One False Move

22

Myron put a call into Win. He quickly told him what’d happened.

«Wasteful,» Win agreed.

«He hit a woman.»

«Then shoot him in the knee. Permanently injure him. A kick in the scrotum is wasteful.»

Proper Payback Etiquette by Windsor Home Lock-wood III. «I’m going to leave the cellular on. Can you get down here?»

«But of course. Please refrain from further violence until I am present.»

In other words: Save some for me.

The guard at Bradford Farms was surprised to see Myron alone. The gate was open, probably in expectation of a threesome. Myron did not hesitate. He drove through without stopping. The guard panicked. He jumped out of his booth. Myron gave him a little finger wave, like Oliver Hardy used to do. He even scrunched up his face into that same Hardy smile. Heck, if he had a bowler, he would have gotten that into the act too.

By the time Myron parked at the front entrance, the old butler was already standing in the doorway. He bowed slightly.

«Please follow me, Mr. Bolitar.»

They headed down a long corridor. Lots of oils on the walls, mostly of men on horses. There was one nude. A woman, of course. No horse in this one. Catherine the Great was truly dead. The butler made a right at the hallway. They entered a glass corridor that resembled a passageway in the Biosphere or maybe Epcot Center. Myron figured that they must have traveled close to fifty yards already.

The manservant stopped and opened a door. His face was perfect butler deadpan.

«Please enter, sir.»

Myron smelled the chlorine before he heard the tiny splashes.

The manservant waited.

«I didn’t bring my bathing suit,» Myron said.

The manservant looked at him blankly.

«I usually wear a thong,» Myron said. «Though I can make do with bikini mesh.»

The manservant blinked.

«I can borrow yours,» Myron continued, «if you have an extra.»

«Please enter, sir.»

«Right, well, let’s stay in touch.»

The butler or whatever left. Myron went inside. The room had that indoor-pool mustiness. Everything was done in marble. Lots of plant life. There were statues of some goddess at each corner of the pool. What goddess, Myron did not know. The goddess of indoor pools, he surmised. The pool’s sole occupant sliced through the water with nary a ripple. Arthur Bradford swam with easy, almost lazy movements. He reached the edge of the pool near Myron and stopped. He was wearing swimming goggles with dark blue lenses. He took them off and ran his hand across his scalp.

«What happened to Sam and Mario?» Bradford asked.

«Mario.» Myron nodded. «That has to be the big guy, right?»

«Sam and Mario were supposed to escort you here.»

«I’m a big boy, Artie. I don’t need an escort.» Bradford had of course sent them to intimidate; Myron needed to show him that the move had not produced the desired effect.

«Fine then,» Bradford replied, his voice crisp. «I have six more laps to go. Do you mind?»

Myron waved a dismissal. «Hey,» he said. «Please go ahead. I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure than watching another man swim. Hey, here’s an idea. Why not film a commercial here? Slogan: Vote for Art, He’s Got an Indoor Pool.»

Bradford almost smiled. «Fair enough.» He pushed himself out of the pool in one lax motion. His body was long and lean and looked sleek when wet. He grabbed a towel and signaled to two chaise longues. Myron sat in one but did not lean back. Arthur Bradford did likewise.

«It’s been a long day,» Arthur said. «I’ve already made four campaign stops, and I have three more this afternoon.»

Myron nodded through the small talk, encouraging Bradford to move on. Bradford picked up the hint. He slapped his thighs with his palms. «Well, then, you’re a busy man. I’m a busy man. Shall we get to it?»

«Sure.»

Bradford leaned in a bit. «I wanted to talk to you about your previous visit here.»

Myron tried to keep his face blank.

«You’ll agree, will you not, that it was all rather bizarre?»

Myron made a noise. Sort of like «Uh-huh» but more neutral.

«Put simply, I’d like to know what you and Win were up to.»

«I wanted the answers to some questions,» Myron said.

«Yes, I realize that. My question is, why?»

«Why what?»

«Why were you asking about a woman who hasn’t been in my employ for twenty years?»

«What’s the difference? You barely remember her, right?»

Arthur Bradford smiled. The smile said that they both knew better. «I would like to help you,» Bradford said. «But I must first question your motives.» He opened his arms. «This is, after all, a major election.»

«You think I’m working for Davison?»

«You and Windsor come to my home under false pretenses. You start asking bizarre questions about my past. You pay off a police officer to steal a file on my wife’s death. You are connected with a man who recently tried to blackmail me. And you’ve been seen conversing with known criminal associates of Davi-son’s.» He gave the political smile, the one that couldn’t help being a touch condescending. «If you were I, what would you think?»

«Back up,» Myron said. «One, I didn’t pay off anybody to steal a file.»

«Officer Francine Neagly. Do you deny meeting with her at the Ritz Diner?»

«No.» Too long to explain the truth, and what was the point? «Okay, forget that one for now. Who tried to blackmail you?»

The manservant entered the room. «Iced tea, sir?»

Bradford thought it over. «Lemonade, Mattius. Some lemonade would be divine.»

«Very well, sir. Mr. Bolitar?»

Myron doubted that Bradford stocked much Yoo-Hoo. «Same here, Mattius. But make mine extra divine.»

Mattius the Manservant nodded. «Very well, sir.» He slid back out the door.

Arthur Bradford wrapped a towel around his shoulders. Then he lay back on the chaise. They were long so that his legs would not hang over the ends. He closed his eyes. «We both know that I remember Anita Slaughter. As you implied, a man does not forget the name of the person who found his wife’s body.»

«That the only reason?»

Bradford opened one eye. «Excuse me?»

«I’ve seen pictures of her,» Myron said simply. «Hard to forget a woman who looked like that.»

Bradford reclosed the eye. For a moment he did not speak. «There are plenty of attractive women in the world.»

«Uh-huh.»

«You think I had a relationship with her?»

«I didn’t say that. I just said she was attractive. Men remember attractive women.»

«True,» Bradford agreed. «But you see, that is the sort of false rumor Davison would love to get his hands on. Do you understand my concern? This is politics, and politics is spin. You wrongly think that my concerns for this matter prove that I have something to hide. But that’s not the case. The truth is, I am worried about perception. Just because I didn’t do anything does not mean my opponent won’t try to make it look like I did. Do you follow?»

Myron nodded. «Like a politician after graft.» But Bradford had a point. He was running for governor. Even if there were nothing there, he would snap into a defensive stance. «So who tried to blackmail you?»

Bradford waited a second, internally calculating, adding up the pros and cons of telling Myron. The internal computer worked down the scenarios. The pros won.

«Horace Slaughter,» he said.

«With what?» Myron asked.

Bradford didn’t answer the question directly. «He called my campaign headquarters.»

«And he got through to you?»

«He said he had incriminating information about Anita Slaughter. I figured it was probably a crackpot, but the fact that he knew Anita’s name bothered me.»

I bet, Myron thought. «So what did he say?»

«He wanted to know what I’d done with his wife. He accused me of helping her run away.»

«Helping her how?»

He waved his hands. «Supporting her, helping her, chasing her away. I don’t know. He was rambling.»

«But what did he say?»

Bradford sat up. He swung his legs across the side of the chaise. For several seconds he looked at Myron as if he were a hamburger he wasn’t sure it was time to flip. «I want to know your interest in this.»

Give a little, get a little. Part of the game. «The daughter.»

«Excuse me?»

«Anita Slaughter’s daughter.»

Bradford nodded very slowly. «Isn’t she a basketball player?»

«Yes.»

«Do you represent her?»

«Yes. I was also friendly with her father. You heard he was murdered?»

«It was in the newspaper,» Bradford said. In the newspaper. Never a straight yes or no with this guy. Then he added, «So what is your connection with the Ache family?»

Something in the back of Myron’s head clicked. «Are they Davison’s "criminal associates"?» Myron asked. «Yes.»

«So the Aches have an interest in his winning the election?»

«Of course. That’s why I’d like to know how you’re connected to them.»

«No connection,» Myron said. «They’re setting up a rival women’s basketball league. They want to sign Brenda.» But now Myron was wondering. The Aches had been meeting with Horace Slaughter. According to FJ, he had even signed his daughter to play with them. Next thing you know, Horace was pestering Bradford about his deceased wife. Could Horace have been working with the Aches? Fodder for thought.

Mattius returned with the lemonades. Fresh squeezed. Cold. Delicious, if not divine. Again the rich. When Mattius left the room, Bradford fell into the feigning-deep-thought look he’d displayed so often at their previous meeting. Myron waited.

«Being a politician,» Bradford began, «it’s a strange thing. All creatures fight to survive. It’s instinctive, of course. But the truth is, a politician is colder about it than most. He can’t help it. A man has been murdered here, and all I see is the potential for political embarrassment. That’s the plain truth. My goal is simply to keep my name out of it.»

«That’s not going to happen,» Myron said. «No matter what you or I might want.»

«What makes you say that?»

«The police are going to link you into this the same way I did.»

«I’m not following you.»

«I came to you because Horace Slaughter called you. The police will see those same phone records. They’ll have to follow up.»

Arthur Bradford smiled. «Don’t worry about the police.»

Myron remembered Wickner and Pomeranz and the power of this family. Bradford might be right. Myron thought about this. And decided to turn it to his advantage.

«So you’re asking me to keep quiet?» Myron said.

Bradford hesitated. Chess time. Watching the board and trying to figure out Myron’s next move. T am asking you,» he said, «to be fair.»

«Meaning?»

«Meaning you have no real evidence that I am involved in anything illicit.»

Myron tilted his head back and forth. Maybe yes, maybe no.

«And if you are telling the truth, if you do not work for Davison, then you would have no reason to damage my campaign.»

«I’m not sure that’s true,» Myron said.

«I see.» Again Bradford tried to read the tea leaves. «I assume then that you want something in exchange for your silence.»

«Perhaps. But it’s not what you think.»

«What is it then?»

«Two things. First, I want the answer to some questions. The real answers. If I suspect you are lying or worried about how it will look, I’ll hang you out to dry. I’m not out to embarrass you. I don’t care about this election. I just want the truth.»

«And the second thing?»

Myron smiled. «We’ll get to that. First I need the answers.»

Bradford waited a beat. «But how can you expect me to agree to a condition I don’t even know?»

«Answer my questions first. If I am convinced that you are telling the truth, then I’ll give you the second condition. But if you’re evasive, the second condition becomes irrelevant.»

Bradford didn’t like it. «I don’t think I can agree to that.»

«Fine.» Myron rose. «Have a. nice day, Arthur.»

His voice was sharp. «Sit down.»

«Will you answer my questions?»

Arthur Bradford looked at him. «Congressman Davi-son is not the only one who has unsavory friends.»

Myron let the words hang in the air.

«If you are to survive in politics,» Bradford continued, «you must align yourself with some of the state’s more sordid elements. That’s the ugly truth, Myron. Am I making myself clear?»

«Yes,» Myron said. «For the third time in the past hour someone is threatening me.»

«You don’t appear too frightened.»

«I don’t scare easily.» Half truth. Showing fear was unhealthy; you show fear, you’re dead. «So let’s cut the crap. There are questions here. I can ask them. Or the press can.»

Bradford took his time again. The man was nothing if not careful. «I still don’t understand,» he said. «What’s your interest in this?»

Still stalling with questions. «I told you. The daughter.»

«And when you came here the first time, you were looking for her father?»

«Yes.»

«And you came to me because this Horace Slaughter had called my office?» Myron nodded. Slowly.

Bradford threw on the baffled face again. «Then why on God’s green earth did you ask about my wife? If indeed you were solely interested in Horace Slaughter, why were you so preoccupied with Anita Slaughter and what happened twenty years ago?»

The room fell silent, save for the gentle whisper of the pool waves. Light reflected off the water, bouncing to and fro like an erratic screen saver. They were at the crux of it now, and both men knew it. Myron thought about it a moment. He kept his eyes on Bradford’s and wondered how much to say and how he could use it. Negotiating. Life was like being a sports agent, a series of negotiations.

«Because I wasn’t just looking for Horace Slaughter,» Myron said slowly. «I was looking for Anita Slaughter.»

Bradford wrestled to maintain control over his facial expressions and body language. But Myron’s words still caused a sharp intake of air. His complexion lost a bit of color. He was good, no doubt about it, but there was something there.

Bradford spoke slowly. «Anita Slaughter disappeared twenty years ago, did she not?»

«Yes.»

«And you think she’s still alive?»

«Yes.»

«Why?»

To get information, you had to give it. Myron knew that. You had to prime the pump. But Myron was flooding it now. Time to stop and reverse the flow. «Why would you care?»

«I don’t.» Bradford hardly sounded convincing. «But I assumed that she was dead.»

«Why?»

«She seemed like a decent woman. Why would she have run off and abandoned her child like that?»

«Maybe she was afraid,» Myron said.

«Of her husband?»

«Of you.»

That froze him. «Why would she be afraid of me?»

«You tell me, Arthur.»

«I have no idea.»

Myron nodded. «And your wife accidentally slipped off that terrace twenty years ago, right?»

Bradford did not reply.

«Anita Slaughter just came to work one morning and found your wife dead from a fall,» Myron continued. «She’d slipped off her own balcony in the rainy dark and no one noticed. Not you. Not your brother. No one. Anita just happened by her dead body. Isn’t that what happened?»

Bradford wasn’t cracking, but Myron could sense some fault lines starting to open a touch. «You don’t know anything.»

«Then tell me.»

«I loved my wife. I loved her with everything I had.»

«So what happened to her?»

Bradford took a few breaths, tried to regain control. «She fell,» he said. Then, thinking further, he asked, «Why would you think that my wife’s death has anything to do with Anita’s disappearance?» His voice was stronger now, the timbre coming back. «In fact, if I recall correctly, Anita stayed on after the accident. She left our employ well after Elizabeth’s tragedy.»

True enough. And a point that kept irritating Myron like a grain of sand in the retina.

«So why do you keep harping on my wife’s death?» Bradford pressed.

Myron had no answer, so he parried with a couple of questions. «Why is everyone so concerned about that police file? Why are the cops so worried?»

«The same reason I am,» he said. «It’s an election year. Looking into old files is suspicious behavior. That’s all there is to it. My wife died in an accident. End of story.»

His voice was growing stronger still. Negotiation can have more momentum shifts than a basketball game. If so, the Big Mo’ was back on Bradford’s side. «Now you answer a question for me: why do you think Anita Slaughter is still alive? I mean, if the family hasn’t heard from her in twenty years?»

«Who says they haven’t heard from her?»

He arched an eyebrow. «Are you saying they have?»

Myron shrugged. He had to be oh-so-careful here. If Anita Slaughter were indeed hiding from this guy – and if Bradford did indeed believe she was dead – how would he react to evidence that she was still alive? Wouldn’t he logically try to find her and silence her? Interesting thought. But at the same time, if Bradford had been secretly paying her off, as Myron had earlier theorized, he would know she was alive. At the very least he would know that she had run away instead of having met up with foul play.

So what was going on here?

«I think I’ve said enough,» Myron said.

Bradford took a long pull on his lemonade glass, draining it. He stirred the pitcher and poured himself another. He gestured toward Myron’s glass. Myron shook him off. Both men settled back.

«I would like to hire you,» Bradford said.

Myron tried a smile. «As?»

«An adviser of sorts. Security, perhaps. I want to hire you to keep me up to date on your investigation. Hell, I have enough morons on the payroll in charge of damage control. Who better than the inside man? You’ll be able to prepare me for a potential scandal. What do you say?»

«I think I’ll pass.»

«Don’t be so hasty,» Bradford said. «I will pledge my cooperation as well as that of my staff.»

«Right. And if something bad turns up, you squash it.»

«I won’t deny that I’ll be interested in making sure the facts are put in the proper light.»

«Or shade.»

He smiled. «You’re not keeping your eyes on the prize, Myron. Your client is not interested in me or my political career. She is interested in finding her mother. I’d like to help.»

«Sure you would. After all, helping people is why you got into politics in the first place.»

Bradford shook his head. «I’m making you a serious offer, and you choose to be glib.»

«It’s not that.» Time to shift the momentum again. Myron chose his words carefully. «Even if I wanted to,» he said, «I can’t.»

«Why not?»

«I mentioned a second condition before.»

Bradford put a finger to his lips. «So you did.»

«I already work for Brenda Slaughter. She must remain my primary concern in this matter.»

Bradford put his hand behind his neck. Relaxed. «Yes, of course.»

«You read the papers. The police think she did it.»

«Well, you’ll have to admit,» Bradford said, «she makes a good suspect.»

«Maybe. But if they arrest her, I’ll have to act in her best interest.» Myron looked straight at him. «That means I’ll have to toss out any information that will lead the police to look at other potential suspects.»

Bradford smiled. He saw where this was going. «Including me.»

Myron turned both palms up and shrugged. «What choice would I have? My client must come first.» Slight hesitation. «But of course none of that will occur if Brenda Slaughter remains free.»

Still the smile. «Ah,» Bradford said.

Myron kept still.

Bradford sat up and put up both hands in stop position. «Say no more.»

Myron didn’t.

«It’ll be dealt with.» Bradford checked his watch. «Now I must get dressed. Campaign obligations.»

They both rose. Bradford stuck out his hand. Myron shook it. Bradford had not come clean, but Myron had «not expected him to. They’d both learned a bit here. Myron was not sure who had gotten the better of the deal. But the first rule of any negotiation is not to be a pig. If you just keep taking, it will backfire in the long run.

Still he wondered.

«Good-bye,» Bradford said, still shaking the hand. «I do hope you’ll keep me up to date on your progress.»

The two men released their grips. Myron looked at Bradford. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking:

«Do you know my father?»

Bradford angled his head and smiled. «Did he tell you that?»

«No. Your friend Sam mentioned it.»

«Sam has worked for me a long time.»

«I didn’t ask about Sam. I asked about my father.»

Mattius opened the door. Bradford motioned to it.

«Why don’t you ask your father, Myron? Maybe it will help clarify the situation.»