Ralph was saved a reply when Howie and the Maitland girls came back in, Grace carefully carrying a plate in each hand. Marcy wiped her eyes, the gesture almost too fast to see, and gave Howie and her daughters a brilliant smile. “Hooray for cake!” she said.
Ralph took his slice and said thank you. He was thinking that he had told Jeannie everything about this fucked-up nightmare of a case, but he wasn’t going to tell her about this little girl’s dream. No, not this.
8
Alec Pelley thought he had the number he wanted in his contacts, but when he made the call, he got an announcement saying the number had been disconnected. He found his old black address book (once a faithful companion that had gone with him everywhere, in this computer age relegated to a desk drawer, and one of the lower ones, at that) and tried a different number.
“Finders Keepers,” said the voice on the other end. Believing that he’d reached an answering machine—a reasonable assumption, considering it was Sunday night—Alec waited for the announcement of office hours, followed by a menu of choices that could be accessed by punching various extensions, and at last the invitation to leave a message after the beep. Instead, sounding a bit querulous, the voice said, “Well? Is anyone there?”
Alec realized that was a voice he knew, although he couldn’t place the name. How long had it been since he’d spoken to the owner of that voice? Two years? Three?
“I’m hanging up n—”
“Don’t. I’m here. My name is Alec Pelley, and I was trying to reach Bill Hodges. I worked with him on a case a few years back, just after I retired from the State Police. There was a bad actor named Oliver Madden who stole an airplane from a Texas oilman named—”
“Dwight Cramm. I remember. And I remember you, Mr. Pelley, although we’ve never met. Mr. Cramm did not pay us promptly, I’m sorry to say. I had to invoice him at least half a dozen times, and then threaten legal action. I hope you did better.”
“It took a little work,” Alec said, smiling at the memory. “The first check he sent me bounced, but the second one went through all right. You’re Holly, aren’t you? I can’t remember the last name, but Bill spoke very highly of you.”
“Holly Gibney,” she said.
“Well, it’s very nice to speak with you again, Ms. Gibney. I tried Bill’s number, but I guess he’s changed it.”
Silence.
“Ms. Gibney? Did I lose you?”
“No,” she said. “I’m here. Bill died two years ago.”
“Oh, Jesus. I’m very sorry to hear that. Was it his heart?” Although Alec had only met Hodges once—they had done most of their business by phone and email—he had been on the heavy side.
“Cancer. Pancreatic. Now I run the company with Peter Huntley. He was Bill’s partner when they were on the force.”
“Well, good for you.”
“No,” she said. “Not good for me. The business is doing quite well, but I would give it up in a minute to have Bill alive and healthy. Cancer is very poopy.”
Alec almost thanked her then and ended the call after renewing his condolences. Later on, he wondered how much things would have changed if he had done that. But he remembered something Bill had said about this woman during the business of retrieving Dwight Cramm’s King Air: She’s eccentric, a little obsessive-compulsive, and she’s not big on personal contact, but she never misses a trick. Holly would have made one hell of a police detective.
“I was hoping to hire Bill to do some investigating for me,” he said, “but possibly you could take it on. He really did speak highly of you.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Pelley, but I doubt if I’m the right person. Mostly what we do at Finders Keepers is chase bail-jumpers and trace missing persons.” She paused, then added, “There is also the fact that we are quite a distance from you, unless you’re calling from somewhere in the northeast.”
“I’m not, but my interest happens to be in Ohio, and it would be inconvenient for me to fly up myself—there are things going on here that I need to stick with. How far are you from Dayton?”
“One moment,” she said, and then, almost immediately: “Two hundred and thirty-two miles, according to MapQuest. Which is a very good program. What is it you need investigated, Mr. Pelley? And before you answer, I need to tell you that if it involves any possibility of violence, I really would have to pass on the case. I abhor violence.”
“No violence,” he said. “There was violence—the murder of a child—but it happened down here, and the man who was arrested for the crime is dead. The question is whether or not he was the doer, and answering that involves back-checking a trip he made to Dayton with his family in April.”
“I see, and who would be paying for the company’s services? You?”
“No, an attorney named Howard Gold.”
“To your knowledge, does Attorney Gold pay more promptly than Dwight Cramm?”
Alec grinned at that. “Absolutely.”
And although the retainer would come from Howie, the entire Finders Keepers fee—assuming Ms. Holly Gibney agreed to take on the Dayton investigation—would in the end come from Marcy Maitland, who would be able to afford it. The insurance company wouldn’t like paying out on an accused murderer, but since Terry had never been convicted of anything, they would have no recourse. There was also the wrongful death suit against Flint City that Howie would be lodging on Marcy’s behalf; he had told Alec that the city would probably settle for an amount in the low seven figures. A fat bank account wouldn’t bring her husband back, but it could pay for an investigation, and a home relocation if Marcy decided that was best, and the college educations of two girls when the time came. Money was no cure for sorrow, Alec reflected, but it did allow one to grieve in relative comfort.
“Tell me about this case, Mr. Pelley, and I’ll tell you if I can take it on.”
“Doing that will take some time. I can call tomorrow, during office hours, if that would be better for you.”
“Tonight is fine. Just give me a moment to turn off the movie I was watching.”
“I’m interrupting your evening.”
“Not really. I’ve seen Paths of Glory at least a dozen times. It’s one of Mr. Kubrick’s finest. Much better than The Shining and Barry Lyndon, in my opinion, but of course he was much younger when he made it. Young artists are much more likely to be risk-takers, in my opinion.”
“I’m not much of a movie buff,” Alec replied, remembering what Hodges had said: eccentric and a little obsessive-compulsive.
“They brighten the world, that’s what I think. Just one second . . .” In the background, the sound of faint movie music ceased. Then she was back. “Tell me what you need done in Dayton, Mr. Pelley.”
“It’s not just a very long story, it’s a strange one. Let me warn you of that in advance.”
She laughed, a sound much richer than her usual careful speech. It made her sound younger. “Yours won’t be the first strange story I’ve heard, believe me. When I was with Bill . . . well, never mind that. But if we’re going to be talking for awhile, you might as well call me Holly. I’m going to put you on speaker to free up my hands. Wait . . . okay, now tell me everything.”
Thus encouraged, Alec began to talk. Instead of movie music in the background, he heard the steady clitter-clitter-clitter of her keyboard as she took notes. And before the conversation was finished, he was glad he hadn’t hung up. She asked good questions, sharp questions. The oddities of the case didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. It was a goddam shame that Bill Hodges was dead, but Alec thought he might have found a perfectly adequate replacement.
When he was finally done, he asked, “Are you intrigued?”
“Yes. Mr. Pelley—”
“Alec. You’re Holly and I’m Alec.”
“All right, Alec. Finders Keepers will take this case. I will send you regular reports either by phone, email, or FaceTime, which I find is far superior to Skype. When I have gotten everything I can, I will send you a complete summary.”
“Thank you. That sounds very—”
“Yes. Now let me give you an account number, so you can transfer the retainer fee to our bank in the amount we discussed.”
HOLLY
July 22nd–July 24th
1