she's Miss Better Homes and Gardens.'
'Could be something else.'
'For example?'
'A guy.'
Win made a scoffing noise. 'A forty-two-year-old ghetto woman does not find that kind of sugar daddy. It just doesn't happen.'
Myron said nothing.
'Now,' Win continued, 'add into that equation Kenneth and Helen Van Slyke, the grieving parents of another dead child.'
'What about them?'
'I've done a bit of checking. They too have no visible signs of support. Kenneth's family was already destitute when they married. As for Helen, whatever money she had Kenneth lost in his business ventures.'
'You mean they're broke?'
'Completely,' Win replied. 'So pray tell, dear friend, how are they managing to carry on at Brentman Hall?'
Myron shook his head. 'There has to be another explanation.'
'Why?'
'One mother being bought off by her child's killer I
Win said, 'You have a rather rosy view of human nature.'
'And you have a rather dim one.'
'Which is why I'm usually correct in these matters,' Win said.
Myron frowned. 'What about TruPro's connection with this?'
'What about it?'
'Fishnet was hired to follow me immediately after the murder. Why?'
'The Ache brothers know you quite well by now. Perhaps they feared you'd investigate.'
'So? What's their interest?'
Win thought a second. 'Didn't TruPro used to represent Valerie?'
'But that was six years ago,' Myron said. 'Before the Ache brothers had even taken over the agency.'
'Hmm. Perhaps you are barking up the wrong tree.'
'What do you mean?' Myron asked.
'Perhaps there is no connection. TruPro is interested in signing Eddie Crane, correct?'
Myron nodded.
'And Eddie's mentor – this Pavel fellow – is closely associated with TruPro. Perhaps they feel you are moving in on their turf.'
'Which the Ache brothers would not like,' Myron added.
'Precisely.'
A possibility. Myron tried it on and walked around a bit, but it just didn't feel right.
'Oh, one other thing,' Win replied.
'What?'
'Aaron is in town.'
Myron felt a quick chill. 'What for?'
'I don't know.'
'Probably just a coincidence,' Myron said.
'Probably.'
Silence.
Win sat back and steepled his fingers. The match began. Duane's play was nothing short of spectacular. He cruised through the first set 6-2. He stumbled a bit in the second, but came on to win it 7-5. Jacques Potiline had had enough. Duane whipped him in the final set 6-1.
Another impressive victory.
As the players left the court, Henry Hobman stood. His face remained locked on grim. He chewed at the inside of his mouth. 'Better,' he said tightly. 'But not great.'
'Stop gushing, Henry. It's embarrassing.'
Ned Tunwell sprinted down the steps toward Myron. His arms were flapping like a kid making windmills in the snow. Several other Nike execs followed him. There were tears in Ned's eyes.
'I knew it!' Ned shouted in glee. He shook Myron's hand, hugged him, turned to Win, pumped his hand too. Win pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants. 'I just knew it!'
Myron simply nodded.
'Soon! So soon!' Ned cried. 'The promo of the year begins! Everyone is going to know the name Duane Richwood! He was fantastic, utterly fantastic! I can't believe it I swear, I don't think I've ever been this excited before!'
'You're not going to come again, are you, Ned?'
'Oh, Myron!' He nudged Win playfully with his elbow. 'Is he a kidder or what?'
'A gifted comedian,' Win agreed.
Ned slapped Win's shoulder. Win visibly winced but did not break the offending hand. Amazing restraint for Win.
'Look, guys,' Ned said, 'I'd love to stand here and chat all day. But I gotta run.'
Win managed to hide his disappointment.
'Ciao for now. Myron, we'll talk, okay?'
Myron nodded.
'Bye, guys.' Ned skipped – actually skipped – back up the stairs.
Win watched him depart with something approaching horror. 'What,' he asked, 'was that?'
'A bad dream. I'll meet you back at the office.'
'Where are you going?' Win asked.
'To talk to Duane. I have to ask him about Valerie's call.'
'Let it go until after the tournament.'
Myron shook his head. 'Can't.'
Chapter 15
Myron waited for the press conference to end. It took some time. Duane was holding court, firmly in his element The media had a new darling. Duane Richwood. Cocky but not obnoxious. Confident yet gracious. Handsome. American.
When the hordes of press finally ran out of questions, Myron accompanied Duane back to the dressing room. He sat on a chair next to Duane's locker. Duane took off his sunglasses and put them on the top shelf.
'Some match, huh?' Duane said.
Myron nodded.
'Hey, this win oughta make Nike happy.'
'Orgasmic,' Myron agreed.
'They going to air the ad during my next match, right?'
'Yep.'
Duane shook his head. 'Quarterfinal, at the U.S. Open,' he said in awe. 'I can't believe it, Myron. We're on our way.'
'Duane?'
'Yeah?'
'I know Valerie called you,' Myron said.
Duane stopped. 'What?'
'She called your apartment twice. From a pay phone near her hotel.'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Duane quickly reached for the sunglasses, fumbled them, put them on.
'I want to help you, Duane.'
'Nothing to help with me.'
'Duane…'
'Just leave me the fuck alone.'
'I can't do that.'
'Look, Myron, I don't need distractions right now. Just drop it.'
'She's dead, Duane. That just won't go away.'
