“Yes,” said Fletch.
“To say nothing of the fact that when people say ‘Habeck, Harrison and Haller,’ what they actually hear themselves saying, underneath everything, you know? is
“Ah,” said Fletch.
“Except the actual sound is
“Much worse,” agreed Fletch. His fingers wiped the perspiration off his forehead.
“I wanted him to take on a fourth partner,” said Mrs. Habeck. “Named Burke.”
“Umm. Didn’t Mr. Burke wish to join the firm?”
Mrs. Habeck looked at Fletch resentfully. “Donald said he didn’t know anyone named Burke.”
“Oh. I see.”
“At least not any lawyer named Burke. Not any lawyer named Burke who was free to join the firm.”
“Did you know a lawyer named Burke free to join the firm?”
“No.”
Sweating in bourbon-soaked clothes in the sunlight, Fletch’s head was beginning to reel. He felt like he was on a bourbonbed. “Does your husband do any corporate-law work?”
“No,” she said. “He was never a bit cooperative. He was always arguing in court.”
There was still no humor in her sad eyes.
“I know his reputation is as a criminal lawyer.” Then Fletch cringed, awaiting what Mrs. Habeck would make of
She said, “Yussss.”
Fletch blew air. “Mrs. Habeck, did you or your husband have any income other than that derived from his practice of criminal law, and from his partnership in Habeck, Harrison and Haller?”
“Hay, Ha, Haw,” she said.
“I mean, were either of you personally wealthy, had you inherited… ?”
Mrs. Habeck said, “My husband is most apt to wear black shoes. You don’t see black shoes too often in The Heights. He doesn’t like to dress flamboyantly, as many criminal lawyers do.”
Fletch waited a moment.
She asked, “You wouldn’t think a man who wears black shoes would be so apt to wander away, would you?”
He waited another moment. “It isn’t that I’m trying to invade your privacy, Mrs. Habeck.”
“I don’t have any privacy.” She looked at her green sneakers.
“It’s just that I’m trying to assess what donating five million dollars to the museum means to you and your husband. I mean, is he almost giving away the proceeds of his life’s work?”
“Mister, you’re making me sick.”
“Beg pardon?”
“The smell of you. You seem sober enough, for a newspaperman, for a young man, but you reek of bourbon. It’s beginning to affect my stomach, and my head.”
“I’m sorry,” Fletch said. “Truth be known, me, too.”
“Well? What are we going to do about it?”
Fletch looked at the back of the house. “Maybe I could go take a shower.”
“If you said bourbon got splashed all over your clothes, your taking a shower and putting the same clothes back on won’t do any good.”
“Right,” said Fletch. “That’s very sensible.” He nodded. “Very sensible.”
“Why don’t you jump in the pool? It’s right there.”
“I could do that.” Fletch began taking things out of his pockets. “With my clothes on.”
“Why would you jump into the pool with your clothes on?”
“To get the smell of bourbon off them?”
“But then your clothes would be wet. You want to go around the rest of the day in wet clothes?”
“It’s a hot day.”
“Hotness has nothing to do with wetness.”
“Hotness?”
“My daughter used to say that. When she was a little girl.
What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tom Farliegh.”
“Okay. I was going to ask you about your children.”
“They’re fine, thank you. Obviously, you take your clothes off before you jump in the pool.”
“Then I won’t have any clothes on.”
“I mind? I’m a mother and a grandmother. I don’t mind. This is a private pool.” She looked down the slope at the gardener. “That’s Pedro. He doesn’t mind. If he minds seeing a naked man, he shouldn’t be a gardener.”
“Clearly.”
Mrs. Habeck stood up. “Take off your clothes. I’ll avert my eyes so you can tell your girl friend no woman has seen you naked since your mother last changed your diapers. Last week, was it?”
Fletch was taking off his sneakers. “Really, I don’t mind.”
“Leave your clothes on the chair. After you get in the pool, say
“This is very nice of you.” Standing, Fletch peeled off his stinking T-shirt.
“Hallooo!” Mrs. Habeck called loudly. She was waving at the gardener.
He raised his head and looked at her from under his sombrero. He did not speak or wave back.
Fletch averted his eyes. He took off his jeans and underpants and dived into the pool.
Enjoying the cool water and getting away from the stink of his clothes, he drifted underwater across the pool, turned, and swam back to the nearer edge.
He stuck his nose above the edge of the pool.
“Hallooo,” he said.
Mrs. Habeck was already headed for the house with his clothes and sneakers.
She was also carrying her red pocketbook.
It was the third time Fletch had heard someone yell that, but this time, just as he was about to make his turn between laps, the shout was distinct. There could be no doubt it was he who was being hailed. He put his hand on the pool ledge and raised his head.
As water cleared from his opened eyes, he saw Biff Wilson, fully dressed, including suit coat and tie, standing on the pool edge.
“Hallooo,” Fletch said.
“God,” Biff said. “It’s you.”
“No, it’s not,” said Fletch. “It’s Fletcher.”
Two meters behind Biff stood Lieutenant Gomez.
“That your name? Fletcher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were just in the parking lot of the
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you get here so fast?”
“I didn’t stop for coffee.”
“Are you the reason that young cop asked me if I have false teeth?”
“False what?”
