Part 11 (1/2)

He had an interestbearing checking account, where his expenses more or less equaled the thirtyfive hundred dollars he took home from his business each month. The business, SpecialT Uniforms, was nine years old. It had grown from annual receivables of six thousand to over four hundred thousand.

Frenada was writing regular tuition checks to St. Remigio's Catholic school for two children-not his own as far as I knew. At least there was no record of a marriage, or any indication of a childsupport agreement. He averaged seven hundred dollars a month each on his American Express and MasterCard, for the ordinary business of living. He held a certificate of deposit for twenty thousand dollars. He was paying a mortgage on a $150,000 twoflat in the Irving Park neighborhood, and he had a lifeinsurance policy worth a hundred thousand dollars, with three children named Caliente listed as the beneficiaries. Besides that munificence, he drove a fouryearold Taurus that he'd just about paid for.

No holdings in the Caymans, no portfolio of stocks or options. No residue of the drug trade, no unusual income of any kind that might indicate blackmail. Frenada was either extremely honest, or so clever that not even LifeStory's paid informants could track his holdings.

So what did Murray and AlexSandy think was buried here? If it was a juvenile crime, I wasn't interested in digging that far into his past. Maybe he'd done a quasi legal deal to get preferred treatment in orders or to obtain financing.

That didn't seem any different from Baladine and Rapelec in Africa, except the scale was smaller.

I reached Murray in his office. ”I can't take on this Frenada a.s.signment. Since you came along with Alex to try to hire me, I a.s.sume I can tell you without needing to talk to her.”

”Yeah, I'll tell her. Any particular reason?”

I stared at the floor, noticing the dust bunnies that had gathered around my copier. ”I'm busy these days,” I said after too long a silence. ”An inquiry like this would take more resources than I have.”

”Thanks for trusting me, Vic. I'll tell Alex you're too busy.”

His anger, more hurt than rage, made me say quickly, ”Murray. You don't know what Global's real agenda is here, do you?”

”Alex talked the situation over with me on Friday,” he said stiffly. ”If it sounds incredible to you, then it's because you don't understand the way Hollywood operates. Everything is image for them, so the image becomes more real than the actual world around them. Lacey's success and Global's image are intertwined. They want-”

”I know what they want, babe,” I said gently. ”I just don't know why they want it. In the matter of the actual world, I talked to the house d.i.c.k at the Trianon. I don't know if he'd be as forthcoming with you as he was with me, but you might check him out.”

We hung up on that fractured note. Poor Murray. I didn't think I could bear to witness his vulnerability if Global took him to pieces.

Mary Louise came in around ten, after she'd gotten Nate and Josh off to day camp. She was going to make phone calls to Georgia for me while I pitched my wares to a couple of lawyers who were looking for a firm to handle their investigations. Such meetings often lead nowhere, but I have to keep doing it-and with enough enthusiasm that I'm not defeating myself walking in the door.

”You call this Alex woman to say you weren't playing Global's game?” Mary Louise asked as I gathered presentation materials into my briefcase.

”Yes, ma'am, Officer Neely.” I saluted her smartly. ”At least, I told Murray.”

The phone rang before I could leave; I hovered in the doorway while Mary Louise answered. Her expression became wooden.

”Warshawski Investigations . . . No, this is Detective Neely. Ms. Warshawski is leaving for a meeting. I'll see if she can take your call. . . . Speaking of the devil,” she added to me, her finger on the HOLD b.u.t.ton.

I came back to the desk.

”Vic, I'm disappointed that you won't take the job for me,” Alex said in lieu of a greeting. ”I'd like you to think it over-for your sake as well as Lacey's-before I take your no as final.”

”I've thought it over, Sandy-Alex, I mean. Thought it over, talked it over with my advisers. We all agree it's not the right a.s.signment for me. But I know the house detective at the Trianon; you can trust him to look after Lacey for you.”

”You talked to Lacey after I expressly asked you not to?” Her tone was as sharp as a slap in the face.

”You're piquing me, Sandy. What would Lacey tell me that you'd rather I didn't hear?”

”My name is Alex now. I wish you'd make an effort to remember. Teddy Trant really wants you to take this job. He asked me personally to offer it to you.”

So maybe Abigail was putting a finger in my pie. ”I'm excited. I didn't think the big guy knew I was on the planet. Unless BB Baladine told him?”

That made her huffy. ”He knows about you because I recommended you. After Murray gave you a glowing buildup, I might add.”

”I'm grateful to both of you, but the answer is still no.”

”Then you're making a big mistake. Think it-”

”That almost sounds like a threat, Sandy. Alex, that is.”

”Friendly advice. Although why I bother I don't know. Think it over, think it better. I'll leave the offer open until noon tomorrow.” She broke the connection with a snap.

”Murray can do better for himself than that” was Mary Louise's only comment when I repeated the conversation before taking off.

My presentation went well; the lawyers gave me a small job with the prospect of bigger ones to follow. When I got back at four, Mary Louise had completed her calls and typed up a neat report for me to send over to Continental United in the morning. Altogether a more productive day than I'd had lately.

I finished my share of the report and went over to Lotty's. We try to get together once a week, but tonight was our first chance for a relaxed conversation in over a month.

While we ate smoked salmon on her tiny balcony, I caught Lotty up on the little I knew of Nicola Aguinaldo's story. When I told her about Morrell, Lotty went into her study and brought out a copy of Vanis.h.i.+ng into Silence, his book on the Disappeared in Chile and Argentina. I looked at the photograph on the jacket flap. Of course I'd only seen Morrell by candlelight, and he was seven or eight years younger in the picture, but it was obviously the same man. He had a thin face and was smiling slightly, as if mocking himself for posing for a photograph.

I borrowed the book from her-I wanted to get an idea of how Morrell thought, or at least what he thought. After that, Lotty and I talked idly about other matters. Lotty's is an intense, sometimes stormy presence, but in her home, with its polished floors and vivid colors, I always find a rea.s.suring haven.

Lotty's workday starts at six. I left early, my mood benign enough to take on dull household tasks: I put my laundry away, cleaned the mold out of the bathtub, washed down the kitchen cabinets and floor. The bedroom could use a vacuuming, but my domesticity spreads only so far. I planted myself in front of the piano and began picking out a fughetta with slow, loud fingers.

It's possible, as the detective at the Trianon had said yesterday, that my dad would have loved to see me follow in his footsteps, but I knew my mother would not. She wanted me to live a life of erudition if not artistry, to inhabit the milieu the second World War had destroyed for her-concerts, books, voice lessons, friends who lived for music and art. She had made me learn both piano and voice, hoping I would have the vocal career the war had taken from her. She certainly would have resented anyone who called me a bluecollar girl.

I moved from the fughetta to warming up my voice, which I hadn't done for several weeks. I was finding my middle range when the phone rang. It was Morrell.

”Ms. Warshawski. I'm in the neighborhood. Can I come up for a minute?”

”I'm not ready for company. Can't we do this on the phone?”

”I'd rather not. And I won't be company-I'll be gone so fast you almost won't know I was there.”

I'd changed into cutoffs for my housework, and my arms and legs were streaked with dirt. So be it. If he wanted to drop in on me unawares, he had to take me as I was. I went back to my middle voice and let Mr. Contreras and the dogs answer the bell when Morrell rang.

I waited a minute before going out to the landing. My neighbor was interrogating Morrell: ”Is she expecting you this late at night, young man? She never mentioned you before that I ever heard of.”

I laughed a little but ran down the stairs in my bare feet before the woman who lived opposite Mr. Contreras came out to complain about the noise. ”It's okay.

He's got some information for a case I'm working on.”

I introduced Morrell to Peppy. ”This is the police dog. The big guy is her son.

And this is my neighbor and good friend, Mr. Contreras.”

The old man had been looking hurt that I hadn't told him about Morrell earlier, but my introduction appeased him slightly. He took the dogs back inside the apartment after only a very small discourse on how I needed to let him know what strangers to expect when the police were on my b.u.t.t.

Morrell followed me up the stairs. ”I suppose with a neighbor like that you don't need a security system. Reminds me of the villages in Guatemala, where people seem to look out for each other more than we do here.”