Why would he admit that Ron actually called most of the shots now?
'I mean,' Clay said, 'I guess you know all about Ron's friend Bill Spencer.'
Yeah, I knew all about Ron's friend Bill Spencer. Spence was president of the largest agency in the city and our chief rival. Spence and Ron were golfing buddies. Ron had every intention of someday driving a wedge between Clay and my agency-whatever it took. Then Spence would have the account.
'Hey,' Clay laughed, 'no need to look all shook up. I just mentioned that to let you know that I'd like to keep right on working with you.'
The way I sighed-relief was embarrassing. To me, anyway. Clay laughed again. He found me amusing.
'Of course,' he said, 'I'm going to have to ask you certain favors from time to time.'
'Hell, yes,' I said. I would rather have talked about the quality of work he was getting from Harris- Ketchum-which was damned good; sales were up and our stuff consistently won awards-but if he wanted to talk about favors, sure, fine, all right. That's what I was here for.
'Any time,' I said, having visions of spending long nights with him at any number of sleazy watering holes, or hiking through the woods in order to beat the shit out of defenseless little animals.
Favors. He'd come to the right place. No doubt about that.
'Well then,' he said, 'how about starting right now?'
'Sure. What can I do for you?'
'Well,' he said, studying his Stetson, 'Denny has something of mine that I'd really like back.'
'I'll help you find it. No problem, Clay.'
He glanced at me. I hadn't ever seen him sweat before. His face was slick. 'Now that he's dead, the thing he had doesn't mean anything. What I need now is another kind of favor.'
'Absolutely.'
'See, last night I decided to run by his place and pick up this thing…' He glanced furtively around the office-
Tommy had had the good sense to close the door behind him. '… I found him there. Already dead.' Jesus.
He leaned closer. Now we were co-conspirators. 'You can imagine I don't want to be implicated in any way…'He looked at me significantly. 'That would give Ron all the ammunition he needs to take over the presidency of Traynor…' He smiled nervously. 'The Board of Directors-well, you know what they think of me already. If I were implicated-well, both you and I would be out of a job.'
'This favor you need-' I started to say.
'What I need,' he said, 'I guess you'd call it an alibi.'
Which was just when Detective Bonnell chose to knock on the door.
SEVEN
'Damn,' Clay Traynor said after Bonnell had identified himself from behind the closed door.
I shot him a wary glance, then got up, walked around my desk, and opened the door.
'Hope I'm not disturbing you,' Bonnell said. He was a large man who could have been mistaken for fat until you noticed how tightly his flesh clung to his facial bones. Obviously he took care of himself. He wore a brown suit and tan topcoat without looking quite comfortable in either. He appeared to be in his early fifties, yet he had retained an animal energy that said he'd rather be working on the docks somewhere, or putting up a house. His dark, intelligent eyes held irony and made him seem all the more dangerous.
Now I had to lie not only about myself last night-about Mr. and Mrs. Traynor as well. Even in death, Denny kept my life stirred up.
'You mind?' Bonnell said, showing his cigarette pack as if he were on a commercial. I hadn't seen Chesterfields since my college days, especially the stubby ones. I associated them with Humphrey Bogart-that was the brand he'd been rumored to smoke, right up till his death from lung cancer.
Bonnell took the chair opposite Clay's. After he lit up, he took a small notebook from his topcoat pocket, flicked a ballpoint into action, and said, 'I've been talking to several people here about Mr. Harris. Seems to be some difference of opinion about him.'
I shrugged. 'I'm sure that's true.'
The dark eyes narrowed. 'We didn't get much of a chance to talk earlier, Mr. Ketchum. I guess I didn't get any real understanding of how you felt about him.'
'He was my partner.'
He smiled, looked over to Clay. 'Mr. Ketchum here is a very cautious man.'
Clay smiled nervously in return. Hard to believe that a spoiled adolescent like Clay could ever have his faith shaken in the power of his old man's money-but there it was. He looked miserable and guilty and ready to fly apart. 'Yeah, he is kinda cautious, I guess.'
Bonnell kept his eyes on him long enough that Clay started squirming in the chair.
By now I had half convicted Clay in my mind. Somehow he'd found out about Cindy's affair with Denny. Somehow he'd gone to Denny's and…
…and here I was about to provide him with an alibi. He hadn't been kidding about the Board of Directors. He held their confidence only by a slim margin. Any kind of scandal would lose that margin. And then the account would absolutely change agencies…
'How about it?' Bonnell pressed. 'How did you feel about your partner?'
I decided to be diplomatic without exactly lying. After talking to various people who worked at the agency, Bonnell would be well aware of the strained relationship between Denny and me. I knew, for example, that he'd talked to Gettig, the producer I'd argued with yesterday about Denny's authority to make final decisions on commercials-Gettig was my enemy. He would be delighted to see me come under suspicion. As would Wickes in accounting-not to mention his secretary, Belinda Matson…
'We had our differences, I suppose.'
'You suppose?' The irony was in his voice as well as his eyes.
'Are you accusing me of something?' He smiled. 'Not that I know of.'
Then he turned to Clay. 'My impression of you and Mr. Harris is that you were good friends, is that right?'
Clay couldn't find his voice. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak.
I had a vision of him plunging a knife into Denny's back again and again in a sexual rage over his unfaithful wife…
'Very good friends,' he said, almost voiceless.
Bonnell studied him. 'You have a cold, Mr. Traynor? I guess they're going around.'
'Yeah. Cold,' Clay said. What an actor.
By now Bonnell's method was clear. He had spoken briefly to Clay and me, gotten suspicious about something we'd said or done, then gone through the rest of the agency to corroborate his impression. By the time he got back to us, he'd convinced himself that one of us was the perfect candidate for the state's recently reinstated electric chair.
'Did you see Denny yesterday?' Bonnell asked me. Before I could answer, he stubbed out his cigarette with two nicotine-yellowed fingers. I could imagine what his lungs looked like…
'No,' I said. As I said it I realized how quickly I'd spoken. Too quickly.
He wrote something in his notebook. He did it with great flourish, flicking his wrist before he began. 'How about you Mr. Traynor?'
Clay did his usual bad job of covering for himself. Before he spoke he looked at me-as if for guidance. Then he turned back to Bonnell. 'Uh-uh. I didn't see him, either.'
If there was ever a time for Clay to be his usual arrogant, swaggering self, it was now. Instead he'd become a shrinking violet. All that inflated macho crap-gone.
Bonnell watched both of us, the irony back. 'So neither of you men saw him?'
'No,' I said.
