“For one thing, it wasn’t that kind of diaper,” Mary pointed out.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t an old guy. It probably wasn’t a functional diaper.” Mary thought about it. “Okay, maybe it was, but he wasn’t wearing it because he was incontinent. It was most likely some kind of sex thing.”
“A sex thing where a grown man wears a diaper?” Alice asked. “Who the hell would enjoy that?”
“The diaper industry?” Mary said.
“This world just keeps getting sicker and sicker,” Alice said.
Mary thought about it. Had Craig Locher been an accidental death? A sex game gone wrong? Or had he been truly scared for his life and running down the street to get away from someone trying to kill him? The latter seemed to fit. Unless Locher had been drunk or on drugs and wandering around.
“It had to be drugs,” Alice said, seeming to read Mary’s mind. “The man was on drugs, got weird with his girlfriend, strapped on a diaper and died. Talk about a tragedy.”
“Hopefully it was an accident,” Mary said.
Alice looked at her. “When diapers are involved, accidents are bound to happen.”
Chapter Nine
The office of IdeaGen was classic Santa Monica — a standalone building with a sandblasted interior and poured concrete floors.
Mary had paid the tab for her beer and Alice’s wine, then driven over, popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth to hide the smell of the beer.
It was important to be professional, after all.
Mary stood at the receptionist’s desk, which was a converted pool table that had kept its felt top.
“May I help you?” the woman said. She was a blonde with a southern accent and a pierced tongue. Mary had caught a glint in the woman’s mouth and it didn’t look like a silver filling in a back molar. Apparently IdeaGen was going for that more-edgy-than-corporate look.
“I have an appointment with Craig Locher,” Mary said with a bright tone in her voice. “I’m one of his clients. His favorite client, at least that’s what he tells me.”
The girl looked startled and Mary thought she heard the tongue piercing clacking against the girl’s teeth. A nervous tic, how quaint and unsanitary. Kinda creepy, actually.
“Um, Mr. Locher is no longer with the company,” the girl said. “In fact,” the girl’s eyes darted toward the hallway off the main reception area. “He passed away last week, unfortunately.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mary said, putting as much compassion into her voice as she could. “Is there someone who will be taking over his clients?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, let me see if Kelly is in.” The girl’s fingers tapped a small console and Mary saw a little yellow light flash on the girl’s Bluetooth earpiece. Mary also noted the girl’s fingernails — painted a teal with a border of glitter.
“What’s up Crystal?” a voice said from the hallway. Mary turned to see a tall, lean, rawboned woman with a shock of bright red hair and shoulders that looked like they could double as a boat hoist.
“I’m sorry, what was your name?” the receptionist asked Mary.
“Mary Cooper.”
“Kelly, this is Mary Cooper; she’s a client of Craig’s.”
“Oh.” The woman came forward and shook hands with Mary. “I’m Kelly Hargold,” she said. Mary felt her hand smothered by the woman’s giant paw. Now, face to face with the woman, Mary guessed her height to be at least six foot three or four.
“Maybe I can help you,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to my office?”
The woman led Mary down a hallway where walls were filled with advertising awards, newspaper articles regarding the “innovative” company called IdeaGen, and a large cactus in a terra cotta pot.
The woman entered an office and Mary thought the woman might have to duck to avoid hitting her head on the door frame, but she made it through, barely.
Mary followed her into the office and saw a slim desk with a top made of a slick birch veneer. Two white plastic chairs sat on the other side of the desk and Mary guessed they had come from Ikea for forty bucks each, or some contemporary furniture store in L.A. for about four hundred bucks each.
There was a bookshelf behind the desk and on top sat several basketballs, each encased in a Lucite cube, all of them autographed.
The woman dropped into a Herman Miller desk chair, and Mary took one of the white plastic deals for herself. Definitely Ikea.
“So you’re a client?” Hargold asked. “What company?”
“I’m not actually a client, yet,” Mary said. “But I had talked to Craig on several occasions and was considering signing on with you guys.”
“What’s your company called?” the woman said. She had taken out a legal pad with a pen.
“Cooper Investigations,” Mary said.
The woman paused, put down the pen, glanced up at Mary.
“Investigations?”
“That’s correct.”
“Are you really a client, or are you something else?” the woman said.
“Well, I would like to have my own ad agency, but I don’t think I have the budget for you. However, I’ve been hired to look into Mr. Locher’s death, so I thought I would drop by, see what kind of minimum budget you require for a client, and maybe ask you a few questions.”
“A million.”
“Well, I don’t have a million, but I do have a lot of questions about what Mr. Locher did here.”
“Why should I answer your questions?”
“Because someone killed your business associate and you want to help, maybe?”
“I’ve already talked to the police,” she said. “And I don’t know anything about you.”
The woman’s face was a giant slab of sheer stone. If Mary got into a fight with her and threw a punch, Mary would probably break her hand.
“All you need to know about me is that I’m working for someone who cared a great deal about Craig Locher and I’m going to try to help find out what happened to him. Plus, I’m a very quick questioner, you should know that, too.”
Hargold contemplated Mary for a moment.
“So,” Mary said, filling the silence. “What did Mr. Locher do here?”
The woman hesitated, eyed Mary warily, then sighed. “He was a rainmaker. He specialized in bringing clients in, and he was very good at it. Craig was smart, articulate, funny, and the life of the party. Clients loved him.”
“Was there anyone who didn’t love him?”
The woman shook her head. “No one here. I’m sure our competitors didn’t like him. After all, we’re growing fast. Tripled our billings in the past twelve months. Our new clients probably had other agencies doing their marketing before they hired us. One agency in particular lost three clients to us, all of them wooed by Craig. I’m sure some of those companies were none too pleased with us, or with Craig.”
“What was the name of that agency?”
“Argo & Partners,” she said. “But I’m sure they didn’t have anything to do with his death. They weren’t huge clients. And they’re still doing well themselves. Clients come and go. In fact they probably have one or two of our former clients.”
“What about office politics?” Mary said. “Seems no matter how likeable you are, there’s usually someone who doesn’t like you.”
The Hargold woman shook her head. “Not here. Everyone loved Craig, cared about him. In fact, most of us knew that our livelihoods were closely connected with Craig and his ability to bring in clients. There are some worried people here, wondering how well IdeaGen will continue without him.”