Loren D. Estleman - Amos Walker 17 - Retro by Loren D. Estleman Page A
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
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it’s any of your affair. You’ll get no details under this roof.”
“She could leave it to Underwear for Animals as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t ask. When homicide’s involved, a lot of penny action draws more fire than it would ordinarily. IRS will be curious about whether she declared all her illegal income. Since she ran a cathouse for forty years, it would all be illegal. The tax boys won’t care as long as they get their cut. An inquiry like that could tie up the estate until the Tigers win a pennant.”
“We have an excellent tax attorney on staff.”
“You’d better have a good PR guy, too. Otherwise you’ll go on
Sixty Minutes
as the best-dressed collection of pimps in history.”
He didn’t throw himself down on the carpet and gnaw on a table leg. I hadn’t expected him to. He did the next best thing, which was fold his hands behind his back. In that position he resembled the Duke of Wellington, when it still looked like Waterloo could go either way.
“And how do you, one man in one little office, propose to prevent that from happening?”
“It’s a suite,” I said. “One and a half rooms and a water closet. I can’t prevent it. No one can. But with a professional investigator on retainer to get to the bottom of the Garnet mess, you might manage to look like a respectable corporation of counselors that got a little egg on its face and would like to know who threw it.”
“Have you ever worked in public relations?”
“No. I do all my lying for free.”
He unlocked one of his hands and stroked the slick surface of the folder in front of him. “My partners and I retain an agency to conduct our investigations. We only approached you in the matter just ended because the late Mrs. Garnet requested it. Why should we use you now?”
“There’s every reason not to. Your partners will scream at you. I don’t have any extra manpower unless I go outside, which is playing with fire when it comes to keeping things confidential, and what connections I have don’t go far up. My references are no good, because if having top billing in a firm this size means anything, you already checked those out when Beryl mentioned me. I can’t offer a thing your regular agency can’t a couple of hundred times over with everything on it, except one.”
“Good old-fashioned Yankee know-how?” His face broke into crossgrains when he lifted his lip.
“A running start.”
I couldn’t read his expression. He’d stood in front of too many juries. “You’ll save us money on legwork? That’s your offer?”
“Two or three thousand, minimum. Assuming your agency’s minimum is my maximum.”
“Two or three thousand. We spend that much every week on erasers.”
“Your people make too many mistakes. You brought up money, not me. I’m saving you headlines. One local television station can air a hundred sound bites in one day. Multiply that by however many stations there are in this country. Don’t even count the twenty-four-hour news networks, where the crawl never stops. Ask your partners where they stand on that.”
“Are you actually saying you intend to solve this—murder?”
“I may solve two. No charge for the extra.”
“The father? What the devil do I care who murdered him?”
“Garnet cared. Maybe someone else cared he cared. It’s the long shot of long shots: fifty-three years and counting. But it has to be played.”
“With my money.”
“Yours and Zinzser’s. Is there a Zinzser, by the way, or is he like Betty Crocker?”
“He’s semi-retired. His always was the wiser head.”
I heard the knock before he did. I didn’t say anything. After a moment he shook himself like a lean old dog. “Yes?”
“A man to see you, Mr. Meldrum. He says he’s with the sheriff’s department.” Even from the other side of a door, Judy sounded as exotic as she looked.
“I’ll see him in my office.” To me: “Wait in reception. If I send word to show you out, that will be my
“She could leave it to Underwear for Animals as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t ask. When homicide’s involved, a lot of penny action draws more fire than it would ordinarily. IRS will be curious about whether she declared all her illegal income. Since she ran a cathouse for forty years, it would all be illegal. The tax boys won’t care as long as they get their cut. An inquiry like that could tie up the estate until the Tigers win a pennant.”
“We have an excellent tax attorney on staff.”
“You’d better have a good PR guy, too. Otherwise you’ll go on
Sixty Minutes
as the best-dressed collection of pimps in history.”
He didn’t throw himself down on the carpet and gnaw on a table leg. I hadn’t expected him to. He did the next best thing, which was fold his hands behind his back. In that position he resembled the Duke of Wellington, when it still looked like Waterloo could go either way.
“And how do you, one man in one little office, propose to prevent that from happening?”
“It’s a suite,” I said. “One and a half rooms and a water closet. I can’t prevent it. No one can. But with a professional investigator on retainer to get to the bottom of the Garnet mess, you might manage to look like a respectable corporation of counselors that got a little egg on its face and would like to know who threw it.”
“Have you ever worked in public relations?”
“No. I do all my lying for free.”
He unlocked one of his hands and stroked the slick surface of the folder in front of him. “My partners and I retain an agency to conduct our investigations. We only approached you in the matter just ended because the late Mrs. Garnet requested it. Why should we use you now?”
“There’s every reason not to. Your partners will scream at you. I don’t have any extra manpower unless I go outside, which is playing with fire when it comes to keeping things confidential, and what connections I have don’t go far up. My references are no good, because if having top billing in a firm this size means anything, you already checked those out when Beryl mentioned me. I can’t offer a thing your regular agency can’t a couple of hundred times over with everything on it, except one.”
“Good old-fashioned Yankee know-how?” His face broke into crossgrains when he lifted his lip.
“A running start.”
I couldn’t read his expression. He’d stood in front of too many juries. “You’ll save us money on legwork? That’s your offer?”
“Two or three thousand, minimum. Assuming your agency’s minimum is my maximum.”
“Two or three thousand. We spend that much every week on erasers.”
“Your people make too many mistakes. You brought up money, not me. I’m saving you headlines. One local television station can air a hundred sound bites in one day. Multiply that by however many stations there are in this country. Don’t even count the twenty-four-hour news networks, where the crawl never stops. Ask your partners where they stand on that.”
“Are you actually saying you intend to solve this—murder?”
“I may solve two. No charge for the extra.”
“The father? What the devil do I care who murdered him?”
“Garnet cared. Maybe someone else cared he cared. It’s the long shot of long shots: fifty-three years and counting. But it has to be played.”
“With my money.”
“Yours and Zinzser’s. Is there a Zinzser, by the way, or is he like Betty Crocker?”
“He’s semi-retired. His always was the wiser head.”
I heard the knock before he did. I didn’t say anything. After a moment he shook himself like a lean old dog. “Yes?”
“A man to see you, Mr. Meldrum. He says he’s with the sheriff’s department.” Even from the other side of a door, Judy sounded as exotic as she looked.
“I’ll see him in my office.” To me: “Wait in reception. If I send word to show you out, that will be my
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