Celine walked in, and the bartender straightened up. He looked Celine up and down. The toothpick nearly fell from his mouth. The drunks and Frank didn’t notice. The other guy said, “Hey, sweetie, can I buy you a drink?”
“No, thanks.” She smiled politely, then pulled up a seat at the bar next to Frank.
Frank looked at her briefly.
The bartender asked, “What can I get you, miss?”
“Tom Collins,” then, looking at Frank, she asked, "You have a light?”
Celine was cool and confident. She leaned in to light the cigarette, tilted her head and blew out a smoke ring, “Thanks, Hon.”
The bartender set the drink down in front of her and she paid him.
Henry thought she might try to get right into a conversation, a rookie mistake, but she just smoked and took slow sips of her drink. Her wet lips were brighter than the neon bar signs. Frank sat drinking his beer, staring off into space.
Ten minutes later, Celine pulled out another cigarette. “You mind?”
Frank took his lighter from the bar, lit her cigarette, and asked, “You waiting for someone?”
“Yes, but he stands me up all the time. I don’t think he appreciates me. What about you?”
“I’m married. I just stopped off after work.”
“How long you been married?”
Frank took a drag from his own cigarette, blew the smoke out, sighed, and said, “Ten years.”
Celine and Frank started to talk, but Henry couldn’t hear them. The bartender had gotten Henry another beer, and they started talking spring training. For Henry, this was a much more interesting conversation. Ninety minutes later, Henry decided the test was over. He could tell the conversation was slowing down, between Celine and Frank, so he paid his tab and left. Fifteen minutes later, she came out and got in the car.
Henry noticed that they both smelled of smoke and dive bar. “What did you learn?”
Celine sighed. "It’s so sad. He and his wife were best friends before they tried to start having kids. They painted the nursery together, talked about names, bought tiny socks, and he said it was the happiest he had ever been. Then she lost the first one, which was devastating. Frank said they got through it, and she got pregnant again, but it didn’t go so well, either. She blames herself and there wasn’t anything he could do to convince her otherwise. Then she started to change. She became convinced he couldn’t love her anymore, started to worry about if the house was clean enough, if the food for dinner was perfect. She didn’t laugh anymore. She wouldn’t make any decisions. He told me they used to take turns picking out which movies to go see. Now, she just says ‘Whatever you want, dear.' It's like she is walking on egg shells. He doesn’t want a maid, he wants his wife back.”
Henry was impressed with Celine’s account. “Did something happen six months ago?”
“I asked him how long he had been feeling so sad. He said it had been a couple of years, but it got worse lately because of his job.”
“What is going on at his job?”
“He wouldn’t say, just that he was in an impossible position and missed being able to talk to his wife about it. He’s afraid if he tells her about work, she’ll worry more. It’s the last thing he wants to happen.”
“Well, it looks like you have put this case to bed. I'm impressed.”
She looked at him, shocked. “You mean we are done?”
“Mrs. Pimpkin hired us to find out if her husband is cheating on her. We can give her the good news that he isn’t. In this business, that doesn’t happen very often.”
“But…”
“What?”
“She didn’t really hire us to find out if he is cheating.”
“She didn’t?”
“She hired us to help her get her life back. She’s desperate. It took her months to save up the money.”
“We aren’t marriage counselors.”
“No, but you are the smartest detective in the world.”
Henry knew that wasn’t true or even close, but he sensed she believed it. He liked her enthusiasm and the rose colored glasses with which she saw the world. “What do you propose we do?”
“Let’s figure out what his problem at work is and fix it. Maybe then he won’t be sad and can go home after work.”
Henry looked at her. She had a pleading look that was difficult to say no to. In fact, he said he would look into it. “We are going to need to give her a report, though. I promised we would have something for her.”
Celine thought about it for a while. “I suppose you are right. We should tell her the truth now, but I’d still like to help. Also, it isn’t really fair to keep billing her for something she didn’t ask us to do.”
Henry couldn’t stand the sound of her disappointed voice. “Tell you what, why don’t we have her into the office. You can explain what you learned. I think you’ll be good at it. Then, we can look into his work stuff, off the books, and, if we turn up anything, then great.”
Celine’s eyes lit up and said, “A secret investigation.” She clapped her hands.
CHAPTER FIVE
Martin Van Sythe, Fifty-three with three kids and a wife. He loved one of them. When he graduated from Yale he felt invincible. He married a beautiful, though not gifted, model with a taste for the finer things in life. She liked keeping up with the Joneses, but really wanted to keep up with the Carnegies. The first five years were pretty good, almost great. They talked about children. He was against it.
The first child was an accident, or so Mrs. Van Sythe claimed. The second one was planned, but only because she caught him cheating on her and cashed that chit in for the second child. The third came some years later. Exhaustion from having two young children took its toll. When the kids were off with her parents, poor judgment and good wine led to the youngest. Martin thought they had finally gotten it right. Little Sally was hypnotically entertaining. He loved her dearly.
Though he only tolerated his wife, he never asked for a divorce, because Van Sythe believed in rules. He liked order and took contracts very seriously. He had hoped she would demand one when he cheated on her, but she just wanted another child. He thought a lot about what life would be like without them. Every January before Sally was born, he would plan a family trip to the Poconos. He would pick a resort in the mountains and make his wife and the kids meet him there. They drove through some terrible storms but always made it unscathed. He would usually be drunk by the time they got there, which made their successful arrival less painful.
Martin sat in his office. It was nearly midnight; he hadn’t eaten. He had maps of the U.S., Europe, and Russia spread out on his desk. For as good as his education was at Yale, he had very little knowledge of the world. It bothered him, so he started to study maps, to learn where things were. Everyone else in the Kupton investment group had traveled abroad, and he felt small when they talked about Minsk, Rome, Paris, London, or any of the dozens of places they had been. He imagined taking the family, really just Sally, on a long trip abroad. She was old enough to appreciate it now and, for the first time in a long while, he had a goal beyond money. Of course, it was secondary to the deal the group had been working on, but it was important to him, too.
The phone rang. The secretary was gone, and he didn’t realize he would need to answer it himself. After four rings, he punched the button and snarled, “Van Sythe Realty and Management, Martin here.”
“Charles here, how you doing? You didn’t say much at dinner.”
“I don’t recall much conversation from anyone. But you’re right, my mind was on other things.”
“How is your end going?”
“You know how I feel about discussing it on the phone?”
“We're not saying anything, just talking, so?”
“You want to talk, we can get together tomorrow. Lunch?”
“You worried?”
“I didn’t say that; I just don’t like phones. How about you?”
“My end is always ready to go. A few days notice, and we are fine.”
Martin stopped talking.
Did he hear a clicking on the line?
“Martin, you still there?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have your girl call mine and set up a place and time. Noon?”
“Sure, but…”
Martin hung up. It wasn’t the first time he thought he heard something on the line. It upset him that Charles didn’t understand. If someone was listening, it didn't matter if they heard anything or not. The point was somebody was interested. Which somebody, well, that was something he didn’t want to think about, but he knew he must. Martin wondered what the eavesdroppers thought about Daniel doing a swan dive from the Woolworth. That had to be confusing, as he didn’t have an office there or any business contacts.
Martin stood up, walked over to the bar. One more scotch before heading home.
CHAPTER SIX
William Darby was the youngest of the group. At only thirty-five, he was a veteran of Wall Street with ten years on the floor of the NYSE and now three years managing a half dozen brokers. Darby could be described as being extremely confident but only if one were to understate things. He often worked twenty hour days and didn’t really have any friends.
One hour before the markets opened, he was on his second cup of coffee while he read the newspaper. More than anything, routine was sacred to him. With the exception of the five people on the list, his secretary knew not to put any calls through. She poked her head into the office and said, “It’s Mr. Van Sythe”
Darby grabbed the phone and said, “Darby here.”
“Meet me in twenty minutes.”
“Are you crazy, the market is about to open. The Dow closed at 418.77, my analysis says it is sure to move down today. I can’t miss it.”
“Meet me in nineteen minutes.” And the phone clicked off.
William hated Martin, but he respected him. He was also one of William’s biggest clients, and because of this, had to put up with his crap. He wandered into the pit of desks outside his office and gave a talk to the guys working the phones. He went over the day’s strategy and said he would be out with a client but would get back as soon as he could. It was unusual for him to not be there but not unprecedented. William had enough clout that he could do whatever he pleased and the partners wouldn’t care, as long as he kept putting up big numbers.
William loved his job. He was starting to wonder if he was missing something, though. There was a numbness about his life, he couldn’t explain. The years since college had passed so quickly. When he started to think about what he might do, after his proverbial ship came in, he realized there was a point where he could be content with how much money he had. He had a lot now, but it would pale in comparison to what the group was going to make on this deal. It seemed that nothing could stop them now.
The traffic was chaotic as always. Even crossing the street was a challenge. A little newsstand, about three blocks from his office, was the spot he assumed Martin meant. When they went out for drinks, after work, they always met there. He looked at his watch. He was two minutes early, which in his world, meant right on time. Martin would be three minutes late.
Five minutes later a man in a trench coat with his hat pulled down and carrying a cup of coffee, bought a newspaper. William was still reading his paper and didn’t recognize Martin.
“William, follow me.”
A bit startled at Van Sythe's sudden appearance, but not wanting to draw out the meeting with arguing William said, “Fine.”
They walked a few more blocks, then Martin hopped into a cab. William got in beside him. “What is all this cloak and…”
“Sssh…Driver, take us to Ebbets Field.”
“We're going to a baseball game? Wait a minute, opening day is tomorrow. What the hell is going on?”
Martin gave him a look but didn’t talk.
“You’re really starting to worry me.”
When they arrived, Martin paid the driver and told him to wait. William looked at his watch and tapped the crystal face with a scornful look. They started to walk towards the stadium. The cab driver left.
“William, I'm truly sorry to pull you away like this, but it’s important. You know I respect you and wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t.”
“Fine. What is it you wanted to tell me, way out here?”
“Somebody is listening.”
William’s first inclination was to make a wise crack. He refrained. “In what way?”
“I wasn’t sure at first. I've been struggling with whether to tell anyone, but I heard it again last night. Charles gave me a call. I guess, I did tell Charles I thought something might be up, but he dismissed it as paranoia.”
“What did you hear?”
“It was a sort of clicking on the line, a slight crackling.”
“Couldn’t that just be a bad line?”
“I've been telling myself that for weeks. I did a little test. I've been making calls from other phones.”
“Other phones?”
“Yes, pay phones, house phones at hotels, and I've even borrowed the phone at a few bars.”
“What sort of test?”
“I make two calls, one to someone in the group, one to a random place like the library.”