“Alex talked the situation over with me on Friday,” he said stiffly. “If it sounds incredible to you, then it’s because you don’t understand the way Hollywood operates. Everything is image for them, so the image becomes more real than the actual world around them. Lacey’s success and Global’s image are intertwined. They want—”
“I know what they want, babe,” I said gently. “I just don’t know why they want it. In the matter of the actual world, I talked to the house dick at the Trianon. I don’t know if he’d be as forthcoming with you as he was with me, but you might check him out.”
We hung up on that fractured note. Poor Murray. I didn’t think I could bear to witness his vulnerability if Global took him to pieces.
Mary Louise came in around ten, after she’d gotten Nate and Josh off to day camp. She was going to make phone calls to Georgia for me while I pitched my wares to a couple of lawyers who were looking for a firm to handle their investigations. Such meetings often lead nowhere, but I have to keep doing it—and with enough enthusiasm that I’m not defeating myself walking in the door.
“You call this Alex woman to say you weren’t playing Global’s game?” Mary Louise asked as I gathered presentation materials into my briefcase.
“Yes, ma’am, Officer Neely.” I saluted her smartly. “At least, I told Murray.”
The phone rang before I could leave; I hovered in the doorway while Mary Louise answered. Her expression became wooden.
“Warshawski Investigations . . . No, this is Detective Neely. Ms. Warshawski is leaving for a meeting. I’ll see if she can take your call. . . . Speaking of the devil,” she added to me, her finger on the HOLD button.
I came back to the desk.
“Vic, I’m disappointed that you won’t take the job for me,” Alex said in lieu of a greeting. “I’d like you to think it over—for your sake as well as Lacey’s—before I take your no as final.”
“I’ve thought it over, Sandy—Alex, I mean. Thought it over, talked it over with my advisers. We all agree it’s not the right assignment for me. But I know the house detective at the Trianon; you can trust him to look after Lacey for you.”
“You talked to Lacey after I expressly asked you not to?” Her tone was as sharp as a slap in the face.
“You’re piquing me, Sandy. What would Lacey tell me that you’d rather I didn’t hear?”
“My name is Alex now. I wish you’d make an effort to remember. Teddy Trant really wants you to take this job. He asked me personally to offer it to you.”
So maybe Abigail was putting a finger in my pie. “I’m excited. I didn’t think the big guy knew I was on the planet. Unless BB Baladine told him?”
That made her huffy. “He knows about you because I recommended you. After Murray gave you a glowing buildup, I might add.”
“I’m grateful to both of you, but the answer is still no.”
“Then you’re making a big mistake. Think it—”
“That almost sounds like a threat, Sandy. Alex, that is.”
“Friendly advice. Although why I bother I don’t know. Think it over, think it better. I’ll leave the offer open until noon tomorrow.” She broke the connection with a snap.
“Murray can do better for himself than that” was Mary Louise’s only comment when I repeated the conversation before taking off.
My presentation went well; the lawyers gave me a small job with the prospect of bigger ones to follow. When I got back at four, Mary Louise had completed her calls and typed up a neat report for me to send over to Continental United in the morning. Altogether a more productive day than I’d had lately.
I finished my share of the report and went over to Lotty’s. We try to get together once a week, but tonight was our first chance for a relaxed conversation in over a month.
While we ate smoked salmon on her tiny balcony, I caught Lotty up on the little I knew of Nicola Aguinaldo’s story. When I told her about Morrell, Lotty went into her study and brought out a copy of Vanishing into Silence, his book on the Disappeared in Chile and Argentina. I looked at the photograph on the jacket flap. Of course I’d only seen Morrell by candlelight, and he was seven or eight years younger in the picture, but it was obviously the same man. He had a thin face and was smiling slightly, as if mocking himself for posing for a photograph.
I borrowed the book from her—I wanted to get an idea of how Morrell thought, or at least what he thought. After that, Lotty and I talked idly about other matters. Lotty’s is an intense, sometimes stormy presence, but in her home, with its polished floors and vivid colors, I always find a reassuring haven.