to me being a sleuth.
'Tell him his ex-wife sent me.'
Now she looked slightly embarrassed. Also a cute look. I suspected that she had practiced all of them in a mirror and discarded any that weren't cute.
'I, ah, there have been several…' she said.
'Susan,' I said. 'Susan Hirsch.'
It was simple perversity that made me use her maiden name. The receptionist smiled appreciatively, as if I had told her an important thing. Her hand twitched as if she were going to pick up the phone but she didn't. Instead she said, 'Excuse me,' and stood and went into the inner office. She was there maybe five minutes and came out.
'Mr. Sterling has made room for you,' she said.
'How nice,' I said.
She gestured me into Sterling's office. It was a corner office with windows facing north and west so you could see the Charles River and Fenway Park and all the way to the horizon. Sterling stood as I came in and walked around his desk to meet me. He was a tall guy, leaner than I would have thought for a tackle, with a good tan. A good tan, in Boston, in March, means you've been south recently or want people to think so. His hair was longish and steel gray and went nicely with the tan. His gray pinstripe suit fit him well. He was wearing good cologne.
'Spenser, Brad Sterling,' he said. 'Nice to meet you.'
His handshake was firm and genuine. He looked right at me as we shook. Then he motioned me toward one of the black captain's chairs in front. of his desk. It had the Harvard seal on the back. On top of a file cabinet was a Harvard football helmet and framed on the wall was his varsity letter certificate.
'Pull up,' Sterling said, 'and sit.'
I did. He went back around his desk and sat in his high-backed executive swivel and leaned back.
'Patti said something about Susan Hirsch,' he said.
'Actually she still uses her married name,' I said.
'Really. I'll be damned. I haven't seen Susan in years.'
'Actually, you have,' I said. 'You saw her last week.'
Sterling smiled. 'Except then,' he said.
'And you told her you were in trouble, and you asked her for help.'
'She told you that?'
'Uh huh.'
He shook his head.
'Susan was always a little dramatic,' he said.
'Yeah,' I said. 'Hysterical. Just because her ex-husband whom she hasn't seen in twenty years shows up asking for help…'
'Well, really, I didn't ask for help.'
'Oh,' I said. 'Susan misunderstood. She thought you needed help and sent me over to provide it.'
'What's your relation to Susan.'
'Lover,' I said.
