49.

Claire goldin was the sixth name that Lois had given me. Like the previous five, and probably the next ten, she had dated the former Bradley Turner during her college years. And in her case, for several years after. We met for coffee in Tower City. She had a noticeable body and blond highlights in her hair.

“I didn’t care that he was endlessly promiscuous,” she said and smiled at me. “So was I.”

“Was?” I said.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Always a day late,” I said. “And a dollar short.”

“But I had a rule against married men, and I found out he was married.”

“Who was he married to?”

“I don’t know. But he always came to my place, we never went to his. And I sort of wondered about that. Then I saw a man following us. I saw him a couple of times. There was no reason for anybody to follow me.” She grinned again. “For crissake, I hadn’t even been married yet.”

“You’re married now,” I said.

“Third time. I’m trying to make it work.”

“Love?” I said.

“Enhanced by money,” she said. “Anyway, I asked Brad about it, the guy following us. And he said it was the government. That they’d been trying to get something on him ever since he was fi rst active in the movement.”

“Did he mention anything specifi c?”

“No. And I didn’t ask. I’m just a simple sexpot,” she said.

“I like that in a woman,” I said.

She laughed.

“I’ll bet you do,” she said. “And you look like you could handle it.”

“Years of training,” I said.

She laughed again.

“So I didn’t know anything about the movement, and still don’t,” she said. “But I got the license plate number on the car, and I have a brother who’s a cop in Toledo. So I asked him to fi nd out who the guy was.”

“And?”

“My brother says it’s not the government at all. It’s a guy named Fred Schuler, who lists his occupation as private investigator. So my brother called him and Schuler tells him that he’s been hired by Brad’s wife to see if he’s faithful.”

“Just like that?” I said.

“I think my brother threatened him a little.” She smiled.

“Big brother, you know?”

“Did you ask Turner about this?” I said.

“Hell no,” she said. “I got places to go, people to see. There were plenty more where he came from.”

“Did you say good-bye?”

She shook her head.

“I stopped returning his calls,” she said. “After a couple of tries, he stopped calling.”

“So you never talked to him again after your brother told you about the private eye.”

“Correct,” she said.

“And that would have been when?” I said.

She leaned her head back a little and closed her eyes to think.

“I graduated in 1990,” she said, her head still tilted, her eyes still closed. “And we stayed in touch . . .”

She opened her eyes and nodded. She had very big eyes and she made them up well. I had long observed that big eyes were a defi nite fashion plus.

“About four years after graduation,” she said, “1994, early summer. I remember we were sitting outside at a café when I fi rst spotted the guy following us.”

I had a small notebook and I wrote down Claire Goldin and the year, 1994.

“And you still remember Fred Schuler’s name,” I said.

“It reminded me of that football coach,” she said.

“Don Shula?”

“Yes. Did you know he once played for the Browns?” she said.

“Don Shula,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Not Fred Schuler?”

“You’re silly,” she said.

“Admittedly,” I said. “Did you ever go see Fred Schuler?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t seen nor heard from Bradley Turner since?”

“No.”

I took out a business card and handed it to her.

“If you have any other thoughts,” I said.

“Sure,” she said.

“And good luck with the current marriage,” I said. She took the card and read it and smiled.

“Plus,” she said, “if it doesn’t work out, I have your card.”

“Bench strength is good,” I said.

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