“You OK?”
“Ike. Thank you.”
“Hey. I haven’t done anything yet.”
He followed her through to the kitchen at the back of the house. Everything was as neat as it always was.
“I’m drinking whiskey.”
“Then so am I.”
Elsa brought her glass from the table, took another down from the shelf, uncorked a bottle standing on the side, and poured a generous slug into each. It was a supermarket brand, not their usual. He nodded yes to water and when she was done she handed one to him and by way of a toast raised hers an inch.
“Nancy was sorry you didn’t come up.”
“I couldn’t, really.”
“Just because you and Ben aren’t speaking doesn’t mean we can’t see you.”
It wasn’t that, exactly, Hammer wanted to say, but instead he only smiled.
He had never seen Elsa like this—her gray eyes were tired and she was wearing makeup to mask the bags underneath. She never wore makeup. It occurred to him that she hadn’t slept.
“So I called the hotel,” he said. “He checked out yesterday. Booked it last week, arrived Saturday, left yesterday as planned. Used his Visa card, three nights. No calls on the hotel’s phones. The person I spoke to didn’t know exactly when he went.”
“What does that tell us?”
“Not much. How does he manage his money?”
Elsa frowned.
“Joint account, or does he have his own?”
“He has his own.”
“Manages it online?”
“No. He doesn’t trust the security.”
“He calls them?” She nodded. “You know his code? His password?”
“No. Should I?”
“It would help, but no. What did he say when he called?”
“He said he had something to check out, and probably it would just be one more day, no more than two.”
“Check what out?”
“Christ, Ike, I don’t know. Whatever you people check out.”
Elsa took a good swallow of whiskey, and her near-black hair fell over one eye as she drank. There was a settled, quiet fear on her face and something else that Hammer couldn’t interpret.
“Fuck was he doing, going to the other side of the world for a funeral?”
Elsa shook her head. “Don’t. We had that discussion.”
“Long way to go.”
“Long way to go. He could have sent a wreath like a normal person. Do you know anyone there?”
Hammer blew out a sigh. “It’s not my part of the world. Just Karlo.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“A couple of times. When he was seeing Ben. One night we had dinner.”
“Were there toasts?”
“Endless. I couldn’t keep up.”
Elsa smiled. “It’s sad.”
“It sure is. How did he go?”
“He killed himself. Apparently.”
“You’re kidding me. Karlo?”
“That’s what Ben said.”
“My God. I can’t imagine Karlo keeping quiet long enough to kill himself.”
Hammer sat back and folded his arms. Now it was beginning to make sense.
“So he went to investigate.”
“No. Ben? He went for the museums. The history.”
She set her glass down on the table, her eyes red with anger, Hammer realized, as much as worry.
“It hasn’t been easy, Ike. Since he left you.” She toyed with her glass for a moment, turning it round and round. “Why do you want to speak to him?”
He looked her in the eye and hoped he looked honest. “There’s a problem with an old case. I need to sort it out. One of those things—important and not important.”
He might have hesitated for the merest instant before replying. Now she watched him coolly, as he imagined she watched her patients as they recounted their problems, and not for the first time it struck him that her profession and his own were not so different.
“You might as well tell me.”
How had he not anticipated this? His plan had been to say nothing, in part because he shouldn’t be saying anything but mainly because he had no desire to make her more worried than she had to be. He hadn’t imagined for a moment that she would be on to him so quickly. Well, shame on him for underestimating her.
“It’s nothing. Someone who worked on it—an outside guy—let’s just say he isn’t honoring his confidentiality agreement.”
“Ike, you came to the house. Unannounced, in the pissing rain, to talk to a man who last time you saw him pretty much called you a worthless piece of shit. Also, you’re tapping and fidgeting even more than you usually do. So tell me what it is, because I have a feeling I need to know.”
Hammer took a drink of his Scotch, but only to delay. She had him.
“You’re the one I should’ve hired.”
He told her almost everything, stopping short of explaining why he needed Ben, and when he was done she kept her eyes on his for what felt like a full thirty seconds. She didn’t look tired anymore.
“Has he heard from them?” he asked when he was done. At the back of his mind was a growing notion that Ben’s absence was way too convenient.
“From the police? Like I’d know.” She relented. “No, I don’t think so.”
“This is the first you’ve heard?”
“Should you be warning him? Isn’t that tipping off?”
“No.” Guilt crept up on him. Not for his sake but for hers. He should have been straight from the start.
“It’s not a warning, is it?”
Hammer said nothing.
“Christ, Ike. What, you want to interrogate him, is that it? Get him to confess?”
“I need to know what he’s done.”
“He’s dug you a hole, and you need him to fill it.”
Abashed, he held her gaze, and quickly righted himself. That was it, in its essence. He had no reason to feel bad about it.
“This thing could kill the firm.”
“Oh, Jesus, the firm. So you need a sacrifice?”
“No. I need to make sure he realizes his responsibility.”
Her face opened up, incredulous.
“That’s why you want to find him? I don’t believe this, Ike. I thought you were helping me.”
“You think I like this? I keep quiet, they send me down. I say something, they go after Ben. It’s a shit choice, but it’s not a choice. I shouldn’t have let him get out of control in the first place. That one’s on me. But everything else is his doing.”
Elsa pushed her glass away and gazed into the blackness of the kitchen window. Hammer in turn watched her, and examined his position. What was he meant to do, help Ben out? Take the blame himself? Let him hide out in Georgia for a while until it was all too late?
If he was hiding. More likely he was in one of three places: a hospital, a cell, or somewhere worse than either. None was good.
With a sigh, Elsa returned to him.
“What Ben said to you when he left was terrible. It must have hurt. But it’s no reason to punish him. Can’t you work on this together?”
“We’re past that.”
“You two. My God. You’re a pair of fucking mules.”
“I’m going to go and find him.”
“Excuse me?”
“What can I do? I’d say the odds of him just forgetting to phone home are what, ten to one? He’s not cavalier, he’s obsessed. Something’s happened out there, and if I leave it we’re both fucked. You and I. Never mind him for a moment. Let’s just pretend that he doesn’t get to dictate events, for once, OK? So, which is better? We let him rot in Georgia, or he comes back to face the music he’s written for himself? You tell me.”
Th
e fight that had flared up in her had died, and when she looked at him now her eyes were resigned, and simply sad.
“All right. Find him. And then forgive him. It’s eating you up.”
ELEVEN
Why are you here? Vekua’s question, like everything about her, was astute. Why are you here, really?
The cause of all this, the whole business, Hammer could trace back years, to the day he had hired Ben on the suggestion of a client who’d been the target of his best work; and through the hundred cases he had handled since, each one a shade harder to control than the last. But the most prominent moment, the one that wouldn’t leave his thoughts, was an evening at the Websters’ all of three months before. It had happened on a Sunday, and Hammer hadn’t been ready for it, even though he had known it was coming.
The three of them had been sitting at the kitchen table, Elsa, Ben, and Hammer. Elsa had poured wine, and when each glass was full Hammer had raised his to make a toast. Rain was beating steadily on a skylight above their heads.
“To your fine children, especially my delightful goddaughter. And to their parents, who seem to be doing a nice job.”
Elsa smiled at Webster and the three touched glasses.
“Thanks, Ike.”
Hammer nodded with a touch of gravity and drank. A toast was a serious thing to him.
“It was a fun party.”
“Thank you for coming.”
He smiled. “You know how busy my weekends are.”
“And for her present,” said Webster. “That was generous.”
“Not at all.” He drank. “That was a lot of kids. I never saw so many.”
“She’ll be writing thank-yous for days.”
“She can leave mine till last. Listen, you must be beat. I’m going to call a cab.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Elsa. “We need adult company. When Daniel’s in bed I’ll make some supper. Stay.”
“I’ll take him up,” said Webster.
“I’m fine. You two talk.”
She gave the impression there was something for them to talk about, and in that moment Hammer imagined Webster sharing his troubles in recent weeks—the old narrative that circled round and couldn’t quite resolve itself: Ben the idealistic taker of risks, tamped down by his conservative boss. Really, Elsa should be mediating. They needed a professional. Still smiling, but meaning it less than he had, he half stood as she left the table, an old habit that somehow felt natural enough in New York but stiff in London. Nevertheless he did it. It was a question of form.
For a moment he and Webster looked at each other, the comfortable, wary look of men who know each other thoroughly but just short of understanding. They were friends, and their friendship extended far beyond the office, so that when Elsa told him he was now a part of the family Hammer knew that was almost true; but its basis was still work, and work was always between them. Particularly now.
Webster drank his glass down, topped up Hammer’s, then filled his own.
“Long day.”
“I bet.”
“I may be in a little late tomorrow. I have to talk to Nancy’s teacher about something.”
“Take your time. Everything OK?”
“One of the girls in her class is throwing her weight around. I’m glad I wasn’t a little girl. The politics are vicious.”
“You want me to have a word?”
“With Nancy?”
“With the girl.”
Webster smiled. “Dig some dirt?”
“Something like that.”
“If it comes to that I’ll let you know.” Webster took another sip of wine, his eyes on the table, as if searching there for the right way to say something until now unsaid. Without looking up he said, “That was some present.”
“Too much?”
“Not for her, no.”
“I talked to Elsa about it.”
“I wish she’d talked to me.”
“It was something for her future.”
“I know. But we try to keep it moderate. Their friends get such ridiculous things.”
“If it was excessive I’m sorry.”
“And I need to think about Daniel, keeping things fair.”
“I’d be happy to do the same for Daniel.”
“That’s not really the point.”
What’s eating you? Hammer wanted to say; what is it you really want to discuss? But he held the thought. This was not the place for that conversation. These dark moods that came on Webster were best given a wide berth and dispelled at the start of a new day, with a sort of blithe energy.
“Look, sleep on it. I’m happy to scale it back if it’s too much.”
Webster drank a good draft of wine. “OK.”
“OK.” Hammer held his eye and tried to let him know that he meant no offense and wanted no conflict. He pushed his chair back. “I’m going to go. I think I’ll walk.”
“It’s pissing down.”
“I have a coat. Don’t worry.” He stood and held out his hand. “That was a lovely day. Thank you.”
Webster stood but didn’t shake. “You in tomorrow?”
“In but busy. I’ve got the auditors in the morning and the Italians in the afternoon.”
“Can we talk about Pearl?”
“Find me. We’ll squeeze it in.”
“The client’s here on Tuesday. We need to talk about it properly.”
“And we will.”
“I’m not sure you understand what’s going on.”
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
Webster cocked his head, just a half inch. “What does that mean?”
“Ben, not here. When I’m done with the auditors I’ll look for you. OK?”
“You’ll look for me and you’ll give me just enough time to brush me off. I know. Listen. I’m serious about this. The case is a joke. We’re not being anything like aggressive enough. They’re as dirty as the coal they dig out of the ground, and we’re treating them like they’re saints.”
“What’s aggressive?”
“Fight fire with fire. Do some proper work.”
Hammer sighed. Here it came. If it had to be now he could do it now.
“OK. We’ve been through this. We do anything out of line on this case and nothing good happens. Even assuming we find something, we can’t use it because it’ll be obvious how we got it, and then we’re in trouble, and so is the client. OK? You get paid to be clever about it. Be clever.”
“Clever’s getting us nowhere.”
“So you thought you’d be stupid, is that it?”
“Practical.”
“Is that right? Why don’t you tell me what those sleazeballs at Saber have been doing on this case?”
“You’ve been spying on me.”
“I told Karen I wanted to see any invoices from them or anyone else who does what they do. That’s not spying, it’s self-preservation.”
“Does that mean we haven’t paid him?”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Some proper work. All legal.”
“You need to tell me.”
“You’re the detective.”
Hammer shook his head. If he didn’t love Ben he wouldn’t have put up with him as long as he had. No talent was worth this.
“When you give those idiots work, you’re an officer of the company. Right? OK? You’re not Ben Webster, agent of truth. You’re Ben Webster, employee. Sharer of responsibility. Understand? Secrets are not acceptable.”
“I do what I think is best for the client.”
“No, you don’t. You do whatever you think is necessary for this crusade you’re on. I don’t pay you to crusade.”
“Then don’t pay me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t pay me. I quit.”
<
br /> Hammer looked steadily in his eyes and saw that he meant it.
“This is it?”
Webster’s voice had been quiet but now it rose, as if some long-held conviction could finally be aired.
“This is it. Listen to you. You don’t care about nailing these fuckers. You don’t care if the client wins or loses. It’s all about the company. Keeping it safe and keeping it fed. Everything else, it’s flexible. You want a certificate saying it’s OK to do business with that crook? Fine. We’ll find a way. Thirty grand. You want to take down those Russians who’ve been stealing from you? Pay us a hundred grand a month and we’ll see how many months we can rack up. You’re the Russian who’s been doing the stealing? I’m sure there’s a gloss we can put on that. You call it your philosophy but it’s whatever the company needs. When you were a reporter you cared about the truth, the one you can’t forge. Now, you make a big thing of selling the truth but actually it’s all profit, and growth, and running the machine. The machine has to keep running, and it’s corrupted you. That’s what it does, turns everyone into a hypocrite. Hypocrisy is what you sell. Which is a shame. A fucking shame. Because you should have made a difference, and if I’m saying too much it’s because when I joined up I expected so much more. And you know what, I think you did, too. Something died in you, Ike. That’s why you get depressed. That’s why you run. To keep a bit of you alive.”
He stopped for a moment, surprised by how far he had gone. Or just to let the words do their work.
“I thought we were going to do great things, but apparently I’m just an employee. Just someone you pay like your clients pay you. And that’s fine. You paid me, and now you don’t. You bought me, but now it’s over. I’m setting myself free. So I don’t ever have to suck up to some entitled fuck of a banker or fawn over some minor-league oligarch who’s made a fortune from chiseling and pimping and wants me to make him even more money or protect the rotten heap of shit he’s already got. I’ve had it with them, and I’ve had it with you. Tomorrow I’m going to take my children to school and talk to Nancy’s teacher and then I’m going to find myself a job that doesn’t involve me selling my fucking soul every day of the fucking week.”
The Searcher Page 7
