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GORDON BIXBY CALLED me that afternoon.
I was parked across the street from the Beverly estate, “Another Girl, Another Planet,” playing on my stereo, watching the comings and goings of the FBI. There were two black SUVs when I got there, and two more had arrived after. The drivers and front seat passengers wore those Bureau windbreakers with the Bureau sunglasses. They liked to roll hard, just like in the movies. Perks of the job, I guess.
I made a face, hesitating to answer the call. This was going to be embarrassing, but, I couldn’t not answer. I poked my phone. “Gordon! Hey, how — ”
“What the hell am I reading?” he barked.
“Saw the Times article, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” Gordon wasn’t happy. He had always much preferred to emphasize the “private” in private detective. He and Mom had crazy notions that I couldn’t do my job if I was recognized everywhere. Joke’s on them... right?
“Yeah, not one of my finer moments, Gordon.”
“Jesus, no.” He cleared his throat.
I shook my head, agreeing with him.
“You OK?” he said.
I took a long, slow breath. “I’m not great. Watched someone get stabbed. Didn’t sleep well. Questioned by the FBI. I might be someone’s useful idiot. Oh, and my dad is staying with me.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. How’s that working out?”
I gave a slight shrug. “Not as terrible as you would’ve thought.” I sighed. “We might even be... all right.”
Gordon didn’t say anything. He had only met my dad once or twice before he disappeared, and that was long before Gordon and I worked together. But I don’t think he liked him very much.
Finally he said, “You got a plan?”
“Oh, uh...” There was movement at the front door. Agents were stepping out of the house, including one that looked like Agent Alexander. They climbed into one of the SUVs, which left soon after.
“You don’t have a plan,” he said with a sigh, finishing my thought.
“Have I ever been a plan sort of guy?”
“This is why I retired. You made things too exciting.”
I grinned.
Gordon continued, saying, “Just don’t go stumbling through this, OK?”
“I wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a little stumbling.”
He didn’t take the bait and laugh. Not even a chuckle. “Jimmy, you owe it to that kid to do it right.”
I licked my lips. My voice quiet, I said, “Yeah, I know.” I took a breath. “I got this. OK? You’ll be proud of me.”
“Of course I will.”
I looked at the house. “Gordon, I gotta — ”
“Go. Yeah. Of course. Go get the bad guys.”
I clutched the phone for a second after we disconnected. It was good to hear his voice. Gordon Bixby wasn’t known for emotional displays; he was more of a man of action and deed. Even though we didn’t agree on how to do something, it meant a lot that he showed up.
I slipped the phone into my suit coat, crossed the street, and waved to the guard at the gate with my best “Hey, you know me” grin. It wasn’t necessarily wrong or illegal talking to the Beverlys. After all, they were technically still my clients. They hired me to find their son and he was still out there. And now, I wanted to know a little more about Edward Stratton.
I got to the porch and straightened my tie. Always look your best. I was about to ring the bell when the front door opened.
Mr. Beverly was there, looking exhausted in a Pima cotton robe. His eyes were deep-set, and his face wrinkled. One look at me and his face narrowed. “You dumb fuck.”
I looked back at the guardhouse just in time to see the guard hang up the phone. Well, I guess I had been expected. “Mr. Beverly, I’m sorry — ”
A finger wedged its way into my face. “You could have gotten my son killed.”
As if someone else hadn’t been. Prick.
He stepped onto the stoop. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you.”
I put up a hand, as if that was going to be an actual defense. “With all due respect, I had suggested — ”
“You had one job: find my son. He could be dead now for all I know.”
There was a pretty good chance that I was, indeed, fired.
Two men appeared in the doorway behind him, FBI agents in those windbreakers, a Latino guy and a white guy in their thirties. The white guy had a mug of coffee in his hand. “Is there a problem, Mr. Beverly?” he asked.
Mr. Beverly was shaking with rage. “Yes, there’s a goddamn problem. There’s some fucking trash on my doorstep.”
The Latino agent took a step outside the house. “Sir,” he told me, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
That wasn’t enough for Richie Rich. “Don’t ask him to leave. Take him in. Do something!” shouted Mr. Beverly. “He fucked us.”
That was all I could take. I had eaten enough shit.
“You fucked us, asshole!” I shot back. “You wanted to keep things under wraps. I told you to go to the police. And in the end, who was the bad guy? It was Edward, the guy you hired.”
Beverly charged at me, and the agents moved swiftly, getting in between us.
The agent looked at me again. “You really need to leave.”
I put up my hands. “I want the same thing everyone wants. I want to find Patrick. I just want to ask Mr. Beverly some questions about Edward Stratton.”
“I’m not going to say it again,” the agent stated in an even voice.
Taking the hint, I turned on my heel and walked back down the driveway and past the guard, who smugly looked at me. Mr. Beverly was ushered back inside.
As I crossed the street, my phone rang. I dug it out and snapped, “Yeah?”
“Mr. Cooper, I’m sorry for my husband’s behavior.”
I stopped in front of my car and looked back at the mansion. On the second floor, I saw a curtain flutter as someone left the window. “Mrs. Beverly?” I was certain that had been Patrick’s room.
“You have to understand,” Eva began, “he loves Patrick very much.”
I nodded.
“My husband is also very serious, though. I don’t think you should be standing in the street in front of our house.”
I started moving again, getting into my car. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get Patrick last night.”
“I understand. It turns out you never had a chance.” She paused. “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend.”
My friend? I didn’t correct her.
“Did the FBI tell you anything?’
She took a deep breath. “They asked a lot of questions about Edward. Can you believe it? We trusted that man.”
Silence. Betrayal took time to process.
“Do you think he will hurt Patrick?”
I wasn’t sure what to tell her.
“Mr. Cooper?” Her voice was breathless.
I told her the truth. “I don’t know. Patrick was the thing they wanted to trade for money. They got the money, but...” Then I lied. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
They just might hurt him, is all.
She was quiet for a long while. “Edward was the one that suggested we didn’t need to go to the police. Robert didn’t put up much of a fight. I don’t blame him for that. He had a rather awful time when he was younger. He was always in the newspaper. Always being talked about.” Her voice shuddered.
“Why do you think Edward would do this?” I asked her. “Was he hurting for money?”
“I don’t know. He shouldn’t have been.”
Out my window on both sides of the street were a long line of mansions, running down a hill. The Beverly estate sat at the top; and everything else was below.
She went on. “Ever since he was hired five years ago, Edward has always been trusted. We put our safety in his hands. Maybe he had grown unhappy. He had started to... It felt like he was pulling away.”
I sat up. “When did you notice that?”
“A few months ago. Normally he paid such attention to detail, but he had started delegating. Things were just... sloppy. Very unlike him.”
I nodded and chewed my bottom lip. Something had happened to Stratton a few months ago. Something that made him need a lot of money.
I said, “And he never came to you or Robert, asking for money or... for help for anything?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Her voice was soft. Caring.
“Mrs. Beverly, I’m sorry about last night. I’m still determined to get Patrick home safe and sound.” I stopped. “But, just so you know, it’s probably unwise for you to mention to anyone that...”
“You’re still working the case?”
“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
After a moment, she said, “I’ll tell my husband and the FBI that I told you in no uncertain terms to stay the hell away from my son.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
She hung up.