In his blue golf shirt and chinos, he looked like any other millionaire playing hooky from the office. Except for the throbbing veins in his neck and temple. “I want you to stop right now. Period. And if you don’t, I’m going to use every cent I have to make sure you won’t have any business in this state again. I’m going to file a nuisance suit against you and leak all kinds of things about you to the press. There’s a guy in Chicago who is famous for handling cases like this. He’s destroyed a number of people. He doesn’t care if he wins or loses the case as long as the other guy has to go on relief.”
“Sounds like a nice fella. I’d like to meet him sometime.”
His rage was back. He pounded my desk with enough power to cleave it in two. Or maybe three. “I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with you. I must have been out of my mind.” Then he caught himself. “Twenty thousand dollars.”
“Twenty thousand dollars. Nice round sum.”
“It’s yours if you give me a letter saying that you will never again work on the case of my daughter’s murder and will never try to contact anybody even marginally involved.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you yourself just said you hired me to find out who killed Vanessa.”
“You’re not stupid, McCain. But you don’t seem to understand that we know who the killer was. He took his own life. There is no more case. And there is certainly no reason to be investigating Eve. She’s very upset right now and I don’t blame her. Whatever she does with her life is her business. Do you understand that?”
Giving me the impression that he knew all about Eve’s lovers. “Yes.”
“Yes, you’ll sign that document?”
“Yes, I understand why you’re pissed and why she’s pissed. But I was just trying to do my job.”
“So you won’t sign the document?”
“No, I won’t.”
He came up out of his chair with blood in his cheeks and spittle on his lips. “Then you’re going to be very sorry. And if you ever approach my wife-or anybody in my house for that matter-I’ll have you arrested.”
There was no point in arguing. He needed to keep battering me with threats. He was exorcising the demons of a dead daughter, a faithless wife, and now a minor private detective who could besmirch his reputation. Hating me made sense. He’d suffered more than anybody should have with the death of his daughter. I was only adding to his grief.
He leaned over my desk and jabbed a finger at me. “I thought you were a man of honor, McCain. But you had me fooled. You’re just another grubby little opportunist.”
Again there was no reason to defend myself. If I was an opportunist, I was a badly paid one. And even if I did manage to uncover the real murderer, nobody would be particularly interested past the usual twenty-four-hour time limit before another more interesting crime story came along. The trial would revive interest several months down the line, but meanwhile I’d still be buying my boxer shorts at Sears and trying to find the station with the cheapest gas prices.
“You just remember what I said.” But gone was the anger. In its place was only exhaustion. It was as if he, not me, had been the victim of his rancor. He even swayed a bit, like somebody who just might faint on you. His face was streaming with sweat and his shirt splotchy and dark in places.
As I watched him leave, he seemed to be a much older man than the one who’d come here maybe fifteen minutes ago. I heard his footsteps in the hall, slow, even shuffling, and then the exterior door opened and closed. It was several minutes before I heard his Jag fire up.
Jamie returned with a cardboard cup of coffee from the deli. She looked around as if Mainwaring might be hiding someplace, ready to pounce on her.
“He’s gone.”
“I was ready to call the police, Mr. C.”
“I’m fine. He’s upset about his daughter dying and it’s affected his judgment, that’s all. There can’t be anything worse than losing your child.”
“Oh, God, don’t even say that. I look at little Laurie and I want to cry sometimes, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to her. Sometimes I just want to lock us in a room and never leave so I can keep an eye on her all the time. But I have to go out. And Turk would help but he’s, you know, busy with all his stuff.”
Yes, too much to ask Surfer Boy to help with his child. I knew I’d soon be having one of those dreams where I separated Turk’s head from his shoulders. I knew that broadsword would come in handy someday. Sam McCain, Barbarian.
I used line two to make several calls about pending cases, one in response to a bail bondsman who seemed to blame me for the disappearance of our mutual client.
“Sure, you don’t have to worry, McCain. You get your fat fee one way or the other.”
“Right. I inherited this stupid bastard from his brother, who told me that while he did have a. 38 in his pocket when the cops stopped him inside the supermarket, he wasn’t planning to rob it. The only reason I took it is because the county attorney got way ahead of himself here. Even though this dipshit had a gun on him, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he was going to rob the place. There’s no evidence of that. I decided to help him out because I thought the law was overstepping. I got the county attorney to drop the robbery charge but he didn’t have a license for the gun. And he had three priors.”
A businessman’s deep sigh. “I should’ve gone into the funeral business like my old man.”
“I don’t blame you. Getting to handle corpses all day is something I couldn’t pass up, either.”
A laugh rumbled from the phone. The guy was on the Pall Mall diet. “If you see this bastard, run him over for me, will you?”
“Will do.”
As I was hanging up, line one rang and Jamie answered in her clear sweet voice and said, “One moment, please. I’ll see if he’s available.” She put the line on hold and said, “It’s Mrs. Eve Mainwaring.”
Was she calling to tell me the same thing her husband just had-that I was to stay out of her life? I lifted the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“I know my husband was at your office. I followed him.”
“Any special reason you’re following him?”
“Because he’s not himself since Van died and I’m worried about him, what he might do. I was afraid-well, for some reason people don’t seem to think he can be violent, he’s so easygoing. But I’ve seen his violent side a few times during our marriage and he can be frightening. And I’m afraid I led him into something-Would it be possible to talk to you? Not at your office. Do you know where the Cotillion is?”
“Sure.”
“How about eleven thirty? And don’t worry, I’ll pay your hourly fee.”
“I don’t care about the fee, Mrs. Mainwaring.”
“We were introduced as Sam and Eve, let’s keep it that way. I’ll see you at eleven thirty.”
As I hung up, I said to Jamie, “I’m going to eat lunch at the Cotillion.”
“Petty cash, I’ll bet.”
One of her many responsibilities was keeping track of the petty cash, never letting it get under fifty dollars. At first I’d been worried she might tell Surfer Boy about it. He’d find a way to con her out of some money. But one day, looking quite happy about herself as she dished out some money for me, she said, “It’s a good thing I never told Turk about this. He’d be after me all the time if I did.”
The Cotillion was located on a small hill above the river. Before I reached it, I turned right onto a narrow road that hadn’t been asphalted in years. I kept thinking about Tommy Delaney and the way he’d waved to me last night, as if he wanted to tell me something. I still wondered what it was.
This time when I pulled up at his white clapboard house that the casual eye might mistake for abandoned-if houses took on the emotional tenor of their residents, this one reminded me of a wound-there was no screaming, no sound at all except for a crop-dusting plane flying low and poisoning the air and the earth. In the backyard I saw Tommy shooting baskets at a hoop attached to a one-car garage. He brought a football player’s zeal to making layups. He made three of them by the time I reached him. He was dribbling his way back to start again when he saw me approach. He pawed a right hand across his yellow high school T-shirt. His red hair was in his face, giving him the blunt, sweaty look of a big hearty animal. Only his blue eyes denied the impression; he seemed to be afraid.
“Morning, Tommy.”
