“Even if it’s at the ends of the Earth, Melanie,” I told her.
“It won’t be that long a trip,” she said, but I’m almost sure I noticed a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.
The hallway was a long one, with several doors along the way on both sides. Melanie seemed to be putting a little something extra into her walk as we made our way towards the two doors at the end. The door on the right had a gold plaque that said “Mr. Cox.” The door on the left had a similar plaque that said “Mr. Chaney.” Melanie opened the door on the left and motioned for me to go inside. As I passed her, I whispered, “I won’t tell the big cheeses about us yet. It’s too early in the relationship.” She didn’t say anything, but I believe I detected a bit of color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Some days I’m just irresistible.
The office was huge. Two of the walls were all glass, with breathtaking views of both the downtown area and, in the distance, Mount Washington. Many years ago, a developer wanted to put a nine-story apartment building up there, but the city had an ordinance banning multi-story structures on the hilltop. The developer got around the problem by putting up a two-story building with seven sub-basements that cascaded down along the mountain below. The idea caught on, and now Mount Washington is dotted with expensive condominiums and restaurants and homes that drape down over the hillside like so much urban ivy.
Directly ahead of me was a massive desk with one of those banker’s lamps with the green lampshade. To the left, right inside the door, was a small wet bar, and further along was a large sitting area with a sofa identical to the one in the lobby, two matching chairs and a substantial-looking coffee table. There were also various lamps and artwork scattered around the place, with the overall impression being one of subdued wealth and elegance. I was impressed, which, of course, was the idea. I assumed that Mr. Cox’s office would be a mirror image of this one.
Two gentlemen in their mid-sixties were standing in front of the desk as I entered. They were both wearing dark-colored, expensive-looking suits. One of the men, the taller of the two, approached me with his hand out.
“Mr. Barnes, so good to meet you. I’m Elias Chaney, and this is my partner, William Cox.”
We all shook hands and then moved over to the sitting area. The partners sat at opposite ends of the sofa, so I made myself comfortable in one of the chairs. Chaney was about my height but very thin, whereas Cox was maybe 5’9” tall and carrying about twenty pounds more than he needed.
“May we offer you some refreshment, Mr. Barnes?” asked Chaney. “Melanie can bring some coffee or tea, if you’d like.”
As much as I enjoyed the idea of seeing Melanie again so soon, I declined.
“Well, then,” said Chaney, “what can we do for you, Mr. Barnes?”
“I’m not sure,” I told him. “I’m looking into the death of Terry Pendleton, and at the moment, I’m just trying to gather information.”
“When you called last week to make this appointment, you mentioned that you were working for Terry’s wife. Do you mind my asking why Mrs. Pendleton felt it necessary to hire a private investigator?”
“She’s got some reservations about the official police version of the manner in which her husband died,” I said.
“I’m not sure we understand,” said Chaney. I assumed Cox could speak, but so far I had no strong evidence of that. Even when we’d shook hands, he’d just murmured hello.
“Mrs. Pendleton says that her husband would never have tried to fight off a mugger, that he would have just given his money to the guy.”
“Well,” said Cox, who apparently could speak for himself, “who knows how one will react when faced with a crisis situation.”
“Who knows, indeed,” I said, “although Mrs. Pendleton was pretty firm on that point. Another thing that troubled her was the fact that her husband was expecting to be made a partner in the firm pretty soon, so why risk his life for the few bucks he had on him that morning.”
The two looked at each other.
“Partner?” said Chaney. “Whatever gave her the idea that Terry was to be made a partner in the near future?”
“The night before he died, he told her that he’d met with you gentlemen that day, and he thought a partnership tender was in the offing. Are you saying that wasn’t the case?”
Chaney straightened the crease in his pants and said, “Mr. Barnes, Terry had been with us for just a few years. He may very well have achieved partner status someday, but not just yet.”
“Hmmm,” I said, “why would he tell his wife he thought he was on the fast track if he wasn’t?”
“I assure you,” said Chaney, “we have no idea.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Sometimes, the associates have exaggerated opinions of their worth to the firm.”
“Okay, let’s try something else. What kind of work did Pendleton do for you?”
“Oh,” said Cox, “the same as most of the junior associates. Mostly contracts and mortgages for development deals here in the Golden Triangle area.”
“Any problems with any of that? Anybody who maybe was upset with Terry because of some trouble
