important money. If they like to read books, they can read lots of books later.”
“Yeah,” Chandler said. Cool now. Smiling at Plymale.
“Didn’t work out too well for you, though, did it?”
“Who knows,” Chandler said. “It may.”
Plymale was on another page now.
“Skippers Incorporated,” he said. “Why call it that?”
“They’re our business. Hunting down the bail bond skippers, the white-collar thieves. Losers like that. Finding them. Bringing ’em in. Collecting the reward. The bounty.”
Plymale indicated what he’d been reading with his finger. “This how you made the connection with Skippers? This affair here where the judge in Portland set your bond at a hundred thousand on that criminal assault charge? Did you skip out on that? It’s not clear about that.”
“I didn’t skip,” Chandler said, suddenly nervous and noticing it must have sounded in his voice. He canceled it with a laugh. It was clear enough now, as he’d always suspected, that Plymale hadn’t picked him for his good citizenship. He’d been hoping that whoever Plymale had hired to put together this probe into his life wouldn’t look too closely into that Portland incident. There was a homicide detective there who had been very interested in that affair. Sort of obsessive, in fact. Kept probing into it. Chandler shook his head. Forget that. But Plymale was staring at him, awaiting an explanation.
“I paid my ten-thousand fee for the bail bond,” he said. “I showed up for trial on time. I got the charges dismissed for lack of evidence. Skippers kept my ten-grand fee and didn’t get their bond forfeited. All concerned happy.”
Plymale was frowning. “Lack of evidence? It says here the victim suffered broken jaw, broken arm, broken ribs, multiple abrasions. That sounds like a lot of evidence.”
“He didn’t show up in court.”
“Why not?”
Chandler shrugged, glanced at Plymale.
The old man was waiting, wanting an answer.
“I heard his health failed him,” Chandler said.
He waited for the next question, staring out at the surf, dealing with the tension. Plymale probably already knew why the bastard hadn’t shown up in court. Already knew Chandler was suspected of making sure he couldn’t. Making sure the body would never be found. Plymale would ask him, just to see what he’d say. He had an answer ready, but that question didn’t come.
“That’s when you went to work for Skippers?”
“That’s correct,” Chandler said, relaxing a little.
“They seem to like the way you go about your job.”
“They should. I’m good at it.”
“Unusual career, isn’t it? I mean for a prep-school boy—Exeter, wasn’t it? Who went on to Bennington. Aren’t you supposed to get yourself a bride out of the debutante class, a Wall Street job, put on somebody’s board of directors? Something that wouldn’t involve you in assault charges?”
Chandler produced a yawn, covered it, said, “I guess so.” Sounding slightly bored. Feeling the tension easing.
“You like this work?”
“Yep,” Chandler said. “Not many dull moments finding these bond skippers. It gives you a chance to exercise your wits. Most of them don’t want to be found.”
“I noticed that,” Plymale said. “I noticed two cases in here involving some shooting.”
“Yeah,” Chandler said, confident now that this must have been what made him attractive to Plymale. “They shoot and miss, and you shoot and hit,” he said. “Otherwise the system isn’t efficient.”
He glanced at Plymale and found him staring back at him.
“And, both times, the police cleared you.”
“Of course,” Chandler said. “That’s the way it works. You get yourself deputized where you can. Anyway, you’re working as a law enforcer, and it’s self-defense, and the cops know you just saved them a lot of work and the cost of the trial by shooting the guy. You’re doing their job for them. Working off one of their undelivered warrants.”
“Well,” Plymale said, and put the resume back into its folder and the folder back into the briefcase. “Time now to tell you what you’d be dealing with here. But first let’s enjoy the beach a little. Trot on out there in the surf a ways. Take a few minutes to take a swim and cool off.”
Chandler got up, grinning at Plymale. “You’d like me to trot out deep enough to get these swimming trunks soaked, just in case I have one of those high-tech recorder devices wired under them.”
Plymale smiled. “Good to be cool, too,” he said.
And it was good, Chandler noticed a little later as he sat in his wet trunks listening to Plymale’s explanation of the situation. Plymale’s law firm, he said, was representing a foundation that was the heir of the Clarke estate. Unfortunately, Clarke had provided in his will that if his sole offspring survived him, or produced any direct descendants who survived, then he, or they, would inherit instead of the foundation.
“No widow?”
“She was long dead,” Plymale said. “And as it happened, this ‘sole offspring’ was John Clarke. When his daddy heard John was missing in that plane crash, he had a stroke. Died while they were hunting for survivors. No known
