Bad Business

42

I t was maybe the first really great day of summer. Cloudless, bright, temperature about eighty. No humidity. I got to my office early, started the coffee, opened all three windows in my office bay, swiveled my chair, and put my feet up on the windowsill. There was just enough breeze to move the air pleasantly. The coffeemaker made a soothing noise until it finished. I got up and poured a cup and went back to the window. I felt like singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."

I heard the door open behind me and as I started to swivel back, I heard Adele McCallister say, "My God, Spenser, I don't know what to do."

I was around now, and had my feet on the floor.

"You could close the door," I said.

"Oh, of course."

She went back and closed it and came to my desk and stood. "Gavin's dead," she said.

"Yes," I said, "I know."

"I heard it was suicide."

I nodded.

"Was it?"

"Probably not," I said.

"Oh, God. Oh my God."

I gestured toward my client chair. "Sit down," I said.

"No. God, I ... You have to help me."

"I will," I said.

"I told him. I told Gavin and now he's dead."

"You think the two facts are related?" I said.

"Of course, if its not a suicide, of course they are. Somebody killed him and if they killed him they will kill me."

"No," I said. "They won't."

"You have to protect me."

"I will," I said.

She went past me to the open windows and looked down at the street.

"Do you have a gun?" she said.

"Several."

"Oh my God, where am I going to go," Adele said. "I never had anything to do with anything like this before. For crissake I'm a Stanford MBA."

She walked away from the windows and went to my door and looked at it and turned and walked back to my desk and looked at it and at the file cabinet and the big picture of Susan that stood on top of it and turned back and passed me and looked out the window again.

"You're going to be all right," I said. "Sit, we'll talk."

"I can't. I . . ."

Her face reddened. She began to cry. Not a big full-out boohoo cry, but a sort of hiccup-y cry. Some tears, but not a downpour. I stood and put one arm around her shoulders and stayed with her, looking out at my corner, which was Berkeley Street where it meets Boylston. She whimpered a little more, then turned in against me and put her face against my chest and let herself do a full cry. While I waited for her to finish, I watched the foot traffic below. The girls from the insurance companies always looked especially good in their summer wardrobes. After a while she quieted and I took her by the shoulders and turned her and sat her in a client chair in front of my desk. Then I went around my desk and sat in my swivel. For dramatic effect I took a .357 Magnum from my desk drawer and placed it on the desk.

"Is that loaded?" she said.

Her eyes were red and her face had that puffy aftercrying look.

"Yes. Not much point to an unloaded gun."

She nodded.

"Can you help me?" she said.

"Of course," I said. "Even better if I know what's going on."

"Don't you see," she said. "I told Gavin and he must have investigated and they killed him."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure who they are," she said.

"Tell me what you told Gavin," I said.

"We are running out of cash," Adele said.

"Who?"

"Kinergy. We don't have enough cash to get through the summer."

"Why?" I said.

"I don't know yet," she said. "I just discovered it by accident."

"What does it mean not to have enough cash to get through the summer?" I said.

"We can't service our debt. For Christ sake we won't be able to meet our payroll."

"That's just like me being out of cash," I said.

"Same thing, on a grander scale. If Wall Street gets this the stock will tank."

"You have stock?"

"Tons."

"Other executives?"

"Tons. It was part of our compensation package. And the lower-level employees. Their pensions are mostly invested in Kinergy stock. They'll be broke."

"Why'd you tell Gavin?"

"I didn't know who to tell. Coop is mostly in Washington. He may not know. If he does know, he may not want me to know. Trent and Bernie ran things. If it's as bad as I think, Bernie won't want me to know."

"You fear reprisal," I said, "for reporting an economic fact?"

"Oh, God, yes. You don't know. How would you. You don't know what Kinergy is like. Have you ever worked in a big company?"

"U.S. Army," I said. "Middlesex County DA."

"No, no. I mean big business."

"I know what you mean," I said. "I was being frivolous."

"Oh."

"So you told Gavin what you had discovered. What did he say?"

"He said I was almost certainly mistaken, and I insisted I was not, and he said that I should keep my mouth shut about it and talk to no one until he'd had a chance to look into it. He said he'd get back to me."

"Why Gavin?" I said.

"Because I thought he was honest. I mean he's weird and you know, anal, all buttoned down and zipped up, but he is loyal to Coop, and I think he had integrity."

"And did you tell anyone else?"

"No."

"Did he get back to you?"

"I don't know. The next thing I heard was he was dead."

"And you don't know how much he looked into it, if at all?"

"No."

"But you feel his death is related?"

"Yes. Don't you? I mean I tell him something dreadful, and the next thing I know he's dead."

"Breakfast doesn't cause lunch," I said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"The fact that one thing precedes another doesn't mean one thing causes another."

"Oh," she said. "I know all that. But do I want to risk getting killed for some fucking formal logic rule?"

"No," I said. "You don't."