Bad Business

17

A fter lunch, Susan went home to shuffle her new clothes around, and I went down to 100 Summer Street to visit the Templeton Group, which was a small office in a big building. There were two desks in the office, and a client chair and a telephone. Jerry Francis was at one of the desks. No one was at the other.

"Not the biggest group I ever saw," I said when I went in. Francis remembered me.

"Hey," he said. "There's another guy here, too."

"Templeton?" I said.

"There is no Templeton," Francis said. "My partner's name is Bellini. We thought Templeton Group sounded good with the address."

"Nothing is as it appears," I said. "I'm looking for a little help. Gumshoe to gumshoe."

"I'm starting to choke up," Francis said. "Whaddya want?"

"What can you tell me about Marlene Rowley? Or her husband?"

"It's against company policy . . ." Francis said.

I said the rest of it with him. ". . . to discuss any aspect of a case with any unauthorized person."

"Fast learner," Francis said.

"Yeah. I was hoping for collegial cooperation here," I said. "But I see that's not forthcoming. Lemme try another approach. Your client was murdered. I have made no mention of you to the investigating officers."

"And if I stand firm on company policy?" Francis said.

"Then the cops will be asking you."

"You'd rat me out to the cops."

"Well put," I said.

"What happened to collegiality?" Francis said.

"Outmoded concept," I said. "Tell me about Marlene and Trent."

He wasn't wearing his fancy sunglasses inside, and it left his eyes looking sort of vulnerable. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk and clasped his hands behind his head.

"Nice names," he said. "Marlene and Trent. It's like they were born to be yuppies."

"Just fulfilling their destiny," I said.

"So this guy Trent Rowley comes in to see us, says he thinks his wife is fooling around on him, wants her followed."

"Did he say how he came to you?"

"No, and we didn't ask."

"The cash up front made a good bona fide."

"It did," Francis said. "So Mario--Bellini, my partner--Mario asks him is he looking for divorce evidence. You know? It's one thing to see her with some other guy. It's another thing if they get into court."

I nodded.

"He says he wants to know everyone she sees," Francis said. "Men, women, everybody. I think to myself, what is she, an equal opportunity cheater? But I don't say nothing because we ain't doing so well we can be messing with prospective clients, you know?"

"Maybe you should downgrade the location," I said.

"Impresses the clients," he said.

"So you tailed her," I said.

"Yep, two shifts, sixteen hours a day. Mario took one, I took the other. We figured she had to sleep eight hours."

"Get a third partner," I said. "You can offer twenty-four-hour service."

"Then we could get that eye, you know, says we never sleep?"

"I think somebody already used that," I said. "What did you observe?"

"Observe? Whoa, you can really talk."

"I know a woman with a Ph.D.," I said.

"She hot?"

"Yes. What did you see?"

"Marlene ain't got much of a life," Francis said. "She goes to the market couple times a week. Goes to the hairdresser on Wednesdays. Has a personal trainer come in three times a week. Went to a play at that theater near Harvard Square Friday night."

"The American Repertory Theater," I said.

"Whatever," Francis said. "Thing is, she went alone. She goes every place alone. In the time we been tailing her I never seen her with anyone except her trainer, and Mario says he ain't either."

"Trainer a man or woman?"

"Man. "

"Get a name?"

"Sure, traced his tags. Name's Mark Silver. Lives in Gloucester."

"She go places with her husband?" I said.

"I never saw him except that once. Maybe he came home after eleven at night when we wasn't on the clock."

"Weekends?"

"Never seen him."

"So you call him at work to report."

"Nope. He calls us. I don't even know where he works."

"So where do you send the bill?" I said.

"Don't," Francis said. "He come in every Friday and paid us for the week ahead."

"Check?"

"Cash."

"Doesn't that seem a little funny to you?"

"Sure," Francis said, "but it was a lot of cash."

"Why would a guy have you tail his wife and go to so much trouble to conceal his identity?" I said.

"Figured we could always find him if we had to," Francis said. "We got his home address."

"Maybe," I said.

Francis was still sitting tilted back, hands behind his head. He remained in that position for another moment then slowly picked his feet up and put them on the ground. The chair tilted forward. He unlaced his hands and put them palms down on his desktop and drummed his fingertips lightly.

"You think it ain't him?" Francis said.

"You ever see them together?"

"Just that one time."

"What's he look like?"

"Medium-size blond guy," Francis said. "Very blond, little mustache. Rimless glasses. Looks in shape."

I nodded.

"Yeah," I said. "Sounds like him."