The Unquiet-CP-6 (14 page)

“Name?”

“Parker. Charlie Parker.”

“Like the singer?”

“Saxophonist.”

“Whatever. You got some ID?”

I showed her my license. She looked at it distastefully, like I’d just taken my weenie out and made it do tricks.

“Picture’s old,” she said.

“Lot of stuff ’s old,” I replied. “Can’t stay young and beautiful forever.”

She tapped her fingers upon her desk while she waited for an answer at the other end of the line. Her nails were painted pink. The color made my teeth hurt. “You sure he didn’t sing?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Huh. So who was the one who sang? He fell out of a window.”

“Chet Baker.”

“Huh.”

She continued drumming her nails.

“You like Chet Baker?” I asked. We were forming a relationship.

“No.”

Or maybe not. Mercifully, somewhere above us a phone was answered.

“Mr. Eldritch, there’s a—” She paused dramatically. “—gentleman here to see you. He’s asking about a Mr. Merrick.”

She listened to the answer, nodding. When she hung up she looked even unhappier than before. I think she had been hoping for an order to release the hounds on me.

“You can go up. Second door at the top of the stairs.”

“It’s been a blast,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “You hurry back now.”

I left her, like an overweight Joan of Arc waiting for the pyre to ignite, and went up to the top floor. The second door was already open and a small old man, seventy or more, stood waiting for me. He still had most of his hair, or most of someone’s hair. He wore gray pin-striped trousers and a black jacket over a white shirt and a gray pin-striped vest. His tie was black silk. He looked slightly unhappy, like an undertaker who had just mislaid a corpse. A faint patina of dust seemed to have settled upon him, a combination of dandruff and paper fragments, paper mostly. Wrinkled and faded as he was, he might almost have been made of paper himself, slowly crumbling away along with the accumulated detritus of a lifetime in the service of the law. He stretched out a hand in greeting, and conjured up a smile. Compared to his secretary, it was like being greeted with the keys of the city.

“I’m Thomas Eldritch,” he said. “Please come in.”

His office was tiny. There was paper here, too, but less of it. Some of it even looked like it had been moved recently, and box files were stored alphabetically on the shelves, each carefully marked with a set of dates. They went back a very long time. He closed the door behind me and waited for me to sit before he took his own seat at his desk.

“Now,” he said, steepling his hands before him. “What’s this about Mr. Merrick?”

“You know him?”

“I am aware of him. We provided him with a car at the request of one of our clients.”

“Can I ask the name of the client?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Is Mr. Merrick in some kind of trouble?”

“He’s getting there. I’ve been employed by a woman who seems to have attracted Merrick’s attentions. He’s stalking her. He broke a window in her house.”

Eldritch tut-tutted. “Has she informed the police?”

“She has.”

“We’ve heard nothing from them. Surely a complaint of this kind would have made its way back to us by now?”

“The police didn’t get to talk to him. I did. I took the tag number from his car and traced it back to your firm.”

“Very enterprising of you. And now, instead of informing the police, you are here. May I ask why?”

“The lady in question is not convinced that the police can help her.”

“And you can.”

It sounded like a statement, not a question, and I had an uneasy sensation that Eldritch already knew who I was even before his secretary gave him my name. I treated it as a question anyway.

“I’m trying. We may have to involve the police if this situation persists, which I imagine might be embarrassing, or worse, for you and your client.”

“Neither we, nor our client, are responsible for Mr. Merrick’s behavior, even if what you say is true.”

“The police may not take that view if you’re acting as his personal car-rental service.”

“And they’ll get the same reply that I have just given you. We simply provided a car for him at a client’s request, and nothing more.”

“And you can’t tell me anything at all about Merrick?”

“No. I know very little about him, as I’ve said.”

“Do you even know his first name?”

Eldritch considered. His eyes were cunning and bright. It struck me that he was enjoying this.

“I believe it’s Frank.”

“Do you think that ‘Frank’ might have served some time?”

“I couldn’t possibly say.”

“There doesn’t seem to be very much that you can say.”

“I am a lawyer, and therefore a certain degree of discretion is to be expected by my clients. Otherwise, I would not have remained in this profession for as long as I have. If what you say is true, then Mr. Merrick’s actions are to be regretted. Perhaps if your own client were to sit down with him and discuss the matter, then the situation could be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, as I can only assume that Mr. Merrick believes she may be of some assistance to him.”

“In other words, if she tells him what he wants to know, then he’ll go away.”

“It would be logical to assume so. And does she know something?”

I let the question dangle. He was baiting me, and wherever you found bait, you could be pretty certain that there was a hook hidden somewhere within it.

“He seems to think so.”

“Then it would appear to be the natural solution. I’m sure that Mr. Merrick is a reasonable man.”

Eldritch had remained impossibly still throughout our discussions. Only his mouth moved. Even his eyes appeared reluctant to blink. But when he said the word “reasonable” he smiled slightly, imbuing the word with an import that was entirely the opposite of its apparent meaning.

“Have you met Merrick, Mr. Eldritch?”

“I have had that pleasure, yes.”

“He seems to have a lot of anger in him.”

“It may be that he has just cause.”

“I notice that you haven’t asked me the name of the woman who is employing me, which suggests to me that you already know it. In turn, that would seem to indicate that Merrick has been in touch with you.”

“I have spoken to Mr. Merrick, yes.”

“Is he also a client of yours?”

“He was, in a sense. We acted on his behalf in a certain matter. He is a client no longer.”

“And now you’re helping him because one of your other clients has asked you to.”

“That is so.”

“Why is your client interested in Daniel Clay, Mr. Eldritch?”

“My client has no interest in Daniel Clay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I will not lie to you, Mr. Parker. If I cannot answer a question, for whatever reason, then I will tell you so, but I will not lie. I will repeat myself: to my knowledge, my client has no interest in Daniel Clay. Mr. Merrick’s line of inquiry is entirely his own.”

“What about his daughter? Is your client interested in her?”

Eldritch seemed to consider confirming it, then decided against it, but his silence was enough. “I could not possibly say. That is something you would have to discuss with Mr. Merrick.”

My nostrils itched. I could feel the molecules of paper and dust settling in them, as though Eldritch’s office were slowly making me part of itself, so that in years to come a stranger might enter and find us here, Eldritch and me, still batting questions and answers back and forth to no end, a thin layer of white matter covering us as we ourselves dwindled into dust.

“Do you want to know what I think, Mr. Eldritch?”

“What would that be, Mr. Parker?”

“I think Merrick is a dangerous man, and I think somebody has set him on my client. You know who that person is, so maybe you’ll pass on a message for me. You tell him, or her, that I’m very good at what I do, and if anything happens to the woman I’ve been hired to protect, then I’m going to come back here and someone will answer for what has taken place. Am I making myself clear?”

Eldritch’s expression did not alter. He was still smiling benignly like a little wrinkled Buddha.

“Perfectly, Mr. Parker,” he said. “This is purely an observation and nothing more, but it appears to me that you have adopted an adversarial position with regard to Mr. Merrick. Perhaps, if you were to be less confrontational, you might find that you have more in common with him than you think. It may be that you and he share certain common goals.”

“I don’t have a goal, beyond ensuring that no harm comes to the woman in my care.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, Mr. Parker. You are thinking in the specific, not the general. Mr. Merrick, like you, may be interested in a form of justice.”

“For himself, or for someone else?”

“Have you tried asking him?”

“It didn’t work out so well.”

“Perhaps if you tried without a gun on your belt?”

So Merrick had spoken to him recently. Otherwise, how could Eldritch have known of my confrontation with him, and the gun?

“You know,” I said, “I don’t think I want to meet Merrick unless I have a gun close at hand.”

“That is, of course, your decision. Now, if there’s nothing else…”

He stood, walked to the door, and opened it. Clearly, our meeting was at an end. Once more, he extended his hand for me to shake.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he said gravely. In an odd way, he seemed to mean it. “I’m delighted that we’ve had a chance to meet at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Would that be from your client as well?” I asked, and for an instant the smile almost slipped, fragile as a crystal glass teetering on the edge of a table. He rescued it, but it was enough. He seemed about to reply, but I answered for him.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You couldn’t possibly say.”

“Precisely,” he replied. “But if it’s any consolation, I expect that you’ll meet him again, in time.”

“Again?”

But the door had already closed, sealing me off from Thomas Eldritch and his knowledge just as surely as if a tomb door had closed upon him, leaving him with only his paper and his dust and his secrets for company.

Chapter IX

M y visit to Thomas Eldritch hadn’t contributed significantly to my sense of inner well-being, although it had at least given me Merrick’s first name. Eldritch had also carefully avoided any denial that Merrick might have done time, which meant that somewhere in the system there was probably a closetful of bones just waiting to be rattled. But Eldritch’s hint that I knew his client made me uneasy. I had enough ghosts in my past to know that I didn’t relish the prospect of any of them being raised.

I stopped for coffee and a sandwich at the Bel Aire Diner on Route 1. (I gave Route 1 this much: at least it had no shortage of spots where a man could eat.) The Bel Aire had survived in its current spot for more than half a century, a big old diner sign outside advertising its presence from the top of a forty-foot pole, the name written beneath in the original fifties cursive. The last I heard a guy called Harry Kallas was running the Bel Aire, and Harry had taken over the place from his father. Inside it were burgundy vinyl booths and matching stools at the counter, and a gray-and-white-tiled floor that boasted the kind of wear and tear associated with generations of business. There were rumors that it was due to close for redecoration, which I supposed was necessary if kind of sad. A TV was built into the wall at one end, but nobody was watching it. The kitchen was noisy, the waitresses were noisy, and the construction workers and locals ordering blue plate specials were noisy too.

I was finishing my second cup of coffee when the call came through. It was Merrick. I recognized his voice the moment I heard it, but no number was displayed on my cell phone.

“You’re a smart sonofabitch,” he said.

“Is that meant to be a compliment? If it is, you need to work on your technique. All that time in the can must have made you rusty.”

“You’re fishing. The lawyer didn’t give you shit.”

I wasn’t surprised that Eldritch had made some calls. I just wondered who had touched base with Merrick: the lawyer, or his client?

“Are you telling me that if I go searching for you in the system, I won’t find a record?”

“Search away. I ain’t gonna make it easy for you, though.”

I waited a heartbeat before asking my next question. It was a hunch, and nothing more.

“What’s the name of the girl in the picture, Frank?”

There was no reply.

“She’s the reason why you’re here, isn’t she? Was she one of the children seen by Daniel Clay?

Is she your daughter? Tell me her name, Frank. Tell me her name, and maybe I can help you.”

When Merrick spoke again, his voice had changed. It was filled with quiet yet lethal menace, and I knew with certainty that this was a man who not only was capable of killing, but who had killed already, and that a line had been crossed at the mention of the girl.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I told you once already: my business is my own. I gave you time to convince that little missy to come clean, not to go nosing around in matters that don’t concern you. You’d better get back up to where you came from and talk her around.”

“Or what? I’ll bet that whoever called you about my visit to Eldritch told you to take it down a couple of notches. You keep harassing Rebecca Clay, and your friends are going to cut you loose. You’ll end up back in the can, Frank, and what good will you be to anyone then?”

“You’re wasting time,” he said. “You seem to think I was funnin’ with you about that deadline.”

“I’m getting close,” I lied. “I’ll have something for you by tomorrow.”

“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “That’s all the time you have left, and I’m being generous with you. Let me tell you something else: you and missy better start worrying if ’n I am cut loose. Right now, that’s the only thing holding me in check, apart from my general good nature.”

He hung up. I paid the check and left my coffee to grow cold. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like I had the time to linger over it after all.

My next visit was to Jerry Legere, Rebecca Clay’s ex-husband. I contacted A-Secure and was told that Legere was out on a job in Westbrook with Raymon Lang, and after only a little cajoling the receptionist let me know the location.