Fidelity

18

Jerry Hobart lay on the bed in his hotel room. The lights in the valley below Universal City had come on, and the sky above looked black. He wanted to get back to sleep, but now that Forrest had called him, he couldn’t. It wasn’t the call, but the wave of deep hatred he had allowed himself to feel for Theodore Forrest that had made him alert and restless, and kept him thinking. Why had Forrest even called-to get Hobart’s assurance that he wasn’t goofing off? He must know that if Hobart had already killed Mrs. Kramer, he would have let Forrest know he was ready to get paid. Forrest was just calling because he was impatient, and he imagined that his voice would speed things up.

Rich people thought that telling someone to do something was the same as doing it. And Forrest was a member of the class that wasn’t used to waiting for things. They didn’t wait for anything they wanted to go on sale; they didn’t save up for anything; they didn’t wait in lines. Rich people had a bizarre, unshakable belief in the magical power of their own neediness.

Hobart had been awake all night rummaging through the detective-agency office, tying up the night watchman, and then scaring the shit out of Mrs. Kramer, and he had not yet caught up on his sleep. He resented the fact that Forrest had cut his rest short.

He had wondered why Forrest would worry so much about this detective in Los Angeles that he wanted him killed. Two hundred thousand for having somebody popped was probably not a problem for a man like Forrest. Very rich people had complicated finances, so it was easy for them to pay out money without having anybody else notice it was missing and wonder where it went. But what would induce a man like Forrest to take the risk? Paying a shooter was a risky way to solve a problem. If Hobart was caught or killed, then police would spend the next few months examining every phone call he had made or received, attempting to figure out the source of every dollar he had. They would look at every credit-card transaction to piece together all of his movements for the past year. They would do their best to make a list of everyone Hobart had seen or talked to in that period. Why would a man who didn’t have to take risks accept that one? The only answer Hobart could think of was that Phil Kramer had known something ugly and dangerous about Forrest that he might decide to reveal.

Hobart had assumed that whatever the dirt on Forrest was, it was only in Phil Kramer’s head, not hidden in his house or office or something. Otherwise, killing him would be pointless. But now that it was done, suddenly Forrest wanted Phil Kramer’s widow killed, too. That changed everything. The information Forrest was worried about couldn’t have been destroyed with Phil Kramer. It was still out there. And if it was, then there was no reason why Jerry Hobart couldn’t use it for himself.

Hobart’s impatience was growing. He needed to find out what the secret was. He already regretted that he had committed himself to finding out, but he had. If Hobart had simply stepped into Mrs. Kramer’s bedroom and shot her dead last night, then Hobart would never have a problem. But instead of killing her, he had committed himself to finding out what the hell Theodore Forrest was so anxious to keep secret.

Hobart sat up in bed. When he had broken the lock on the door of the detective agency, he had started a clock. He didn’t find the secret there, so he had to go straight to the Kramer house. He had cut the process short by trying to scare Emily Kramer into telling him, and now he was no longer certain that Emily Kramer even knew what it was.

Hobart had not done well with Mrs. Kramer. Wearing a ski mask wasn’t the same as being unseen. She knew his height and weight, had heard his voice, had seen his eyes and hands. Going to see the widow had seemed necessary to him last night, but it was a misstep. He had learned nothing about Forrest’s secret.

Hobart tried out various plans. He could walk away from the job and leave Emily Kramer alive. What she had already told the police by now was all she would ever tell. What was it? She would have told the police what he had asked her for: a piece of information, printed or recorded in some way, that was embarrassing or incriminating to a powerful man. Tonight, telling her even that much struck him as another mistake. She, possibly with their help, would already be searching the house and the office for anything Hobart had missed.

But maybe she was too smart to have told the police about that part of it. If she knew that the information was valuable and illegal, and that her husband had been hiding it, she would have lots of reasons to keep that knowledge to herself. And maybe she had known about it all along. Maybe her husband had let her in on his plans at the beginning. No, he decided. She really had not known what Hobart was talking about when he had demanded she give it to him.

Hobart had created a terrible problem for himself. He had set Emily Kramer-and possibly the police-to looking for the information. If Emily Kramer or the police found it before he did, then they would know that Theodore Forrest was the one who’d had Phil Kramer killed. The police would arrest him, or at least watch him closely and talk to him. At some point, Forrest would learn what had set off the search that led to him. When he did, what were the chances that he would not turn in Jerry Hobart?

Hobart could simply kill Emily Kramer now and collect his fee from Theodore Forrest. That would keep both Emily Kramer and Forrest quiet. But it would still leave Hobart open to an unknown risk. The police and Mrs. Kramer’s detective friends would search even harder for the piece of information.

If only he had walked into Emily Kramer’s room and blown a hole in her head while she slept. She would not have had a chance to describe him or tell anyone he was looking for something. He would have had a couple of hours, at least, to search the house and find the information. He might even have been able to stay in the Kramer house all day searching, then left sometime tonight.

Hobart stood up and dressed quickly. He had set off the search for the secret, and now he had to be the one to find it.