We sat in Gavin's private office. It was almost empty. Desk, three straight chairs, a file cabinet. The walls were white. There were no pictures. The floor was darkly polished hardwood, no rugs. The only thing on Gavin's desk was a big white telephone with a lot of buttons.
"I hope you understand," Gavin said. "We've had a terrible event just this week here, and we're trying to, ah, screen anyone who comes to see our executives."
"Of course," I said.
"Why did you want to see Mr. Eisen?" Gavin said.
"Personal," I said. "I'm not sure Eisen would want me to share it."
"Now, you're not going to give me trouble, are you?" Gavin said.
"Not if you don't annoy me," I said.
"Do I annoy you?"
"Not yet," I said.
"Perhaps," Gavin said, "we could ask Mr. Eisen to come in and help us work things."
"Sure," I said.
G avin spoke to one of the secretaries on an intercom. While we were waiting I looked at the room some more. It was on a corner, with big windows on two sides. There were no draperies. It wasn't Gavin's fault that the windows didn't look out on much. A view of the parking lot from one, a glimpse of Route 128 from another.
"Coffee?" Gavin said as we waited.
I said yes. He spoke again into the intercom, and in a little while the coffee came in big mugs with the Kinergy logo. The secretary who brought the coffee had bountiful dark hair and very good legs. I thought she might have looked at me speculatively, but she might have simply been evaluating me as a security risk. Eisen came into Gavin's office right after the leggy secretary left. He was carrying his own coffee in a mug that said "Bernz" on it.
"Bernie Eisen," he said when he came in. He gave me a manly little handshake.
"Mr. Spenser says he has something of a personal nature to discuss with you, Bernz," Gavin said. "In the light of the recent tragedy, I thought maybe we ought to sit in."
"That's great, Gav," Bernie said. He looked at me.
"I don't mean to be too direct," he said, "but who are you?"
"I'm a detective," I said. "Investigating the death of Trent Rowley."
"I already talked to a detective named Healy."
"He's state," I said. "I'm private."
Bernie frowned. He was a short guy, with sharp features. His black hair was slicked back. His black silk suit looked as if it may have cost more than my entire wardrobe, including my lizard-skin ammo belt. He had on a gray shirt with no tie, and managed to achieve both professional and relaxed, which was very likely what he wanted to achieve. He looked like a guy who worked out regularly with his personal trainer.
"Employed by whom?" Gavin said.
"You knew," I said to Eisen, "about your wife's relationship to Rowley."
"Hold it right there," Gavin said.
His jaw was hard set. His face was suddenly angular. His little eyes got even smaller. Eisen immediately had the same look.
"You should know," I said. "You hired a guy to follow her."
"Don't answer that," Gavin said.
I said, "Would you prefer to talk somewhere else, Mr. Eisen?"
"He would not," Gavin said. "This conversation is over."
"Mr. Eisen?" I said.
"I have nothing to say," Eisen said. He was giving me as tough a look as a guy his size could give.
"And I'll have to ask you to leave," Gavin said to me.
I t wasn't going to go well here. I thought about bouncing Gavin on his crew cut for a while, but decided that it would be self-indulgent.
"Have a lovely day," I said, and turned, and went.
16
Susan and I spent Saturday morning together in a series of flossy little stores on Newbury Street, where all the clerks knew her and called her Mrs. Silverman, except for a few of the most seriously expensive, where they called her Susan. Twice I was offered Perrier, but otherwise, they ignored me. Which was fine with me. If the store had someplace to sit, and most of the stores did, I didn't mind shopping with Susan. I liked to watch her with the clothes. I liked to watch her interact with the clerks. I liked it when she'd come out of the dressing room and model something. I liked it that she cared what I thought. I liked it that she wanted my company. I took a proprietary pleasure when she'd invite me to consult in the dressing room door, where she was half clothed. The fact that in most of the stores I fit in like a warthog at a cat show did not dampen my spirits.
For lunch we went to the refurbished Ritz Cafe. This was the original Ritz, not the new one where the Eisens had their condo. It had been spruced and polished and modified, but the windows in the cafe still gave out onto Newbury Street. We got a seat in the window bay and watched the cold spring rain.
"Why do you suppose that security man was so icky?" Susan said.
"Part of it would probably be-what do you shrinkos call it?-characterological," I said.
"Shrinkos," Susan said. "How sweet."
"And some of it, I don't know. He clearly didn't want Eisen to answer me."
"Do you think he'll talk to you at home, or somewhere away from Gavin?"
"Eisen seems eager to be a winner, not a loser, and I'd guess that he got a firm lecture from Gavin on how loose lips sink ships."
"So he won't?"
"Probably not. Unless there's something scares him more than Gavin."
"Is Gavin really that scary?"
"He seems a nasty guy," I said. "Rigid, anal, mean, spends too much time on his appearance."
"That last is not always a fault," Susan said.
"As we've just recently proved," I said. "But you aside. This guy looks like he's assembled by a drill team every morning."
"In many firms the chief of security is a middle-management functionary," Susan said.
"I know," I said. "You ever hear of a guy named Darrin O'Mara?"
Susan laughed. "The radio guy?"
"Yeah. What do you think of him professionally?"
"Darrin O'Mara?" Susan laughed again and flapped her hands as she searched for the right phrase. "He's a ... he's a talk show host."
"He make any sense?"
"No, of course not. He looks good and he has a nice voice, and his show has a catchy title."
"`Matters of the Heart,' " I said.
"Yes," Susan said. "And I listen to it sometimes, because some of my less worldly patients listen to him."
"So do I hear you saying you don't hold with courtly love?" I said.
"Courtly love is a poetic conceit," Susan said. "You know that."
"We're not married," I said.
"That's true. And it's true that we love each other. And it has nothing to do with the conventions of Provençal poetry. We haven't married because the two of us have autonomy needs that marriage doesn't serve."
"Gee," I said. "Not so we'd be free to love uncoerced?"
"You know that we'd love each other married or unmarried. But we are probably happier-though neither more nor less in love-unmarried."
"So you are not one to promote adultery."
"It is the most destructive act in a relationship," Susan said. "You know all this perfectly well. You just like me to talk about us."
"I do," I said.
17
A fter lunch, Susan went home to shuffle her new clothes around, and I went down to 100 Summer Street to visit the Templeton Group, which was a small office in a big building. There were two desks in the office, and a client chair and a telephone. Jerry Francis was at one of the desks. No one was at the other.
"Not the biggest group I ever saw," I said when I went in. Francis remembered me.
"Hey," he said. "There's another guy here, too."
"Templeton?" I said.
"There is no Templeton," Francis said. "My partner's name is Bellini. We thought Templeton Group sounded good with the address."
"Nothing is as it appears," I said. "I'm looking for a little help. Gumshoe to gumshoe."
"I'm starting to choke up," Francis said. "Whaddya want?"
<
br /> "What can you tell me about Marlene Rowley? Or her husband?"
"It's against company policy . . ." Francis said.
I said the rest of it with him. ". . . to discuss any aspect of a case with any unauthorized person."
"Fast learner," Francis said.
"Yeah. I was hoping for collegial cooperation here," I said. "But I see that's not forthcoming. Lemme try another approach. Your client was murdered. I have made no mention of you to the investigating officers."
"And if I stand firm on company policy?" Francis said.
"Then the cops will be asking you."
"You'd rat me out to the cops."
"Well put," I said.
"What happened to collegiality?" Francis said.
"Outmoded concept," I said. "Tell me about Marlene and Trent."
He wasn't wearing his fancy sunglasses inside, and it left his eyes looking sort of vulnerable. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk and clasped his hands behind his head.
"Nice names," he said. "Marlene and Trent. It's like they were born to be yuppies."
"Just fulfilling their destiny," I said.
"So this guy Trent Rowley comes in to see us, says he thinks his wife is fooling around on him, wants her followed."
"Did he say how he came to you?"
"No, and we didn't ask."
"The cash up front made a good bona fide."
"It did," Francis said. "So Mario--Bellini, my partner--Mario asks him is he looking for divorce evidence. You know? It's one thing to see her with some other guy. It's another thing if they get into court."
I nodded.
"He says he wants to know everyone she sees," Francis said. "Men, women, everybody. I think to myself, what is she, an equal opportunity cheater? But I don't say nothing because we ain't doing so well we can be messing with prospective clients, you know?"
"Maybe you should downgrade the location," I said.
"Impresses the clients," he said.
"So you tailed her," I said.
"Yep, two shifts, sixteen hours a day. Mario took one, I took the other. We figured she had to sleep eight hours."
"Get a third partner," I said. "You can offer twenty-four-hour service."
"Then we could get that eye, you know, says we never sleep?"
"I think somebody already used that," I said. "What did you observe?"
"Observe? Whoa, you can really talk."
"I know a woman with a Ph.D.," I said.
"She hot?"
"Yes. What did you see?"
"Marlene ain't got much of a life," Francis said. "She goes to the market couple times a week. Goes to the hairdresser on Wednesdays. Has a personal trainer come in three times a week. Went to a play at that theater near Harvard Square Friday night."
"The American Repertory Theater," I said.
"Whatever," Francis said. "Thing is, she went alone. She goes every place alone. In the time we been tailing her I never seen her with anyone except her trainer, and Mario says he ain't either."
"Trainer a man or woman?"
"Man. "
"Get a name?"
"Sure, traced his tags. Name's Mark Silver. Lives in Gloucester."
"She go places with her husband?" I said.
"I never saw him except that once. Maybe he came home after eleven at night when we wasn't on the clock."
"Weekends?"
"Never seen him."
"So you call him at work to report."
"Nope. He calls us. I don't even know where he works."
"So where do you send the bill?" I said.
"Don't," Francis said. "He come in every Friday and paid us for the week ahead."
"Check?"
"Cash."
"Doesn't that seem a little funny to you?"
"Sure," Francis said, "but it was a lot of cash."
"Why would a guy have you tail his wife and go to so much trouble to conceal his identity?" I said.
"Figured we could always find him if we had to," Francis said. "We got his home address."
"Maybe," I said.
Francis was still sitting tilted back, hands behind his head. He remained in that position for another moment then slowly picked his feet up and put them on the ground. The chair tilted forward. He unlaced his hands and put them palms down on his desktop and drummed his fingertips lightly.
"You think it ain't him?" Francis said.
"You ever see them together?"
"Just that one time."
"What's he look like?"
"Medium-size blond guy," Francis said. "Very blond, little mustache. Rimless glasses. Looks in shape."
I nodded.
"Yeah," I said. "Sounds like him."
18
I went to see Elmer O'Neill at his office in a converted gas station in Arlington. The gas pumps were gone but the low concrete pedestal on which they'd once sat was still there.
"I see what you mean about low overhead," I said when I went in.
"Overhead any lower," Elmer said, "and I couldn't stand up straight."
"Right in the heart of the action, too," I said.
"Whaddya need?" Elmer said.
"Bernard Eisen," I said. "What'd he look like?"
"Guy hired me to tail his wife?"
"Yep."
"Blond guy, little mustache, glasses."
"How'd he pay you?"
E lmer squinted at me. "What's goin' on?" he said.
"Just confirming a few loose ends," I said.
"The hell you are," Elmer said. "Why do you want to know how he paid me?"
I grinned.
"Hard to throw one past you," I said.
"Don't forget it."
"He pay you cash?" I said.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Bernie has a history of bad checks," I said. "Just wondered if he bounced one on you."
"Hell no," Elmer said. "Nobody's bouncing nothing on Elmer O'Neill."
"So his check was good?"
"Better than that," Elmer said proudly. "He paid cash. Up front."
"Cash don't bounce," I said.
"You got that right," Elmer said.
"And what, exactly, did he want?"
"Follow the wife. Tell him who she saw."
"Even another woman?"
"He wanted a full report." Elmer smiled. "Men, women, you know it could go either way."
"Elmer, you sophisticated devil," I said.
"Hey," Elmer said. "It happens."
"Yes it does," I said. "You have any help?"
"Me? No. I, don't see no reason to split a fee when all I got to do is work hard, and get it all."
"So you covered her day and night?"
"Picked her up in the morning, stayed with her until bedtime. Bedtime at home."
I nodded.
"Now," I said. "I'm going to take a guess, and you tell me if the guess is on the money or not."
"Yeah?"
"To make sure nobody got wind of it, you didn't report. He called you."
"Yeah, that's right."
"No phone number."
"No."
"Nothing in writing."
"No."
"That raise any flags for you?" I said.
"It did," he said. "It sent up a big flag that said, Elmer, you take that cash right down to the bank and deposit it in your account."
"How'd he happen to come to you?" I said.
"He wanted the best," Elmer said.
"But how'd he find that out," I said.
E lmer squinted at me again.
"There's something going on," he said. "What is it? What's going down?"
I thought about it.
"Same guy who hired you to follow Ellen Eisen hired somebody else to follow another woman."
"Maybe old Bernie's got a. . ."
E lmer stopped. He rocked back in his chair and pointed a forefinger which he jabbed at me gently.
"Old Bernie ain't old Bernie," he said.
I nodded.
"Don't know," I said.
"Then why'd you ask me to describe my guy?" Elmer said.
"Because I've seen Bernie."
"He tell the other guy that he was that woman's husband?"
"Yes."
"And you seen her husband too," Elmer said.
"Yes.
E lmer sat some more, squinting. He still had his forefinger extended but now he was slowly making circles with it in the air. You could sort of track his thinking with it. The closer he got to an idea, the smaller the circles.
"This has got something to do with that company," he said.
"You think?"
"Kinergy," he said. "Guy got killed out there."
"You don't miss much," I said.
"Can't. Not in this business. You involved?"
"I didn't do it," I said.
"You got a piece of the investigation?"
"I'm a curious guy," I said.
"You do have a piece," Elmer said. "You need any help on it, you let me know. Surveillance. Research."
He reached out and patted the computer on his desktop.
"I can surf that fucking Internet," he said. "I can find out a lot."
"Got no budget for you," I said.
"That could change," Elmer said. "There's a lot of money floating around over there."
"At Kinergy?"
"Yeah. Stock almost doubled last year in a bear market," Elmer said. "Anything you need? You know? Be nice to get a foot in that door."
I thanked Elmer for his help and promised that I wouldn't forget him, which was probably true. We shook hands. Elmer walked me three steps to the door. We shook hands again. And I left.
19
Pearl and I ran from the Hatch Shell up to the BU Bridge and back. We were sitting now together on a bench near the Shell looking at the river. I was getting my breathing back under control. Pearl, as far as I could tell, had not elevated her heart rate. A young woman with good gluteus maximus was stretching her hamstrings at the next bench. As she did she looked at Pearl and smiled.
When she finished stretching she straightened and said, "May I pat?"
"Sure," I said. "Either one of us."
The young woman smiled and scratched Pearl behind her left ear.
"Weimaraner," she said. "Right?"
"German shorthaired pointer," I said.
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