some kind of god or something. He lived there about a year. She kept his personal effects and let me look through them. She thought it was kind of thrilling that somebody from her house was killed in an accident. There wasn’t anything in his stuff. A couple of yellow newspaper clippings about Fred Ernlist setting touchdown records at Union Hill High School. That’s in Union City, New Jersey. The clippings looked like they were twenty years old. There was a clipping about Fred dying in Vietnam. It said he was survived by his father, James, predeceased by his mother, Mildred. No mention of brothers or sisters. So the way I figure it, that was his kid who died and maybe he went to the bottle because he didn’t have a family and he wound up down here."
"Probably," Digger said. "That sounds right. If you’re going to be miserable anyway, you might as well be warm."
"I double checked at the Silver Spoon Restaurant. He had worked there about three years. The manager, a Dominick Attas, said that Ernlist was a drifter. He was a good waiter but he missed more than his share of days, out sick. He had a drinking problem, Attas said. He never talked about his family and he didn’t have any friends or girlfriend or anything. He had a cable television hookup in his room. He watched sports like twenty-four hours a day. They’ve got some kind of sports network…."
"I know," Digger said. "You can use it to watch last week’s car races. It’s as exciting as watching water evaporate. Did you cab it to the Silver Spoon?"
"No, I walked again. It was only a couple of blocks from Ernlist’s room."
"And where from there?"
"The fourth name on your list was Anthony Montivini. His address doesn’t exist. It’s an empty lot."
"Maybe the building was just torn down."
"No, I checked. It was always an empty lot."
"Well, you’ve already earned your salary," Digger said. "I don’t think the company has to pay if the guy put down a spook address."
"You mean I already saved your company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"
"It looks that way."
"Shit, Digger, this work’s easy."
"Don’t let on. I’ve got Brackler conned."
"Well, I know what we’re going to do. We’re going to take some of that saved company money and you’re going to buy me dinner tonight at a place with real paper napkins and genuine stainless steel forks."
"Should we do that before or after making love?"
"Instead of," Koko said coldly. "I haven’t forgotten how you tricked me into coming down here."
Chapter Ten
DIGGER’S LOG:
Added to the master file is an interview conducted by me at approximately 8:30 P.M. tonight with Miss Tamiko Fanucci, resident of Las Vegas.
Miss Fanucci, on temporary duty for old Benevolent and Saintly, attempted to find the background data on four of the persons believed to have died in the Interworld crash. Those four are Walter Smith, Charles McGovern, James Ernlist, and Anthony Montivini.
The Montivini address given on the insurance application is nonexistent and Miss Fanucci could find nothing about him. The other three men lived at the addresses they gave. None of them had families. Each was known to have known Reverend Wardell.
I spoke on the telephone tonight with Detective David Coley who will run the passenger list through the police department records to see if there is someone with an interesting police record.
The investigation is continuing. I guess I am going to have to talk to the Reverend Wardell. I want to meet the man who is so universally loved that forty people made him their insurance beneficiary. Just before their plane conveniently vanishes.
Koko is sleeping. We had dinner tonight. She knows how to find expensive restaurants, that’s for sure. But she may have saved the company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars today so I’m sure Kwash will approve.
She’s keeping her own record of expenses. My expenses tonight: dinner for two, one hundred and seventeen dollars. I’ll pick up the dime for
"Probably," Digger said. "That sounds right. If you’re going to be miserable anyway, you might as well be warm."
"I double checked at the Silver Spoon Restaurant. He had worked there about three years. The manager, a Dominick Attas, said that Ernlist was a drifter. He was a good waiter but he missed more than his share of days, out sick. He had a drinking problem, Attas said. He never talked about his family and he didn’t have any friends or girlfriend or anything. He had a cable television hookup in his room. He watched sports like twenty-four hours a day. They’ve got some kind of sports network…."
"I know," Digger said. "You can use it to watch last week’s car races. It’s as exciting as watching water evaporate. Did you cab it to the Silver Spoon?"
"No, I walked again. It was only a couple of blocks from Ernlist’s room."
"And where from there?"
"The fourth name on your list was Anthony Montivini. His address doesn’t exist. It’s an empty lot."
"Maybe the building was just torn down."
"No, I checked. It was always an empty lot."
"Well, you’ve already earned your salary," Digger said. "I don’t think the company has to pay if the guy put down a spook address."
"You mean I already saved your company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"
"It looks that way."
"Shit, Digger, this work’s easy."
"Don’t let on. I’ve got Brackler conned."
"Well, I know what we’re going to do. We’re going to take some of that saved company money and you’re going to buy me dinner tonight at a place with real paper napkins and genuine stainless steel forks."
"Should we do that before or after making love?"
"Instead of," Koko said coldly. "I haven’t forgotten how you tricked me into coming down here."
Chapter Ten
DIGGER’S LOG:
Added to the master file is an interview conducted by me at approximately 8:30 P.M. tonight with Miss Tamiko Fanucci, resident of Las Vegas.
Miss Fanucci, on temporary duty for old Benevolent and Saintly, attempted to find the background data on four of the persons believed to have died in the Interworld crash. Those four are Walter Smith, Charles McGovern, James Ernlist, and Anthony Montivini.
The Montivini address given on the insurance application is nonexistent and Miss Fanucci could find nothing about him. The other three men lived at the addresses they gave. None of them had families. Each was known to have known Reverend Wardell.
I spoke on the telephone tonight with Detective David Coley who will run the passenger list through the police department records to see if there is someone with an interesting police record.
The investigation is continuing. I guess I am going to have to talk to the Reverend Wardell. I want to meet the man who is so universally loved that forty people made him their insurance beneficiary. Just before their plane conveniently vanishes.
Koko is sleeping. We had dinner tonight. She knows how to find expensive restaurants, that’s for sure. But she may have saved the company a hundred and fifty thousand dollars today so I’m sure Kwash will approve.
She’s keeping her own record of expenses. My expenses tonight: dinner for two, one hundred and seventeen dollars. I’ll pick up the dime for
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