Thursday.”
Maddox nodded thoughtfully, and as Corman watched his face grow steadily more solemn, he realized that his first impression had been slightly off. Maddox hadn’t lost his curiosity yet. The varied ways in which human beings drove themselves or others nuts still interested him enough to wipe the wide, self-satisfied smile from his face.
“Her name was Sarah Rosen,” Gorman said. “I think you did some work for her father.”
“Professor Rosen,” Maddox blurted immediately. “I did a lot of work for him.”
Corman reached for his notebook.
Maddox’s eyes swept down at the the notebook, then back up to Corman. “All of it confidential, of course.”
“It would be off the record,” Corman told him. “I’m just trying to find out a few facts.”
Maddox wasn’t yet willing to give him any. “Well, what facts do you already have?”
“I know you did a background check on a woman named Bernice Taylor.”
Maddox nodded. “That’s right. Clean except for this one rap.”
“Shooting someone.”
“Her husband, boyfriend. Anyway, a worthless little prick.”
The harshness of the language seemed odd coming from Maddox’s round, cherubic face, but Corman could see the stripped-down soul beneath the business suit.
“His name was Harold, wasn’t it?” Maddox asked. “Harold something?”
“That’s right.”
“She shot him in the arm,” Maddox added. “A through-and-through.” He shrugged dismissively. “She didn’t hurt him much.”
Corman nodded.
Maddox leaned back in his seat and spread his legs widely. “I did a lot of that kind of work for Dr. Rosen. He was about as close as I ever got to a steady customer.”
“You checked on other people?”
Maddox nodded. “Quite a few. Tutors for his daughter. Math. Science. Anything. I checked on all of them. Once, when he was having his place remodeled, I even checked on the architect.” He laughed. “Rosen was the type of guy that liked to keep tabs on things, know exactly what he was dealing with.”
“Did you ever meet his daughter?”
“Just to say ‘hi’ on the way to Rosen’s office,” Maddox said. “Sarah, like you said. Black hair. Brown eyes. Not a beauty, but pleasant-looking, am I right?”
Corman nodded.
“I have an amazing mind, don’t I?” Maddox asked, half-jokingly. “It drives people crazy, the way I can remember details from years back.”
“Is this a common practice?” Corman asked. “Doing so many background checks?”
“Well, it’s not uncommon,” Maddox said. “But I’d have to say that Dr. Rosen was a little excessive.”
“In the number of people he had checked?”
“That, and in the depth he wanted. You couldn’t just come up with a quick fact-sheet, born here, worked there, blah, blah, blah. He wanted more than that. He wanted to know about what was going on inside of them, in their heads, what their personalities were like, that kind of thing.” He smiled broadly. “And that was okay with me. It took a lot of time, and I worked by the hour.” He shrugged. “Of course, I never really came up with all that much for him. The business with Bernice Taylor, her record, that was about it, and he didn’t even use that.”
Corman looked at Maddox intently. “Didn’t use it? What do you mean? He fired her.”
Maddox shook his head assuredly. “No, he didn’t.”
“She said he did.”
“Fired her?” Maddox asked wonderingly. “When?”
Corman flipped back through his notes. “November 1973.”
Maddox shrugged. “Well, he must have fired her for something else, then,” he said confidently. “Because I had that report on Rosen’s desk a long time before November.” He thought about it again, as if checking his facts, then shook his head determinedly. “No, believe me, if he had fired Bernice Taylor for having a criminal record, he would have fired her in August. That’s when I submitted the report.”
“Before she was hired,” Corman said.
“Of course,” Maddox replied. “That’s the way Rosen always worked. The background check was what cleared the way.”
Corman nodded.
“Have you spoken to anyone but Bernice?” Maddox asked off-handedly, as if trying to test Corman’s investigative skills gently, without accusing him of not having any.
“No,” Corman admitted. “Who do you suggest?”
“Well, are we talking about a quickie here?” Maddox asked. “Cut and paste?”
“I’d like to get some information as soon as possible,” Corman told him.
“Then if I were you, I’d start with her husband.”
“She was married?”
“As far as I know,” Maddox said. “Rosen asked me to do a background on him before they were engaged. I did, and after that I assumed they got married. Anyway, it. was the last business I got from the old man.”
“Do you remember the fiance’s name?”
Maddox smiled confidently. “Of course. Oppenheim. Peter Oppenheim.”
“Does he live in New York?”
“As far as I know.”
“What did you find out about him?”
“Very much a steady type,” Maddox said. “All the right schools. Andover. Yale. Good family, lots of connections. A dream come true as far as Rosen was concerned. They were colleagues, you might say. Both of them at Columbia.”
“Oppenheim teaches there too?”
“He was when I did the background.”
“When was that?”
“Five years ago,” Maddox said. “And everything was fine as far as Rosen was concerned.”
“He seemed pleased? I mean, with Oppenheim?”
“Pleased?” Maddox said. “As pleased as he ever got. I think he actually smiled when I told him his future son-in-law was about as clean-cut a guy as God ever made. And to tell you the truth, Dr. Rosen didn’t exactly have what you’d call a smiling face.”
Corman regretted that he didn’t have a picture of that face. He glanced at his watch, and realized that he still had time to get one.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
ONCE IN POSITION, Corman took one picture, then another. After that he simply watched the entrance to the Tomlinson Chapel on East 68th Street. It had a small arched doorway with modest stained-glass windows and two marble columns on either side. Corman kept a close eye on it as he waited across the street, lingering under the awning of an apartment house while the rain swept up and down. He’d already been there for several minutes before the doorman approached him.
“Excuse me,” the doorman said. He straightened himself slightly, showing off the buttons of his uniform. “May I help you?”
Corman continued to watch the front of the chapel. A limousine had pulled up in front, and he could see a man in a black raincoat as he got out and headed into the building.
“Excuse me,” the doorman repeated. He tapped Corman’s shoulder. “I asked you a question.”
Corman looked at him. “What?”
