"Okay, Horowitz. You're on my list now. You be where I want you when I want you, and you report anything you learn to me even before you tell your client. I'm letting you run only because I think you're what you say you are— a stalking horse. I have to say, though, that I don't like you very much. I don't give a damn about P.I.'s one way or the other as long as they stay out of my way, but if you're working for the ones he stiffed you're no better than they are. You're free only so long as you're useful, but to me you smell like an accessory, and that's the way it'll read if your client finds out something from you before I do. Get it?"
"I got it. Now I'm telling you to back off and give me some room. All you'll do is spook everything if you come along with your heavy boots like you did here. I don't care who gets him, but I want a crack."
Kennedy shrugged. "We'll keep a safe distance, don't worry. I'll even give you one lead, if you don't have it already. Not much, but it's a brick wall. He had a second life someplace. He'd be gone sometimes from home for weeks at a stretch, supposedly out of town on business, but the bank has no record of those trips or expenses for them. His marriage has been mostly name only for years."
I raised my eyebrows. "Mistress on the side?"
"If so, we can't find any trace of her. It's weird. He'd be at the bank sometimes but never leave the parking lot to go home. That's why nobody was surprised that his car stayed there overnight. Sometimes he'd take a leave of absence for a while, often up to a week every month, but nobody knows where. He sure didn't use any family funds, or bank funds, either."
"Nice puzzle. Let me see what I can do."
I drove off then, feeling very lucky, but I was now paranoid about every pair of headlights. Now, at least, I knew why we were worth the bucks. We'd trod the well-worn trails with the feds knowing us and breathing hard on us while Little Jimmy's big agency, probably an out-of-towner, poked and probed in anonymity. Was it worth fifty gees—maybe a hundred, the way Brandy was using that card—to somebody to do that? When this much was at stake, maybe it was.
Brandy was waiting at the diner, and I told her about the feds and what I'd learned. Come to think of it, except for the picture, I'd learned more from Kennedy than I had from Mrs. Whitlock. Brandy, however, had far more.
"He's pretty kinky and she knows it," she told me. "There's three closets up there in the master bedroom. His, hers, and hers."
"Two wives? He keeps his mistress's clothing at his house?"
"Uh uh. The other hers is also a his. He's a transvestite. He likes dressing up in women's clothing and pretending to be one. Minnie says there's an old album "she found once in a closet that shows him in drag back from his teenage days. She says he's better looking than his wife."
"Hmmm. . . . That explains a lot, including how he was able to vanish so completely even in a panic, and maybe why his marriage is a name-only affair. So he is a thrill seeker after all. Probably not gay, though. Few of them are."
"He might swing both ways. That's Minnie's feeling, anyway. But most of the stuff at the house hasn't been touched in months, and the bulk of it was donated to the Goodwill long ago."
It was beginning to come together. If he had photos, so did others, and somebody on the wrong side, maybe even an old classmate from Harvard who was graduating Magna Cosa Nostra, knew about it and filed it away. He had another place somewhere, and that place was probably downtown. He had periods when he came to work normally, yet didn't go home at night. He wouldn't want to risk going even by taxi or public transportation, for fear of being recognized by some bank employee or other and finally being traced. That meant walking distance.
"Sansom Street," we both said together. "Now, who do we know in that area?" I added, trying to think.
Sansom was a tiny little street right downtown that was the focus for the
"I got it. Now I'm telling you to back off and give me some room. All you'll do is spook everything if you come along with your heavy boots like you did here. I don't care who gets him, but I want a crack."
Kennedy shrugged. "We'll keep a safe distance, don't worry. I'll even give you one lead, if you don't have it already. Not much, but it's a brick wall. He had a second life someplace. He'd be gone sometimes from home for weeks at a stretch, supposedly out of town on business, but the bank has no record of those trips or expenses for them. His marriage has been mostly name only for years."
I raised my eyebrows. "Mistress on the side?"
"If so, we can't find any trace of her. It's weird. He'd be at the bank sometimes but never leave the parking lot to go home. That's why nobody was surprised that his car stayed there overnight. Sometimes he'd take a leave of absence for a while, often up to a week every month, but nobody knows where. He sure didn't use any family funds, or bank funds, either."
"Nice puzzle. Let me see what I can do."
I drove off then, feeling very lucky, but I was now paranoid about every pair of headlights. Now, at least, I knew why we were worth the bucks. We'd trod the well-worn trails with the feds knowing us and breathing hard on us while Little Jimmy's big agency, probably an out-of-towner, poked and probed in anonymity. Was it worth fifty gees—maybe a hundred, the way Brandy was using that card—to somebody to do that? When this much was at stake, maybe it was.
Brandy was waiting at the diner, and I told her about the feds and what I'd learned. Come to think of it, except for the picture, I'd learned more from Kennedy than I had from Mrs. Whitlock. Brandy, however, had far more.
"He's pretty kinky and she knows it," she told me. "There's three closets up there in the master bedroom. His, hers, and hers."
"Two wives? He keeps his mistress's clothing at his house?"
"Uh uh. The other hers is also a his. He's a transvestite. He likes dressing up in women's clothing and pretending to be one. Minnie says there's an old album "she found once in a closet that shows him in drag back from his teenage days. She says he's better looking than his wife."
"Hmmm. . . . That explains a lot, including how he was able to vanish so completely even in a panic, and maybe why his marriage is a name-only affair. So he is a thrill seeker after all. Probably not gay, though. Few of them are."
"He might swing both ways. That's Minnie's feeling, anyway. But most of the stuff at the house hasn't been touched in months, and the bulk of it was donated to the Goodwill long ago."
It was beginning to come together. If he had photos, so did others, and somebody on the wrong side, maybe even an old classmate from Harvard who was graduating Magna Cosa Nostra, knew about it and filed it away. He had another place somewhere, and that place was probably downtown. He had periods when he came to work normally, yet didn't go home at night. He wouldn't want to risk going even by taxi or public transportation, for fear of being recognized by some bank employee or other and finally being traced. That meant walking distance.
"Sansom Street," we both said together. "Now, who do we know in that area?" I added, trying to think.
Sansom was a tiny little street right downtown that was the focus for the
Similar Books
