A Knight at the Opera (8 page)

"Actually, I don't think so. They know you've got them--"

I hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what I was thinking.

She jumped right in. "By the short hairs?"

I smiled. "I was going to say, backed into a corner. But your way is just fine. The
contract says what it says." The elevator arrived and I held the door open while she
stepped inside. "You wouldn't really want to work for their firm, would you?"

"Probably not." She frowned at me, as though I had just waived a white flag of
surrender. "Are you saying I should simply give in and--"

"No. I'm just saying I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to work for them. One
way or another, they're going to have to pay you the value of your husband's partnership
interest."

"They certainly are." Something was obviously still bothering her, and seemed to
be unrelated to PMBT. When we reached the ground floor, she said, "Do you have time for
lunch?"

"Sure. There's a decent deli in Marina Square."

She said, "I know the place. I'll meet you there."

Her black Lexus was parked five spaces away from my Audi. Since she was
closer to the exit, I ended up following her as she rolled onto Yosemite and then turned east
on Belleview. As we drove, it dawned on me what she was so mad about. I waited until the
waitress had brought us each a glass of iced tea and we had ordered our food--a grilled
chicken salad for her and turkey on whole wheat for me.

"You're really angry at Karl, aren't you?"

She stared at me for a moment, obviously deciding how--and whether--to
respond. Suddenly she was so emotional that she was blinking back tears and clenching her
hands against the edge of the table. "I sure as hell am! What was he doing at the opera with
that woman?"

"You really have no idea?"

"No, not an inkling. And it's making me crazy. Karl wasn't an opera fan. His thing
was basketball. And he never mentioned any other woman in his life. Other than his first
wife, of course. And whenever he said her name, it was followed by, 'that disgusting
cow.'"

"Could she have been some business acquaintance?"

"Not that I know of. I asked Conner and Larry about it at the house yesterday,
and they said they had no idea who she could have been. Larry implied that he thought it
was me. Of course, I don't expect they'd tell me the truth, even if they knew."

"Did your husband have a secretary?"

She shook her head. "No. He only worked with the staff accountants, and almost
all of those are men."

"I noticed that," I said. "When we first walked into the office and I realized that
every name on the staff directory was male, I figured that your odds of being asked to join
the firm were slim."

"Karl thought it was wrong, but he really couldn't do anything about it."

"Really? Then how did he figure they were going to take you in as a
partner?"

She frowned as she thought about that. "I don't know. That's a good question.
I'm almost embarrassed to say this, but sometimes Karl was kind of naive. Besides, I'm sure
he had no idea he was going to die any time soon."

"We never do," I observed. "We all think we're indestructible. But we're
not."

She frowned. "That's not a very uplifting thought."

"Sorry," I said with a sheepish grin. "So, going back to the woman at the opera,
are you sure she wasn't one of the PMBT staff?"

"Yes. Whoever he was with that night, she wasn't an employee." She set down
her glass of iced tea and looked me in the eyes. "Mr. Larsen, I'd really like to know who she
was. And what she was doing there with him. And I don't care how much it costs me to find
out."

"The police are already doing their best to find her," I said. "And you can call me
Adam, if you'd like."

"Thank you. But only if you'll call me Joyce."

"Fair enough."

"Now I have a question," she said. "Why would the police be looking for her? I
thought she left before he fell over the balcony."

"That's what I understand, as well."

"Then why--"

"Because, depending on the dosage, if she had slipped him the Rohypnol, which
was illegal for her to possess, it could have made him susceptible to losing his balance and
falling over that balcony."

Her eyes widened. "Are you saying he was drugged?"

"I don't know. But if he was, it would certainly make the woman he was with a
'person of interest.'"

"Yes, I can see that."

"Joyce, had Karl ever lied to you before about where he was going?"

"Not that I know of. Although, since all of this happened, I've been
wondering."

"What about credit card records?" I said. "Have you looked at any of his
bills?"

"You know, there's something funny about that. I--"

The waitress appeared at our table with a tray of food, and Joyce stopped
talking. After we'd been served and she had taken a few bites of lunch, I prompted her, "You
were saying something was funny about his credit card bills."

She gave me a puzzled look. "Credit cards? Oh, right. A couple of weeks ago, he
started looking through all of his credit card records, as though he was searching for
something. I asked him about it, but he said it was nothing and not to worry about it. He
thought he might have been charged for something he hadn't ordered."

"But you didn't believe him?" I said.

"At the time, I did. There was no reason not to. I suppose that now I'm not so
sure."

"Well, then I'd suggest you take a look at his credit card bills. They might shed
some light on all this."

"The police already asked me to sign a permission form, so that they can request
copies of his bills."

"Did you give it to them?"

"I did. Is that a problem?"

"No. But next time you get a request like that, please don't do anything without
talking to me first."

"Sorry. Did I screw up?"

"No. If you'd refused, they'd have just subpoenaed them. They probably want to
know everywhere he went on Saturday, especially the time period just before he went to
the opera. And whether, for example, he bought someone dinner."

"That woman?"

"Exactly."

"You know, I think I'll go home and take a good look at those credit card bills."
She seemed to want to say something more, but was hesitating.

"What?" I said, with an encouraging look.

"I know a little about your reputation as more than just a run of the mill lawyer.
Do you think you could do anything to help find out who she was?"

I thought it over. "Generally, no, but only because the police are already trying to
do that. They have better resources and a head start. But I do have a few thoughts that
might lead to something useful. I can follow up on them, if you'd like."

"Do it," she said, without bothering to ask what it was.

We finished our meal and I escorted her to the parking lot. She pulled a key ring
out of her purse and pressed the button to unlock the Lexus. Before reaching to open the
door, she leaned over and hugged me.

"Thank you for helping me, Adam. I'm really struggling right now. Without Karl,
I'm just lost. And, frankly, a little bit afraid."

"You'll get through this," I assured her.

"I hope so." Fighting back tears, she said, "I really hope so."

I got into my Audi and we headed off in opposite directions.

Nothing out of the ordinary was going on when I reached the McGaa Building.
Diana was still at lunch, so I used my key to get inside. I headed back to my office to follow
up on the idea that had occurred to me at lunch with Joyce.

I had no trouble getting in touch with Brandt Johnson at Semper Security.
According to the company's website, they specialized in providing services for all sorts of
public and private events. Based upon the reviews I found online, they seemed to be a solid
company with a good reputation. When I called the number, the woman who answered put
me right through.

He greeted me with, "Johnson. May I help you?"

"Mr. Johnson, This is Adam Larsen. We met on Saturday at the opera."

"I remember. I don't know how you did it, but the
Clarion
sure had some
good things to say about you. We'd kill for that sort of publicity. Speaking figuratively, of
course."

"Of course," I said good-naturedly. "They were just filling space."

"If you say so. What can I do for you?"

"This may be sensitive, but I'm hoping to get some information from you. I've
been retained by Joyce Markowsky. Her husband was the man who went off that
balcony."

I could almost hear him snap to attention. "Oh? Is she thinking of filing a civil
suit?"

"Not to my knowledge. We're trying to identify the woman who accompanied
Mr. Markowsky that night. There are reasons we'd like to talk to her."

He chuckled into the phone. "I can imagine. So would the police. But, so far, no
luck."

"I'm surprised. I thought they could just enter a few keystrokes into their
computers and,
voilà!
her name would appear."

"You've been watching too much TV, Mr. Larsen. Things don't work that way in
the real world."

"I guess you're right," I said, trying to sound dejected. "I don't suppose she paid
for the tickets or anything like that?"

"Nope. Both tickets were bought at the same time, but the buyer paid cash."

"Doesn't the box office keep records of who buys the seats?"

"Sure, especially if it's a credit card purchase. Even with cash, they ask for a
name and an email address, for marketing purposes."

"And?"

He hesitated, then said, "Oh, hell, I don't suppose it would hurt anything to tell
you this much. Whoever bought the tickets used a phony name and address. It's odd,
though. If someone was sneaking around with a woman who wasn't his wife, you wouldn't
expect him to bring her to the opera. Would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. But I'm not the sneaking around type. That's too bad. I was
hoping I could reassure Mrs. Markowsky that he wasn't cheating on her. It would have
made her feel better about the whole situation."

"Can't help you there. I've told you everything I know."

"Well, I appreciate the information."

"No problem. And, by the way, assuming your legal assistant is right about you,
do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure, what's that?"

"Stay away from the opera," he said in a deadpan. "We don't need any more dead
bodies."

Great.

Everyone's a comedian.

But the call hadn't been a total waste of time. I now knew that the woman seated
next to Markowsky wasn't some random stranger. They deliberately went to the opera
together. But Jonson had a good point. If this was something surreptitious, why meet at the
opera and not somewhere private?

I was starting to dial Joyce's number, to tell her what I had learned from
Johnson, when Maurice appeared in the doorway to my office. "Got a minute?"

Cradling the phone, I said, "Sure. What's up?"

He made a sour face. "Robin McCormick."

"Your damsel in distress? Who didn't even know she was in distress?"

He plopped down in one of the black leather chairs across from my desk. "Yeah.
Her."

"What's the problem?"

"She keeps calling me."

"You're not interested?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. So far, I've been dodging her calls."

This was completely unlike him. "What's the issue?"

"There's an old song, 'I Know A Heartache When I See One.' That's the issue. I've
spent more than my share of time with drunks. I'm over that."

I understood his concern. His father had been an alcoholic, which had indirectly
contributed to the events that wound up getting Maurice dumped as a Bronco.

"I must admit, she probably wasn't at her best Saturday night. But," I pointed
out, "we don't know whether that was characteristic or just the result of her broken
engagement and barely escaping being crushed by a falling body."

He growled. "I hate it when you're logical. So what would you do?"

I grinned at him. "I really don't go rushing in recklessly to every situation, as
you're so fond of claiming. I'd meet her somewhere neutral and see how things went.
Maybe she's just embarrassed about how she was behaving and wants to apologize."

"Or she could do it again."

"That's a possibility." I leaned back in my chair, stretching my arms above my
head. "Do you really want to know what I think?"

He eyed me warily. "Maybe."

"I think you wouldn't have come in her to ask me if you weren't at least curious
about her."

"You're right," he said. "I guess it couldn't hurt to give her a chance. Thanks. I'll
let you know how it turns out."

He was starting out of the office when the intercom sounded. Diana said, "Adam,
it's Joe Stone on line two. He's his usual uncheerful self. More so than usual."

"Uh oh. I'd better take the call." I gestured for Maurice to stay. As a matter of
principle, I counted slowly to twenty-five before pressing the button to take the call. "Good
afternoon. I was just--"

Diana was right. He was fighting mad. "Larsen, what the hell are you
doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Interfering with a police investigation. Which, as you know, is a felony."

I had an inkling where he was going, but I played dumb. "How am I interfering
with your investigation?"

"I just got off the phone with the man from Semper Security. He said you called
to ask questions about the woman at the opera."

"That's true. I can't believe he actually called and tattled on me."

"He didn't. I called him, to follow up on something you don't need to know
about. He's ex-FBI, and he figured I'd want to know about you. So why the hell were you
calling him?"

"I told you on Monday that Joyce Markowsky had left me a message.
Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. So what?"