Page 99 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Cat’s Paw

didn’t deliver it pre-mortem, as it were. I’m in charge of retrieving it,”
I added proudly.
Goode and Schauer exchanged meaningful glances. Meaningful to
them. The salesman was not there to express his own opinions,
however; the vice president kept up their end of the conversation.
“Then let us put our cards on the table. You know we want the
manuscript, and we want it exclusively. Lesley played us off against
your company to see who would pay the most for it. Despite the
generosity of our last offer, Mallard Books was able to top it. Our
desire to obtain that document—and every extant copy—has not
diminished in the intervening months. Rather, given a variety of
circumstances which do not concern you, we are more eager than
ever to get Lesley’s book. We have a number of ways of rewarding
the person who accomplishes that feat.”
Wow! I could already picture myself in one of these plush corner
offices, feet on the desk, pushing intercom buttons. Director of
Actuarial Subsystems. That had a nice ring to it. “Hmm. Then Mr.
Goode’s story about a policy was not quite the whole truth?”
Schauer shook his well-coiffed head. “No, of course not. Although
Mr. Goode’s concern—and mine—is not primarily the verdict in Art
Lesley’s death, recovery of the book could solve that problem for us,
as well.”
I was mystified, but made a great effort to look knowing. “Right. I
get it. Your connection to Lesley came through Mr. Goode, here,
who...”
He picked up the cue. “Who just happened to be the agent selling
him a policy. It could have been any insurance company, you
understand.”
“Certainly.” But I had no more certainty than Heisenberg, and no
principle with which to explain it.
“Excellent.” Schauer stood up. Goode stood up. It looked like the
seventh-inning stretch. I stood up. “I’m glad we understand each
other, Mr. O’Bleakley. I look forward to doing business with you in
the near future. Good luck in your search.”
I left the rarified atmosphere of the upper echelon and descended
to the exhaust fumes of the parking garage. By the time I got my car
out into the street the enchantment had broken. Work for an
insurance company? No way. Too buttoned-down for my taste.

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