You’re married to the boss, I said.
Yes, she said.
So you had me following the boss?
My husband.
It really was your husband.
Why should I have lied?
I raised my eyebrow.
At this my former client lifted her drink to her lips, looked at me, smiled.
Nobody imagined that you would be able to continue to follow him once you had entered the green door, she said. That was a pretty trick.
A pretty trick, I said.
She smiled.
Your husband was seeing someone, wasn’t he?
He was.
Who?
You don’t remember, she said, being introduced that evening to the woman sitting on my husband’s right?
Ms. Green, I said.
My husband’s late mistress.
The woman I fell in love with, I whispered.
Who’s that? said Max.
He had the bag open and was waiting for me to pick up the body and put it in. She was lying in the bathtub, fully clothed. We had often, I had the feeling, taken baths together in this tub, and it seemed extremely unfortunate now to have to lift her up out of it and put her in a bag.
Can I have another drink first? I said.
Sure Sport, but make it snappy, the meter’s running.
He dropped the handles of the bag and began rummaging around in the bathroom cabinet. I went to the kitchen and took a flask out of a drawer next to the stove.
Tell me everything, I said.
Lyla was sitting next to me, in the turbine.
I don’t know everything, she said.
Then tell me what you know.
We were lovers.
Yes.
Then we got caught.
Yes.
Then we got killed.
You want a glass and some ice with that?
Max. Standing in the bathroom doorway looking out at me.
You had enough? he said.
What do you mean?
I mean have you had enough — dead honey in the bathtub, slug in your neck, head injury, incertitude.
What do you mean by incertitude?
About the case. You don’t quite have it yet, do you? Still got things to figure out. Not getting there.
You mean there’s more?
There’s always more.
I thought you told me it was best not to know too much about these things.
Not me.
I thought you said I shouldn’t know too much then you put this slug in my neck.
Sorry, even if I did say that I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sport.
Lyla’s dead in the other room. Is she the only one? Am I lying dead in a turbine right now?
You’re getting out of my league there, Sport.
What is your relationship to my employer?
To the boss?
To my employer. The one who is paying me to make sense of this case.
I don’t know your employer.
Does Mr. Smith?
Couldn’t say.
How many people are dead? One or two?
We got one in there Sport, dead as we’re all gonna be.
And me?
And you Sport, I don’t know. I know what they tell me. They tell me you have incertitude. They tell me you’re having trouble making headway. They tell me you’re getting distracted and taking leaves of absence and thinking about stopping work at the firm. They tell me to take you here. I take you here. We get the body. We take the body.
Help me out a second, I said.
You’ve had your second, Sport. You’ve had your second and now I need you in the bathroom.
I went to the bathroom. The attendant asked me if I was aware that I was bleeding, ever so slightly, from the neck. I asked him if he would be willing, if he could, to stop it, as I had a lady waiting for me at the bar and I didn’t know her well enough to tell if blood was her cup of tea.
Oh it might be sir, said the attendant.
Nevertheless, I said.
So he ran hot water onto a towel and began daubing my neck and placing pressure on it. While he did so I looked in the mirror. Curiously, what greeted me there was the most beautiful scene. It was a breeze-swept olive grove with an old farmhouse off in the distance. Here and there were butterflies and cypress trees.
Happy, I tipped the attendant a twenty and walked out.
Grab a handle, Max said.
We used to have dinner here, I said. After we would get off work.
I heard about that.
I looked at him.
Everyone heard about it.
From who?
Who do you think?
I don’t know.
Maybe it was her, he said. She spent her time tossing them back in the copy room.
No way, I said.
But for a second I could almost see her, laughing, belting one back.
And it was, interestingly enough, in this image of her, troubling as it was, that I found the key I had been looking for, or part of one. This is not to say, I should hasten to add, that I was finally able to solve the case, I was not, I’ve already said that, but I was able to imagine that, having once walked into the copy room and seen her, in company, drinking, not necessarily laughing, likely not, but drinking and observing and smiling slightly and perhaps, in some way, participating, a moment of jealousy had awoken, and I had told John afterwards to make sure that he and the others kept the fuck away from her. So that, as I imagined it, it was John, perhaps out of irritation, who had let it slip in the copy room, laughing and belting one back — my buddy is getting delicate with the boss’s mistress — and John who later, out of guilt, helped me into my then-current situation as investigator, in which capacity I would investigate one case in toto, the first and second having turned out to be one and the same — the first and only — and who helped me again, when somehow it was over, to close my office, to say good-bye to my secretary, and to regain at least a glimmer of my former self.
I say maybe it was John who had let it slip. Obviously, however, I mean it was me.
It was me, I said. Maybe someone else inadvertently passed the message along, but it was me who couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.
Never spill the beans, Sport, said Max.
Thanks for the advice, I said.
But at any rate, having in my possession something approximating a key, and a concomitant chain of images now at my disposal, that is to say, a reservoir of talking points, something to say, a hypothesis to offer my client, to close out our account, as it were, I made my way back over to the firm.
The early afternoon was quiet time at the firm, most of the transactionists were either asleep or hoping to be. So I wasn’t surprised to find it all but deserted. The dispatcher’s office was locked and the copy room was empty; even my faint footfalls echoed in those empty halls. After some minutes of trying locked doors and drifting through them into empty offices and storerooms, I began to despair of finding anyone who could direct me to the boss’s office. No doubt, it seemed to me, I had been there before, and even recently, but some aspect of my condition prevented me from calling to mind the particulars of the itinerary. Fortunately, I eventually found someone — at the documents counter. This was the documents assistant, who was in charge of preparing documents for distribution throughout the firm. I had interacted with this gentleman on several occasions, and had always found him quite helpful, and I had no reason to be disappointed this time. He was able, in fact, to provide me with a map of the building, and I soon found myself knocking at the boss’s door. Before doing so, however, the documents assistant and I had a short chat. As I’ve said, we were on very friendly terms, and it was not at all unusual for us to exchange the occasional word. He was an old individual, and he loved to keep me abreast of his latest discoveries relative to his great passion — beekeeping.
I’ve got some with me, he said on this occasion.
Some what?