“Which they’ll decide based on who you see.”
“Whom,” I said.
Hawk turned around and looked at me and smiled.
“So when you see somebody that’s important, maybe they’ll do something.”
“Yep.”
“And then ya’ll gonna know whom is important.”
“You’re doing that whost.whom thing on purpose, aren’t you?” I said.
“Ah is a product of the ghetto,” Hawk said. “Ah’s trying to learn.”
“And failing,” I said.
“So it is your professed intention,” Hawk said, “to continue visiting with principals in the case until you get a discernible reaction from those monitoring your movements?”
“That be my professed intention, bro,” I said. “You be down with that?”
“Jesus Christ,” Hawk said.
“I don’t sound like an authentic ghetto-bred Negro?” I said.
“You sound like an asshole,” Hawk said.
“Well,” I said. “There’s that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brinkman “Brink” Tyler had his office in a recycled warehouse on the recycled waterfront, not so far from the Harbor Health Club. I couldn’t find an open hydrant, so I parked my car on the fourth level of the garage near the aquarium and walked, with Curly behind me looking intensely like he was just out for a walk. The Lexus that had been following me was pulled up across from me on the little side way that led to the aquarium. To my left the biggest urban renewal project in the country was chattering very slowly along, and corrupting all of the downtown traffic patterns in the process.
I found Tyler Financial Services on the lobby directory and took the elegant brass-and-rosewood elevator to the second floor. I could have found stairs, I suppose, but no one of stature would use them in this building. There was a lot of brick, and a lot of pickled oak, and a lot of hanging plants, and in Tyler’s front office one crisp female secretary with a British accent. To her left a half dozen people were working in front of computer screens. To her right was a large office with an etched glass door. A discreet sign on the door said simply BRINK. I gave her my card and smiled her the smile that made me look just like Tom Cruise only bigger. She smiled back, though not very warmly. She seemed to sense that I wasn’t a client. She checked her appointments, saw that I had one, and took me to the office door that said BRINK. She had a surprising amount of hip sway for one so crisp.
Brink Tyler was in full uniform: striped shirt, wide yellow suspenders, polka-dot bow tie. He looked to be maybe fifty, with a fresh haircut and a good tan. His hair was smooth.
“Brink Tyler,” he said and put out his hand.
We shook firmly and I sat down. Behind Tyler was a huge picture window that overlooked the harbor, where the port of Boston activity was close by and frequent.
“You were Nathan Smith’s broker,” I said.
“What a shame. Yes, I was. And a personal friend as well.”
“How was he doing?” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“How was his economic life?”
“Fine,” Tyler said. “Excellent. Nathan was a member of a very old and successful family in this city.”
“That’s great, isn’t it? Did he have a lot of money?”
“For God’s sake, man, he owned a bank.”
“Wow,” I said. “Could I get a look at his monthly statements?”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“I represent his wife,” I said.
“No, we’d really need her permission to show you that. She should have them. They went out only last week.”
“She contends that she knows nothing, and only you, Brink Tyler, can answer my questions.”
“My hands are tied,” Tyler said.
“Call her,” I said.
“Call her?”
“Yes. Ask her permission to give me the statements.”
Brink wasn’t thrilled with that. He sat back and thought about it. I sat back and waited. The blue stripes in his white shirt were wide. Tyler’s cuff links were, or appeared to be, solid gold with a small design that I couldn’t make out. Elegant.
“Well,” he said. “I guess I could do that.”
“Good for you,” I said.
He picked up his phone and punched up a number without looking it up. He waited, talked briefly with Mary Smith, nodded several times, probably for my benefit, and hung up.
“No,” he said.
“She won’t authorize the statements?”
“No.”
“She say why not?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t ask?” I said.
“It’s her right,” Tyler said. “She doesn’t have to explain.”
“How nice for her,” I said. “You have any thoughts on who would want to kill Nathan?”
“I thought Mary did it.”
“Because?”
“Because according to the paper the cops say she did it.”
“And you believe it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“She seem the type?” I said.
“Oh hell. I didn’t know them like that. It was mostly a business friendship.”
“So you think she murdered her husband, but you still need her permission to give me access to something as innocuous as his monthly statements?”
“I have a fiduciary responsibility here. I can’t betray it. If I did, and word got around, who would trust me?”
“You’re a stockbroker,” I said. “You think people trust you now?”
“I don’t think we have anything else to talk about,” Tyler said.
“We do, Brink,” I said. “But I’m willing to let it wait.”
He didn’t say anything. I got up and let myself out and, encouraged by her hip sway when she’d ushered me in, smiled my killer smile at the secretary. She smiled back at me pleasantly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I got to the garage there was a fat guy lingering around the elevator, and Curly had come up quite close behind me. All three of us waited for the elevator. Curly and the fat guy were in competition to see which of them could look more nonchalant. When the elevator doors opened I turned and went past the two men and took the stairs instead of the elevator. Except in high-status buildings, elevators were for sissies.
I hotfooted it up the stairs and stopped on the fourth-floor landing. I could hear footsteps behind me. I went into the garage and walked toward my car. The fat guy was already there, exiting the elevator. Behind me Curly emerged from the stairwell. There was no one else in sight. The fat guy stepped in front of me.
He said, “Hold it there, pal.”
I stopped. Behind me I could hear Curly’s footsteps.
“You know,” I said, “if you’d use the stairs every time, instead of taking the elevator, you wouldn’t be so fat.”
“Fuck you,” the fat guy said.
“Gee,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
I glanced back. Curly had stopped a few feet behind me. I did a half turn so that I could see both of them.
“We wanna know what you’re doing,” the fat guy said.
“Isn’t it obvious,” I said. “I’m talking with a couple of assholes.”
“You’re a funny guy,” Fatso said. “Ain’t he a funny guy, Bo.”
“Funny guy,” Curly Bo said.
“We ain’t funny guys,” Fatso said.
“I can see that,” I said.
“And we want to know what you was talking to Brink Tyler about.”
“Who?”
“You know who, you was just in his office.”
“Oh,” I said. “The Brinkster. Yeah. We were talking about diversifying my portfolio.”
The fat guy didn’t know what to say. He was used to people being scared of him, and it confused him that I wasn’t. Also, he probably didn’t know what a portfolio was. Bo, aka Curly, decided to step in.
“Okay, pal,” he said. “Let’s not fuck around here. We ask questions. You answer them, and you answer them straight. You understand? Or you get your ass kicked.”
I spread my hands. “Hey,” I said. “No problem. I didn’t know you guys were serious.”