“Motor’s running,” I said. “See the vapor from the exhaust?”
“So probably some guy waiting for his wife or something,” Lloyd said.
“They followed me here,” I said.
Lloyd was silent. I glanced at him. His face seemed pale. He swallowed a couple of times.
“What are you gonna do?” Lloyd said.
He sounded as if his mouth was dry and talking was hard.
“I was thinking of asking you to tell me what you know about the Herzberg Foundation.”
“And if I don’t tell you?”
“I leave,” I said. “What else can I do.”
“They’ll kill me,” he said.
“If you talk?” I said.
“Yes.”
“And if you don’t,” I said.
“Whaddya mean?” he said.
“There’s a leak sprung somewhere in their enterprise,” I said. “They’re running around trying to button everything up. You know stuff. Button, button.”
“Don’t you even care?”
“Not especially,” I said.
“You can’t leave me alone,” he said.
“Can, too,” I said.
“I need protection,” he said.
“Cops can give you that,” I said. “If you got anything to give them.”
He stared down at the BMW.
“Okay,” he said. “Will you stay with me till the cops get here?”
“I will,” I said. “And beyond.”
“I don’t want to go to jail,” he said.
“Not my department,” I said. “But the cops and the prosecutors generally don’t like to put cooperative witnesses away. It discourages other cooperative witnesses.”
“You got a gun?” he said.
“Yes.”
He stared down at the BMW some more.
“And you’ll stay with me until they get here,” he said. “I can pay you.”
“Coin of the realm here is information,” I said. “I’ll protect you.”
“Okay,” he said. “Call them.”
About ten minutes after I called, Quirk and Belson walked into the office with a couple of uniformed cops. I could see a little color come back into Lloyd’s face. The uniforms stayed in the outer office, to protect us. Belson followed Lloyd into the inner office.
“Who’s in the Beamer,” I said to Quirk.
“Lee Farrell,” Quirk said. “It’s his car.”
“Tell him he does a good ominous,” I said.
Quirk grinned, and we went into Lloyd’s office, too.
61
If you don’t mind,” Quirk said, “I’d like to tape this interview.”
“I don’t mind,” Lloyd said.
Quirk took a tape recorder out of his briefcase and put it on the desk between him and Lloyd. He punched up record and put some identity on it, then nodded at Lloyd.
Lloyd looked at the recorder as if it made him uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” Lloyd said.
Lloyd was changing shape before my very eyes. The presence of the cops probably helped him feel safer. And he was probably heartened by his own decision to tell what he knew. In any case, he no longer seemed frightened. He seemed, actually, sort of dignified.
“What’s your relation to the Herzberg Foundation?” Quirk said.
