He paused long enough for a drumroll. Finally, he said, 'Your accountant, Wickes, and your partner, Harris, were defrauding you.'
Though that's about what I'd expected to hear, I still felt shock and anger. There's a difference between suspecting your wife of being unfaithful and walking in on her.
'The Eagle Production angle,' Hauser went on. 'Clay Traynor was involved, too. Your company billed Traynor's company for very expensive commercials that never actually got shot, then when Traynor paid your company, I think there was a three-way split. Eagle was a dummy company that Harris and Wickes set up.'
I swore.
'Unfortunately,' he said, 'that's not all.'
'Great.'
'I'm not quite sure how to tell you this.'
'Flat out is the best way.'
'Your company is about three weeks away from bankruptcy. '
This time I swore for a long time. Hauser had the good grace to let me go on.
'Harris and Wickes,' he said, 'they were embezzling the profits from the Eagle setup-and they were embezzling the regular company profits, too, and investing them in a variety of ways. Wickes is not what I'd consider an investment genius.' Now it was his turn to swear. 'Up until a few months ago, they managed to hide what they were doing. Then the losses got too great.'
A guy had come up to stand outside the phone booth. He held a drink in his hand. A drink I needed much worse than he did. I opened the door a bit and pointed at his glass. 'I'll give you ten dollars for your drink.'
'You kidding, buddy?'
'I wish I were.'
He studied me a moment. 'That must be one helluva bad phone call.'
I didn't have time to explain the real situation so I used shorthand, something simple and powerful. 'How would you feel if your wife suddenly told you she was in love with another man?'
He handed me the drink and disappeared without asking for my ten-dollar bill.
On the other end of the phone Hauser was chuckling. 'You advertising people are damned clever.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'you can ask my dead partner just how clever.' Then I had to ask. Had to. 'Is there any way I can turn my financial position around?'
His pause said everything. 'I don't think so, Michael. I really don't. Wickes has managed to stave off the worst of your creditors by giving them partial payments-but that's only going to last a few weeks longer.'
'Let me ask you something and I'd appreciate a straight answer.'
'Sure,' he said, sounding a bit apprehensive.
'Denny Harris and Merle Wickes-given the situation they were in, do you think they'd be capable of pulling off a robbery?'
'Straight answer, right?'
'Right.'
'I knew Denny for over ten years and he was a totally charming guy, lots of fun to be around. But he was also completely unscrupulous. I wouldn't put anything past him. And Merle-well, he's just this pathetic little guy who Denny pumped up into believing he was a big man. Merle would go along with anything that Denny wanted to do. And obviously he did. I doubt that Merle would have had courage enough to become an embezzler without Denny there to hold his hand.'
'Yeah, I doubt it, too.'
Hauser yawned.
'I'm sorry I called so late,' I said.
'It's all right,' he said. 'Actually, I'm glad it's over with, giving you the bad news, I mean.'
'Thanks,' I said.
'You'll need to sit down with me and we'll have to figure out how you start a new agency.'
'Yeah,' I said. Numbness was starting to set in. All I could think of was Hauser's response to my question- that Denny was capable of anything.
I thought of the missing guard Kenneth Martin-and of the robbery of hundreds of thousands of dollars in gems- and of two murders.
Then I thought of the private eye named Stokes, whom I'd be seeing in less than a half hour.
Many things were starting to come clear in my mind.
Too many things.
'Thanks, again,' I said.
He sighed. 'I'm sorry, Michael.'
'Yeah,' I said, and hung up.
TWENTY-THREE
On the way over to Stokes's I told Cindy everything I'd learned. Everything. Even about her husband.
'God,' she said. Then she fell silent, watching the cold night shadows move across the moonlit snow and the tiny houses huddled against the universe.
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I shouldn't have told you. A friend of mine told me once-beware people who are eager to give you bad news.'
She sighed. 'I suspected something, anyway. After you told me about the robbery I started thinking about certain signs over the last year-things started disappearing from our house, silver sets, jewelry, things like that. Clay has always lived beyond his means. I knew we'd have to pay for it someday.' She shook her head obstinately, with a sadness as weary as the widow Kubek's had been.
'His cousin can help him out.'
'I don't think so, Michael. He's not the type to help anybody out. I just want it over with,' she said. 'Everything. I want to know who murdered Denny and Gettig, and I want to know why. Then I want the police to do their job and take the killer away-and then I want…' She paused. 'And then I want you and me to try and make sense of things with each other. Don't you?'
'You bet I do.'
Then she turned back to the passing silence and her brooding again.
Half a block from Stokes's home I saw the running man. He came out of shadows so deep he was virtually one with them. At first my headlights caught only a glimpse of him. Then he ran into their ken, light and snow illuminating his bloody face and hands.
Even through the black overcoat, you could see blood seeping and soaking.
His glasses were on his eyes but they had been smashed. He was running blind, his arms flailing, his feet slipping on wet pavement.
He slammed into the car of his own volition then rolled away to the side.
Cindy screamed.
I braked, skidding, fighting the wheel for control. I slid into a curbing, then up over to icy grass. My car came to a halt a few feet from a big maple tree. Cindy's breath came in gasps.
I said nothing, just ripped the door open and worked my way out of the car, careful to put my feet down deliberately so I didn't slip.
A concussion wouldn't help me find out what was going on.
Moans came from somewhere down the street. I moved toward a black bulk on the edge of a street light's circle of illumination.
Stokes was there. Waiting. Dying.
He had started to vomit thick clots of blood. To stop himself from choking he'd rolled over on his side.
As I got near him, he reacted instinctively and began feeling inside his black overcoat for his pistol.
Whoever had shot him had taken it from him. Stokes was grasping for nothing.
He started to sit up, looking wildly as if he were going to run.
