Joe wound the holo back and locked it onto Murdock’s face and zoomed in. When Murdock said, “May it prosper,” he looped it, so Murdock said the same words over and over again.
“Look at his face,” Joe said. “It’s wooden. That smile is forced. He’s lying through his teeth.”
We know that, I thought. Just that morning he’d stripped the money out of the partnerships. He’s ready to run. I also knew better than to interrupt Joe when he was following his nose. I knew what he was trying to do: get inside their minds.
Joe then ran through the same scene again, with the perspective locked onto Ackerman. “He doesn’t notice.”
“What?” I asked.
“He can’t see it. He’s enthusiastic. Maybe he was one of those people who can’t read faces; insensitive.” “Maybe he’s too drunk or stoned.”
“Maybe,” said Joe. But he didn’t believe it.
I only perked up when the women stripped off. No—I don’t “get off’ from watching other people have sex. These three women, though, were something to look at. Like watching a beauty contest. And Ackerman’s wife, Sophia, was the clear winner.
“There it is. That’s why my nose has been twitching. It’s not Murdock at all.”
I couldn’t figure out what Joe was talking about.
“Look at this.” Joe locked the holo on Sophia Ackerman’s face. Even I could see it now: she and Murdock weren’t screwing: they were making love. Or she was: it was written all over her face.
Then Joe flicked to Annabelle Pearson. For just a moment there was a look of pure hatred on her face. Joe froze the picture, zoomed out, and it was clear that Annabelle Pearson was looking at Sophia and Murdock making love.
One more flick and we were looking at Sophia Ackerman. Just for a second, a look of disgust crossed her face: at that moment she was looking at her husband.
“That’s it,” said Joe. “The eternal triangle. Or quadrangle, in this case. If we can’t follow the money, we can follow the sex.”
He punched his phone. “Andy. I want a twenty-four-hour tail on Mrs. Murdock and Annabelle
Pearson… Yes, starting right now…. Call anyone you need: this has got to be tight. You’ve all got to be ready to follow them wherever they go…. Sure, hire all the extra help you need…. Yeah, right, tell everyone to have their bags packed. And make sure your cards are loaded with cash: one of those women is going to lead us to Murdock as sure as my name is Joe Herrera, and you’ve got to be ready to go wherever in the world they go.”
For a while Joe listened, muttering, “Yeah,” “Okay,” “Good,” and so on. Finally, “Okay, I’m on my way,” and put the phone down.
“Where?” I asked.
“Murdock’s apartment. I’m meeting Andy there.”
“My god, it’s getting on for midnight!”
“Well, I’m in the mood right now.”
“What’s Andy found out?”
“Oh, this and that. Sort of mood stuff. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
“Is that it?” I asked, motioning to the holo.
“Oh yeah, we’re finished with that. My nose has stopped itching.” With relief, I switched the holo off and the room was clear at last.
Joe grabbed his coat and waved “goodbye” as he ran out the door. I’ve no idea where his energy came from; it just made me feel even more tired.
And then the phone rang. Who could be calling at this time of night? Maybe it was Sophia Ackerman looking for a date. I must have been dreaming.
“Hullo. Is this San Francisco Investigations?” said a voice I didn’t recognize. It was English English, but with a faint trace of a foreign accent I couldn’t place. No face appeared on the screen to help me out.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Oh, good morning, Ray.”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s too early in the morning to show my face. Gunter Lattman here.”
“Gunter! You got my message? What time is it in Zurich?”
“About eight-thirty. What are you doing in the office so late?”
“Working, more’s the pity.”
“I went quickly through the Murdock stuff you sent me. There’s no way I can get information out of a Swiss bank without a Swiss court order. And Swiss courts don’t recognize your murder penalties. If we found Murdock here we could lock him up for you—but that wouldn’t get you any money out of him.”
“All-Risks is going to file in a Zurich court bright and early Monday morning.”
“That’ll take weeks if you’re lucky. Months more likely. And even then, the Swiss court isn’t going to give you—or me—access to Swiss bank records. Not for murder.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“All they could do is arrest him if he was found here.”
“There’s another case against Murdock in court right now. For theft.”
“That’s different,” said Gunter, enthusiasm showing in his voice at last. “If you can show there’s stolen money in a Swiss bank, well…”
“Murdock’s flown the coop. He didn’t show up in court today, and he won’t show up next week. So it should be open and shut.”
“Okay. You’ve still got to get a Swiss court order. But that’s a lot easier for theft. Do you want me help you get that done?”
“I’m pretty sure All-Risks will take care of that. I’ll check and let you know. Main thing is we want to see those records as soon as possible after we get the order. Can you set that up?”
“That I can do.”
“Great. I have to hit the sack. I’ll talk to All-Risks and get back to you next week.”
“Fine. Good night.”
After I’d closed up the office—kind of Joe to leave that to me—I slumped into my car, ordered it to take me “Home, Jeeves,” reclined the seat and dozed while the roadnet took me there. When the car pulled into the garage I was sound asleep: it had to wake me up.
On Monday the Eighth Army called for a truce and pulled out. My bank account was flusher by 5,400 gold ounces. The rest of the week was downhill from there.
Tuesday Murdock was found guilty of theft; Thursday a Swiss court gave us access to Murdock’s bank records (which impressed Gunter no end. “All-Risks must have pulled a lot of strings to get the hearing done so fast,” he told us); and Friday we had copies.
All the money had flown. To places like Nauru, the Cook Islands, Pitcairn and other sandbars that made Mafia, Inc. look like first-prize winners in a gabfest.
The money trail was a dead end.
Meanwhile our phones were ringing off the hook with more red herrings, thanks to Berkshire’s reward….
Gerald Murdock has been declared an outlaw and a renegade under the rules of the American Insurance Association. A reward of 1,000 gold ounces will be paid to the person who provides information leading to his arrest.
