Bad Business (7 page)

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?”

“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.”

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?”

Elmer 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.

Elmer 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 . . .”

Elmer 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.

“So who the fuck is he?” Elmer said.

“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.”

Elmer 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.

P
earl 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.

“You sure?” the young woman said.

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“How old?”

“Two.”

“What's her name?”

“Pearl,” I said.

“How'd you train her to sit like that?” the young woman said.

“She likes to sit like that.”

The young woman smiled vaguely, said, “Goodbye, Pearl,” and jogged off.

“Great way to meet chicks,” I said to Pearl.

She leaned over and gave me a large slobber near my nose. I wiped my face with my sleeve. What had begun as a no-brainer of a divorce tail was showing every sign of turning into a hairball. Marlene had hired me. But apparently Francis and O'Neill had been hired under false pretenses, by Gavin the security guy. Why did he want a tail on Marlene Rowley and Ellen Eisen? Did he care who they were sleeping with? If they were sleeping with? He wanted a report on everyone they saw. That sounded like more than an adultery issue.

Pearl spotted two ducks floating in the water fifty feet off shore. Her body tensed. She began to quiver. But she stayed where she was, sitting on the bench beside me.

“Can't bear to leave me,” I said. “Can you.”

She gave me another big slobber on my face that could have meant
yes,
but could have meant
no
just as easily. The two ducks flew off. Pearl watched them go.

No wonder Bernie Eisen had been confused when I'd brought up the tail on Mrs. Eisen. And no wonder Gavin had cut it short. Why had Gavin used private guys rather than his own people? Obviously, he didn't want it known. Why had he used these two minor leaguers for
the job? Because they would need the money bad enough not to question the cash-only arrangement, where they had no phone or address for him. What was he after? He was the director of security for a major company. But if he was acting on behalf of his employer, he was certainly being covert about it.

On the other hand, if he wasn't, where was the money coming from? The Templeton Group might work cheap, and Elmer O'Neill might work cheap, but even cheap, eighteen hours a day, each, is a lot of cash. Security directors, even big leaguers like Gavin, normally didn't make that kind of money. I looked at Pearl, who was still watching the river, alert to any possibility that the ducks might return.

“So, suppose he is working for the company,” I said.

She shifted her big gold-colored eyes at me for a minute, and then went back to the duck watch. What would the company be after with these women, and why would they want to keep it quiet? Most companies would probably try to cover up the fact that they had surveillance on employees' wives. It would not make recruiting any easier if word got around that your spouse might be spied on. On the other hand in these two cases there was actually hanky-panky going on. I didn't know yet if Marlene had been cheating on Trent. But I knew he'd been cheating on her. And I knew Ellen Eisen had been cheating on Bernie—if cheating was possible in an open marriage. I'd have to check that with Darrin O'Mara.

Maybe there were more than these two instances. Maybe it was company policy. But if surveillance was a policy, it might still be covert, but it would be better organized than handing wads of cash under the table to
two second-rate gumshoes, and calling them up for a report. There were too many employees. This deal was a seat-of-the-pants operation.

A squirrel dashed past us. Without hesitating, Pearl was off the bench and after him. The squirrel barely made the tree, and barely got up it before Pearl was standing on her hind legs at the base.

Francis and O'Neill were certainly through. Trent's death blew that cover, and what I'd said to Eisen in front of Gavin had ended it for O'Neill. It would be easy enough to find out if Gavin put a new tail on the women. Same way I had before. But that wouldn't tell me why. What was required was a brilliant stroke of detection. I couldn't think of one. The best I could do was go around and talk to the same people again. If you keep poking, something will eventually come buzzing out. I went to get Pearl, still on her back legs, staring up the tree. I didn't have to bend over to put her leash on.

My friend Ms. Gluteus appeared, returning from her run. I watched her as she came toward us. Expensive shoes. Black tights, loose tee shirt, headband. She wore a curved yellow radio on her arm, the small earphones in place. In her left hand she carried a water bottle with one of those nozzles that allow you to squirt the water in without breaking stride. About twenty-four yards away she slowed to a walk and when she reached the tree where Pearl had cornered the prey, she stopped, breathing hard, and patted Pearl again.

“What kind did you say?”

“German shorthaired squirrel hound,” I said.

“Not a weimaraner?”

“No.”

“I also thought she might be a chocolate Lab.”

“No.”

I could tell she was skeptical, but I seemed so sure. So after another couple of pats, she smiled and walked away drinking water from her squirt bottle.