“Curiosity, I guess. Whose blood is it? How did it get there? That sort of thing.”
“Right,” she said with a quick nod. “Would you think to yourself, ‘Gee, I better clean it up before the bitch gets accused of murdering somebody’?”
“Stop calling her that.”
Esperanza waved him off. “Would you think that or not?”
“Not in that circumstance, no,” Myron said. “So in order for my theory to hold water—”
“Your protector had to know about the murder,” she finished for him, back checking her computer for something. “He or she would also have to know that Greg was somehow involved.”
Myron’s head spun with possibilities. “You think Greg killed her,” he said. “You think he went back to his house after the murder and left behind some traces of the crime—like blood in the basement. Then he sent this protector back to the house to help cover his tracks.”
Esperanza made a face. “Where the hell did you come up with that?”
“I just—”
“That’s not what I think at all,” Esperanza said. She stapled the fax pages together. “If Greg sent someone to get rid of the evidence, the weapon would be gone too.”
“Right. So that leaves us where?”
Esperanza shrugged, circled something on the fax page with a red marker. “You’re the great detective. You figure it out.”
Myron thought about it a moment. Another answer—one he prayed was wrong—came to him all at once. “There’s another possibility,” he said.
“What?”
“Clip Arnstein.”
“What about him?”
“I told Clip about the blood in the basement,” Myron said.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“How did he react?”
“He freaked, pretty much,” Myron said. “He’s also got motive—any scandal will destroy his chances of keeping control of the Dragons. Hell, that’s why he hired me. To keep any trouble contained. Nobody else even knew about the blood in the basement.” Myron stopped. He leaned back and ran it through his mind again. “Of course I haven’t had a chance to tell Clip about Liz Gorman’s murder. He didn’t even know the blood wasn’t Greg’s. All he knew was that there was blood in the basement. Would he go that far just on that? Would he still risk covering it all up if he didn’t know anything about Liz Gorman?”
Esperanza gave him a small smile. “Maybe he knows more than you think,” she said.
“What makes you say that?”
She handed him the fax. “It’s the list of long distance calls made from the pay phone at the Parkview Diner,” she said. “I already cross-checked it with my computer Rolodex. Look at the number I circled.”
Myron saw it. A call lasting twelve minutes had been made from the Parkview Diner four days before Greg’s disappearance. The phone number was Clip’s.
Chapter 23
“Liz Gorman called Clip?” Myron looked up at Esperanza. “What the hell is going on?”
Esperanza shrugged. “Ask Clip.”
“I knew he was keeping something from me,” he went on, “but I don’t get it. How does Clip fit into this equation?”
“Uh huh.” She shuffled through some papers on her desk. “Look, we got a ton of work to do. I mean, sports agent work. You have a game tonight, right?”
He nodded.
“So ask Clip then. In the meantime, we’re just going around in circles here.”
Myron scanned the sheet. “Any other numbers jump out at you?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I want to talk about something else for a minute.”
“What?”
“We have a problem with a client.”
“Who?”
“Jason Blair.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s pissed off,” she said. “He’s not happy with me handling his contract negotiations. He said he hired you, not some”—she made quote marks in the air with her fingers—“‘scantily clad wrestler with a nice ass.’”
“He said that?”
“Yep. Nice ass. Didn’t even notice my legs.” Esperanza shook her head.
Myron smiled. “So what happened?”
Behind them the elevator dinged. Only one hit this part of the floor. The elevator opened directly into the reception area of MB SportsReps. Classy, or so he had been told. When the doors opened, two men came out. Myron recognized them right away. Camouflage Pants and Brick Wall. They were both armed. They aimed their guns at Myron and Esperanza. B Man stepped out behind them like he’d just been introduced on the Leno show. Big smile, acknowledging-the-crowd wave.
“How’s the knee, Myron?” he asked.
“Better than your van.”
B Man laughed at that one. “That Win,” he mused. “The man is always a surprise. How did he know when to hit us?”
No reason not to tell. “We kept the cellular phones on.”
B Man shook his head. “Ingenious really. I’m very impressed.” He wore one of those suits that are just a tad too shiny and a pink tie. His shirt was french-cuffed and monogrammed with four letters: B MAN. Taking the nickname thing a little far. A thick, ropelike gold bracelet encircled his right wrist.
“How did you get up here?” Myron asked.
“Do you really think a few rent-a-cops are going to stop us?”
“I’d still like to hear,” Myron said.
B Man shrugged. “I called Lock-Horne Securities and told them I was looking for a new financial advisor for my millions. An anxious young peon told me to come right up. I hit the twelfth floor on the elevator instead of the fifteenth.” He spread his hands. “So here I am.” He smiled at Esperanza. What with the too-white teeth and the tan, it looked like he switched on a nightlight.
“And who is this fetching creature?” he asked with a wink.
“My,” Esperanza said, “what woman doesn’t love to be called a creature?”
B Man laughed again. “The little lady has gumption,” he said. “I like that. I really do.”
“Like I care,” Esperanza said.
More laughter. “May I indulge you a moment, Miss…?”
“Money Penny,” she finished for him. She said it with her best Sean Connery imitation. No Rich Little, but not bad either.
Another laugh from the B Man. The man was half-hyena. “Would you please call Win down here? On the speakerphone if you don’t mind. Tell him to come down unarmed.”
She looked at Myron. Myron nodded. She dialed. Over the speakerphone, Win offered up another, “Articulate.”
Esperanza said, “Some bottled blond with a bottled tan is down here to see you.”
“Ah, I’ve been expecting him,” Win said. “Hello, B Man.”
“Hello, Win.”
