Murray lifted a brow over the rim of his glasses. “Who were they?”
I named them. “I know they were also meeting in the mid-to-late 1970s. Back in the seventies, Ben Watterson was meeting with them, too, and would have been invited for the dinner party, except-”
“Except now he is permanently unavailable for dinner parties. How do you know about all of this?”
“Another time, Murray.”
He grinned. “Okay, okay. But before you turn in your story, help me to be ready with a tie-in for my section, will you?”
“If it’s at all possible, I will. I’ll need your help on this anyway.”
“Hmm. Yes. Let’s take a look at this group. Name them again for me.”
I did. He noted the initials on a scrap of paper.
“You want to know what projects they were involved in from, say, 1970 to 1980?”
“Yes. Especially 1974 to 1978.” This time both brows went up, but then he studied the initials again. “Andre Selman has done many studies for the Redevelopment Agency, of course,” he said. “He’s one of their regular paid consultants.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “It all goes hand in hand.”
He nodded.
“I need a quick way to figure out which projects they worked on together. I can’t just go through four years of microfilm-not and keep my sanity or my eyesight, let alone make John happy. As you say, the college and city have worked together many times. So, for the moment, if we just stick with the private sector, we’re left with Tyler, Hill, Dage, and Watterson. Can you tell me about any projects they were working on back then?”
“Off the top of my head? Lord. Dozens of them.”
“Oh.”
“Hill was putting deals together like crazy then. But you’re looking for redevelopment, right?”
“Yes.” On a hunch I said, “Maybe something in the area near the Angelus Hotel.”
Murray frowned. “The Angelus?”
The compositor came over with another page. Murray took it absently, still studying me.
“Look,” I said, “I’d just as soon we kept this between the two of us, okay?”
He chuckled. Hell’s bells. What could I offer Murray in exchange for keeping his yap shut?
“Did I ever tell you that Jack Fremont is a good friend of mine?” I asked.
He stopped chuckling. “Jack Fremont? The man who owns over half the beach property in Las Piernas?”
“The very one. The one who’s been so media shy.”
“You’re bribing me with an interview possibility?”
“Emphasis on possibility.”
“I would never betray you, Irene.”
My turn to laugh.
“Let me sign these pages off, then I’ll go back to my office and do a little research for you. I’ll have a list for you by tomorrow morning at the latest. Would that seal the deal?”
“I’m only promising to
“Right.”
“Murray, you’ve got yourself a bargain.”
17
IGOT BACKto my desk, ignored the message light, and called Jack. He agreed to do the interview with Murray.
“I’m not going to tell him this right away,” I said. “I’ve got to make sure he comes through on his part of the bargain.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “If he calls, I’ll just say I’m thinking about it.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“By the way, did Frank get in touch with you?” he asked.
“No, but I haven’t picked up all of my messages. Why?”
“Well, if you don’t have a message from him, give him a call, okay?”
“What’s this about?”
“Oh, no. I’m not getting in the middle of this one.”
ICHECKED MY MESSAGES. A few answering-machine Monroes saying they were sorry, but I had reached a wrong number when I had called. Nothing from J. Monroe. Two other calls, one from Frank and one from Rachel. I called Frank first.
“Harriman,” he answered.
“Me, too,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I’m glad you called back. I’ve been a little worried about you.”
“Stop the presses.”
“I’m serious. There have been a couple of developments in this Lucas Monroe situation-”
“Okay, have it your way. Something has come up in connection with the death of-”
“Has Carlos finished the autopsy?”
I heard a sigh of utter exasperation.
“Okay, I’ll be quiet. Say what you have to say.”
There was no reply.
“Are you pinching the bridge of your nose?” I asked.
“How the hell could you know that?”
“You sometimes do that when you’re about to lose your temper.”
“Call Rachel. She’ll fill you in on what’s happening.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait!”
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t hang up, either.
“Don’t be angry,” I said.
I heard a little snort. We were getting somewhere. “Please,” I added.
“This evening,” he said, in that quiet, measured tone he uses when most people would be shouting, “I would sincerely appreciate it if you went straight home.”
I started to say that I already planned to, then remembered that I wasn’t going to interrupt.
“Jack has promised to go with you when you walk the dogs, so just call him whenever you’re ready. Otherwise, please stay home. Humor me, if you will, and lock the doors. I’m working late, but Rachel will be coming over.”
“Frank, dearest,” I said, “there’s just one teensy-weensy problem with all of these plans you’ve laid out for my evening.”
“Namely?”
“I’ve got others.”
“Cancel them.”
“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on, Frank?”
“Two Toes is looking for you.”
That surprised me, but I was too mad to let it register. “Oh, so what? He’s not exactly fully functioning. How would he ever figure out where I am? The guy spends his time on his knees in front of religious statues.”
