Imogen and I were huddled in my office. Hunkered down. Ready to debrief. Last night, when we arrived home after dinner, we crashed. We barely even had a conversation before our eyes closed. I do remember making it up the stairs and into bed. Imogen must have done the same because when we woke up this morning we were sleeping next to each other. Imogen had nothing on, and I was in a pair of boxer briefs only. At least we were sober enough to take our clothes off before passing out.
I was sitting on the couch, and Imogen was in the club chair. Her choice.
"It's rather comfortable," she said.
"I'm glad you like it," I said. "It can be your seat from now on, if you like."
"I've never seen someone so upset at a piece of furniture."
I sipped my giant cup of coffee. "I'm not upset. I just don't like it."
She shook her head and drank her own caffeinated beverage.
"You know Tori mentioned Carl last night."
"Lee's wife, Tori?"
"Yes, do you know another?"
"No," I said.
I was trying to remember Tori. I know that we were introduced, but I felt like I didn't even share a table with her last night. Lee was busy chatting my ear off, while Eric interjected a chuckle here and there.
"She said that Carl's wife hasn't been out of bed since his murder. She's devastated."
"That's understandable. It was a horrible thing," I said. "How does she know that?" I asked.
How would Tori know about Carl's wife, Heather? Tori and Lee weren't members of the club. They didn't live in Manors. What was the connection?
"I thought the same thing. So I asked."
"And?"
"And Carl worked for Endicott Investments. He was some high-up guy. She didn't say, but it seemed like he might have been Lee's right-hand man."
"Funny, Lee didn't mention Carl at all."
"Tori didn't either. It just came up," she said.
"Interesting. Might be worth running by Lee at some point."
"Might be worth running by Lee sooner than later," she said. "It's an odd coincidence that Carl was murdered when Lee was in town."
"I don't know when he arrived. All we know is we had dinner with him last night. Maybe he had just come in that day."
I got up from the couch, walked over to my desk, and picked up Lee's card. I had thrown it there when I walked into the office this morning. I hadn't even looked at it.
"Lee Endicott. Principal. Endicott Investments." I read the card aloud. "Here we go, New York, New York. His office is in Manhattan."
I sat back down on the couch. Jabber was sitting up by the armrest. I was stroking the top of her head.
"He probably lives there too, I would imagine," Imogen said.
"You're probably right. He doesn't strike me as the commuter type," I said.
"Neither does his wife," Imogen said.
"I bet they live in some crazy penthouse," I said. "They're a bit on the flashy side."
"I bet you're right," she said.
"If that's true, he could have just popped over to Manors anytime. We're only thirty minutes away," I said.
"We need to meet with him," she said.
She was right. We did need to meet with him. And probably Tori too. She seemed to be the chatty one of the pair.
"Nothing like a two-million-dollar carrot to score a meeting," I said. "But before we go and set up another meeting, we've got a few things to take care of."
"Like?"
"Like calling John. Like figuring out how to get a look in Bill's shed. Like tracing Alese's death threats. Like looking at that scheduling book image again. Like—"
"OK, OK. I get the point," Ginny said. "Can I at least finish my coffee?"
"I insist. While you do that, I'll call John," I said.
Imogen reclined in the club chair and put her feet up on the table. Her Prada heels were pointing at me like I had done something very wrong. I pulled out my phone and dialed John's number. I sipped my coffee while it rang.
"Carrington," he said.
"John, hi, it's—"
"Max. How are you, pal?"
I had started to feel self-conscious. Was my voice that distinctive?
"I'm good, John, and you?"
"Doing well, Max. So, what's going on?"
"I need a favor," I said.
"What kind of favor?"
"We've got a case that we're working on and—"
"Alese Steiner?" he asked.
"Why, yes. How did you—"
"She came in here the other day, and I sent her over to you guys. I'm glad she took my advice."
"Well, thanks for the referral," I said.
He laughed. "We're colleagues now, remember?"
He didn't let me answer.
"So what can I do for you?"
"You're familiar with the case?" I asked.
"I am, Max."
"She received a death threat on her voicemail," I said. "And I was wondering if you could help trace the call."
"What number came up on the caller ID?"
"Private number," I said.
"That's what I thought. We can try, Max. I'll need her number, the day and time of the call, and whatever cell phone company she uses."
"I have all that," I said.
"But it's not as easy as it seems. It will take a long while to get the info. The cell phone guys aren't the most helpful when it comes to releasing that sort of information."
"Even if a crime has taken place?"
"There was no crime, Max. A threat, yes, but not a crime."
"How about a hate crime? Calling someone a Nazi and threatening their life could fall into that category, couldn't it?"
"I forgot you're a lawyer, Max," he said, laughing. "Yes, I suppose technically it could be a crime. But, we'd need a prosecutor to believe that and a judge too. Let me see what I can do, and then we'll talk."
I gave John all of the pertinent information about the call in question. He thanked me for it, and then he disconnected.