by John Lutz
She turned and walked into the big room with the French furniture and powder-blue drapes. I followed her.
"You called me into it to make it look like an authentic kidnapping and give you an even better excuse not to call in the FBI. After all, you didn't have anything to fear if it went right."
She sat on the sofa and swayed slightly. The drapes were open, and a pitiless slanted light fell on her.
"You typed and mailed the notes to yourself," I told her, "even the last ransom note. Larry Stein cared about you enough to set out for a lonely meeting with only five thousand dollars when he was sure the extortionists would want something more. Only Larry was smart, and an angle-shooter. Somewhere along the line he ran into Harold Vinceno, contemplating suicide, maybe pumping up his courage over a few drinks. Larry talked Vinceno into delivering the five thousand, maybe offering to pay him a thousand for the job, and they exchanged identification in case the extortionists would check. And Darns and Enwood, who'd never seen your husband close-up, were not only interested in the money but in killing Larry."
"Billy made me do it," Emily murmured.
"No," I said. "He and Enwood wouldn't have killed Larry just for the five thousand dollars. When a married man is murdered, the wife is always at least initially suspected. You needed a cover, like a phony kidnapping scheme complete with notes, ransom money, and a bumbling gumshoe who wasn't much of a threat. Only the hundred thousand wasn't ransom money, it was the final payment to Darns for killing Larry. You probably never really loved Larry Stein, and half his money as he saw fit to dole it out to you wasn't enough." I watched her close her eyes, felt my own eyes brim as tears tracked down her makeup. "When did Larry come back?"
"Yesterday," she said, her eyes still clenched shut, "when he read in the papers about Vinceno being identified by his wife. That's the only time anything about the case got in the papers. Until then, Larry wanted to stay dead to the kidnappers. He was afraid for me."
"And you were afraid of Darns," I said, "afraid he'd think you double-crossed him and he'd want revenge. Darns found out the same way Larry did that he'd killed Vinceno—the wrong man. That's why Darns came here to see you, to demand the hundred thousand, to continue with the original plan."
"I was afraid of him," Emily admitted, opening her eyes. "That's why I wanted you—nearby. I should have known you'd figure it out. You were always smart, you always saw things differently. This hundred thousand, Alo, it's only a fraction of what's left . . ."
"There was only one way you'd be able to mail that final note to yourself," I told her, "and only one more thing I have to know for sure before I phone Chief Gladstone."
She knew what I meant and something buckled inside her. But she had enough strength to stand and walk with me through the house and out the back door into the yard. She waited while I went into the garage and got a disturbingly handy shovel.
Despite everything, I found myself still admiring her. She had masterminded everything from seducing Darns to hiring me on the recommendation of my noted lack of success. And but for Vinceno's impersonation of her husband, it all would have worked. In this or in any other world, I would never find another Emily.
She was leaning on me like a lover and sobbing as we walked to the dark, churned earth of the now meticulously weeded garden, to where the freshly planted tomato vines were flourishing in the hot sun.
The Romantics
Jake Adler was a high-tone downtown attorney of the corporate breed. Why he was slumming in Nudger's office promised to be interesting.
Nudger figured the suave, fortyish fashion plate with the graying hair and hawk-handsome features wasn't here to hire him to investigate anything in relation to a lawsuit. And he was sure he didn't owe money to anyone important enough to have retained Adler. This one figured to be personal, something Adler wouldn't want his society friends or clients to know about. Marital infidelity? A ghost from his past? Nudger leaned back in his eeeping swivel chair, into the cool breeze from the laboring window air conditioner, waiting for Adler to unfold.
"When I'm finished talking," Adler said, "it might seem to you I've come here on something of a whim, but it's not that way at all." He was obviously more than a little ill at ease; it didn't go with his well-tailored, commanding physical presence. Signs of humanity on such Leaders of Men showed as glaring flaws.
"I'm nothing if not confidential," Nudger said, trying to relax Adler, trying to imagine the man as the recipient of a whim.
"I know. I checked." Adler glanced around the sparse Maplewood office, sniffed the sugary aroma from the doughnut shop directly below. "And you're honest. Which is why you're here in this burrow with a desk instead of downtown or out in Clayton."
"Your office is downtown," Nudger pointed out, not very tactfully.
"I'm not always honest."
At least he's honest about it, Nudger thought.
Adler crossed his legs, then used thumb and forefinger to sharpen the crease in his expensive pinstriped pants. "But I will be honest with you," he said. "That's why I came here. Can you believe that?"
"It's a stretch."
"Well, maybe it doesn't matter. I want you to follow someone, find out about her."
"Who's her?"
Adler cocked his head to the side, smiling faintly. "Ever think about love, Nudger?"
Huh? Another whim? "I've been known to swoon now and then. It usually doesn't work out."
"I don't mean long-term love, where you and a woman share a mutual respect and make an investment in each other's happiness. I had that with my wife until she died last year. And I don't mean temporary lust. I mean real love, the kind you remember from your teens, maybe. Or earlier."
Down on Manchester Avenue a horn honked. A bus accelerated with a roar like a lion. The air conditioner drew in some diesel fumes to merge with the pervasive scent of fresh-baked doughnuts. Nudger said, "There are lots of definitions of true love." He couldn't help it; he had the feeling Adler was being candid and had come here to bare his soul. The guy was some lawyer.
"True love is unexpected and instantaneous," Adler said. "It's when you pass a woman on the street, or glimpse her through the window of a passing train, and you know you'll never forget that lightning instant, never forget her face. Something in the eyes, the tilt of the chin, the planes of the face. Has that ever happened to you?"
"It happens to all men," Nudger said, trying to pull Adler back to earth. "If we actually got to meet these women, they might have bad breath. We might not even like them."
"I still remember the girl I sat behind in my high school math class. I was too shy to talk to her, but even now I can recall the nape of her neck, the gentle upsweep of her blonde hair, the graceful line of her cheek. That was over twenty years ago, and if I had artistic talent I could sketch her likeness for you with exactness today." An expression of pain and puzzlement crossed Adler's features. "Why is that, Nudger?"
Nudger sighed. "No one knows. It happens, that's all. Something passes between two people, and maybe only one of them realizes it, then they go on their way to their homes or offices and—"
"—And never forget it," Adler interrupted.
"Sometimes. Is that who you want me to find out about, someone you glimpsed through a train window?"
"Bus window," Adler corrected, as if the mode of transportation were important. "Every morning I eat breakfast at the Edgemore Café in the Wellington Building downtown. At exactly seven forty-five, a bus slows down and swings wide to take the corner, and I see a woman like the ones we've been talking about."
"She see you?"
"Our eyes have met. And it happens, that arc of emotion. I'm sure she feels it, too. I don't want it to end the way it usually does, with propriety, inaction, and then recollections and regrets thirty years later. All my life I've been a creature of logic, of planning and pragmatism. Not this time. This time I want to find out about her. I want to get to know her."
"You sure about that? I mean, maybe you're still grieving about your w
ife, not thinking straight."
"That's what a lot of people would say. But why shouldn't I learn something about this woman? And prudently, before I approach her? I'm afraid that if she does return my affection, things might get out of control. I want to know about her first, then maybe introduce myself."
"That's a logical and pragmatic plan," Nudger said, "even if it is to satisfy a whim." Eeep! He dropped forward in his chair. "Know what? You're a romantic."
"So are you, my friend. I found that out about you."
"But you're a rich and successful romantic. That's contradictory. It doesn't make sense."
"It does if you take into account I'm unscrupulous." Nudger said, "I can see why you don't want anyone downtown knowing about this. They'd view it as a weakness."
"But you don't."
"No, I guess not."
"I don't want anything in writing," Adler said. "I'll pay you in cash, and I'll want only a verbal report. I need to know about this woman. I need to know what she is to me, why I look forward to seeing her weekday mornings, and why, when I look at her, the moment is so electric."
Nudger's nervous stomach was warning him to be cautious here. "This is crazy," he said. "It'll be a waste of time, won't get you anywhere. She's probably married, might have children. Might have a boyfriend with muscles and meanness. What romantics do is lie to themselves and get in trouble. You defend them in court all the time. Think again about this."
Adler's square jaw set like a building block beneath his handsome smile. He was obviously determined and a man used to having his way, whatever the cost to anyone. "Indulge me, Mr. Nudger."
Nudger considered, then said, "Indulge me."
Adler laid ten crisp hundred-dollar bills on the desk. He knew how to indulge, all right.
Nudger was hired.
He followed the bus until the woman got off at Fourth and Pine, only blocks from Adler's office in the Wayne Building. Nudger recognized her easily from the description Adler had given him: thin, with delicate features and blonde upswept hair. He remembered the girl who'd sat in front of Adler in high school; maybe that old chemistry was what was haunting Adler. More likely it was that his wife had died recently. Maybe he was searching for her among the living.
This was no time for amateur psychology, Nudger told himself, as he quickly pulled his old Ford Granada into a No Parking zone and killed the engine. His job was to find out the woman's name, where she worked and lived. And he was a professional and a practical businessman, right?
Right. And one who needed the business.
The woman walked west on Pine. He had to take the chance his car would be towed. The day wasn't starting right. He got out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and jogged across the street to fall in behind the woman.
She had a nice figure, a graceful, hip-switching walk without much motion of the upper body, like an aspiring model practicing crossing the room with a book on her head to improve her posture. Adler wouldn't know that, if he'd only seen her sitting down, through a bus window. Nudger wondered if he should include it in his report. Such a romantic he was after all, as Adler had said. Nudger knew that Claudia, his lady love, would have another word for him.
The blonde woman surprised him. He'd been expecting her to enter an office building. Instead she walked north on Fifth Street, then entered the old but elegant Victoria Hotel on Locust.
Nudger went in behind her, closing the distance between them in the crowded lobby.
He got a better look at her then. She was attractive, but not strikingly beautiful. And older than he'd first thought—probably around forty. There was a remote sadness to her features that made her interesting, but she wouldn't launch more than a few ships.
She paused and studied a placard listing the day's activities in the large and luxurious hotel, then walked toward the restaurant.
Nudger found a place at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee, watching in the mirrored wall as the woman sat down at a table with a man with dark hair and a dark mustache. He was about thirty, broad-shouldered inside a tan sport coat that was too tight on him. When he turned to summon a waiter, Nudger saw that he was wearing a ponytail. He was the type that could get away with it and not seem sissified. This was not the kind of guy Adler would be glad to hear about.
The blonde woman and ponytail talked until the waiter brought a single order of eggs and toast. Then ponytail stood up, leaned over, and kissed the woman's cheek. She didn't seem to pay too much attention to that, kept chewing toast. Ponytail paid his check at the cashier's counter and walked from the restaurant, not looking back.
The woman ate slowly, daintily, then sat for a long time sipping coffee. She extended her little finger whenever she lifted her cup to her lips. Her cool blue glance slid over the other diners, most of whom had entered the restaurant within the last half-hour.
About nine-fifteen, the restaurant was only half full.
Nudger had walked out into the lobby and bought a newspaper from the overpriced gift shop, then returned to the counter and pretended to read while he managed to down his fourth cup of black coffee.
Too much coffee. He had to go to the bathroom, desperately, and wondered if he should chance it. The woman didn't show any inclination to get up and leave.
Had to! The hell with it. His stomach was killing him. He hurried to the rest room at the far end of the restaurant. Spent only a few minutes there.
When he emerged, the woman was leaning toward an adjacent table and talking to a redheaded man with a plastic name tag pinned to the lapel of his dark business suit. She was grinning with apparent embarrassment, shrugging and holding out her small black purse.
The redheaded guy studied her through his rimless spectacles, then smiled and tossed down the rest of his coffee. An ice-hearted executive type who'd been melted on the spot.
He and the woman talked for a few more minutes, then they both stood up and the man snatched the check from her table. So gallant. A romantic himself. He paid for both breakfasts on the way out of the restaurant.
Out in the lobby, the woman smiled at him and touched his arm lightly, then turned to walk away. The same walk that had fascinated Nudger after she'd climbed down from the bus and set off down the sidewalk.
She stopped when the man said something, then she turned back to face him. Smiled.
He smiled back at her.
Then she shrugged, and they walked from the lobby together.
Nudger told himself she'd misplaced or forgotten her money or credit cards, asked the man to lend her the amount of her breakfast, then charmed him and graciously returned his favor by accompanying him outside. Maybe she was going to give him directions, or show him the sights.
But really he knew that something more than that had occurred between the woman and the redheaded executive type. She'd managed to pick him up smoothly, professionally.
More bad news for Adler.
As he left the Victoria lobby to follow them, Nudger noticed the man with the ponytail seated in a leather armchair near some potted palms and reading USA Today.
He got outside just in time to see the redheaded man and the woman climb into a cab and drive away. Three middle-aged women were in line for the next cab the doorman could wave to the curb. Trouble was, no second cab was in sight, much less a third cab for Nudger. Then the light at the corner changed, and the traffic flow on Locust dried up. Terrific.
Nudger watched helplessly as the taxi carrying the blonde woman and her pickup turned the opposite corner just before the traffic light changed, and disappeared into glittering and relentless downtown traffic.
He stood frustrated in the increasing morning heat for a while, then decided the only course left to him was to go back in the hotel and start keeping tabs on the man with the ponytail. Maybe he and the woman would get together again before the day ended.
Almost surely they would. Nudger was getting the idea.
Ponytail stood up from his chair and moved around the lobby from time t
o time, stretching his muscles. He'd apparently lost all interest in his newspaper, which he'd folded and laid on a table for someone else to read. Twice he sauntered outside to smoke a cigarette.
He was back in the leather armchair when the blonde woman and the redheaded man came into the hotel. The man had his arm around her waist but removed it just inside the door, and he was no longer wearing his plastic convention ID tag. The woman said something to him, smiling up at him like a flower seeking sun, as they walked to the elevator and he pressed the up button.
Nudger idly wandered over and stood near them, among a knot of people waiting for an elevator. He deliberately didn't so much as glance at them, and he figured they were too interested in each other to look his way.
When the elevator arrived, empty of guests from the upper floors, he pushed in with the other passengers and stood to the side, near the door.
Everyone observed elevator etiquette and didn't speak. The blonde woman and the man, and a fat guy with a plastic name tag like the one the redheaded man had removed, got off on the tenth floor.
Nudger followed. The man and woman turned right. Nudger and the guy with a name tag turned left. The chubby conventioneer kept going straight, but Nudger ducked into an alcove with an ice dispenser and soda machines. He peeked around the corner and watched the man and woman enter a room near the end of the long hall.
After checking to find out the room's number, he returned to the lobby.
Ponytail was still seated in the leather armchair. He was staring off into space, absently drumming his fingertips on the chair arms.
Nudger went back into the restaurant, this time ordered a Pepsi, and observed ponytail through the white latticework that divided restaurant and lobby.
"Wasn't you in here earlier drinking coffee?" the waitress asked.
"I'm on a caffeine diet," Nudger told her, realizing he had to use the restroom again, though not so desperately.
The woman stared at him, decided he might be serious, then sashayed down the counter to wait on yet another man wearing a plastic name tag. They were all part of a national luggage wholesalers' convention, according to the placard in the lobby.
