“Plenty of buying and selling, that’s for sure,” Rothstein said.
“Reason I asked you to come by...” Hyde said, and began looking through the sheaf of papers again. “I got a call from Comex here in New York last week sometime — she never puts anything where I can find it — ah, here. December nineteenth, that would’ve been last Friday.”
A tugboat sounded on the river.
“Yes, last Friday,” Hyde said. “It seems you reported quite a bit of silver activity that week.” He began riffling through the papers again. “Three separate accounts buying... now where the devil... yes, here we are. General Business Ventures purchased... nine hundred lots, is it? Between Tuesday the sixteenth and Friday the nineteenth. Same time period, we have Quandax Corporation buying nine hundred and forty lots, and Vandam Investment buying nine twenty-five. That comes to...” He scribbled some figures on a pad, did his multiplication. “Two thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five lots. At five thousand ounces a lot, comes to...” More scribbling. More multiplication. “Thirteen million... uh... eight hundred and... uh... twenty-five thousand ounces. That’s a lot of silver.”
“We’re bullish on silver,” Rothstein said, smiling.
Mr. Outside, Phelps thought. Smooth as glass.
“Which at current silver prices...” Hyde said.
“Well, the prices fluctuate,” Phelps said at once.
“Yes, but at the close Friday...”
“Mr. Hyde, forgive me.” Rothstein said, and leaned forward in his chair, “but surely this isn’t an unusually high number of futures contracts for a firm our size. Actually, I imagine our silver purchases will go even higher before the end of the year. For some reason, silver always...”
“Comex saw fit to call me,” Hyde said.
“Meaning what?” Rothstein said. “If you’re suggesting that our firm has done anything illegal...”
“Innuendo isn’t my style,” Hyde said.
“Or even immoral...”
“Of course not,” Hyde said.
“Then... forgive me... but what’s this all about?”
“It would help if I could know the names of the officers and directors of these three corporations,” Hyde said. “I’m sure you have the necessary disclosure forms...”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you think someone in your office could fill them in for me? And have them signed by the principals? I would appreciate it.”
“We’ll put someone on it right away,” Phelps said.
“There’s no great hurry,” Hyde said. “Christmas is almost here. I can imagine how busy you are.” He smiled, raised his eyebrows again. “But right after the holidays?”
“Yes, certainly,” Rothstein said.
“Well then, fine,” Hyde said, and glanced at his watch.
Phelps let out his breath.
On the sidewalk outside, he said, “So now we contact the Kidds.”
“No problem.” Rothstein said. “We’re still under the six-thousand-lot limit for any single principal.”
“Yes, but it makes me nervous.”
“A routine check,” Rothstein said. “Where are you headed now?”
“I’ve got to meet Kitty. We’re seeing a travel agent about that damn Caribbean trip. I should be back in an hour or so.”
The trouble with Lowell Rothstein was that he seemed to be lying.
Smooth and slick as ice, a pleasant smile on his handsome face — but nonetheless lying in his teeth.
“You’re sure you don’t know him, huh?” Reardon said.
“I’m afraid not.”
Reardon looked at him long and hard. Sometimes, when they were lying, a long, hard look was enough to turn them around. Not Rothstein. The pleasant smile lingered on his face. His eyes held Reardon’s unflinchingly.
“Your partner seems to think he was here last Monday.”
“My partner is wrong,” Rothstein said.
“A man named Peter Dodge did not come here to buy silver contracts?”
“He did not.”
“Then where’d your partner get the idea?”
Rothstein shrugged. “We’re a big firm with a great many customers,” he said, and shrugged again.
“Mr. Rothstein,” Reardon said. “I wonder if I could see your appointment calendar for Monday, December fifteenth.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Rothstein asked.
“Because your partner seemed certain a Peter Dodge was listed on it.”
“My appointment calendar is a personal record, Mr. Reardon. A stock broker’s business is as confidential as that of a doctor or a lawyer. If I were a doctor, for example, and you wished to see my appointment calendar in order to ascertain whether a seventeen-year-old girl had been here for an abortion, would you expect me to reveal such information? Of course not. Therefore, to protect the confidentiality between me and my...”
“Peter Dodge wasn’t here for an abortion,” Reardon said. “He was here to...”
“He wasn’t here at all.”
“He was here to buy silver contracts.”
“I’m sorry. I have no such recollection.”
“Do you know he’s dead?”
“Dead?” Rothstein said, looking genuinely surprised. “No. How would I know that?”
Reardon sighed.
“I can get a court order for that calendar.” he said. “Would you like me to do that?”
“Do as you see fit, Mr. Reardon,” Rothstein said. “I do not know Peter Dodge, and I did not see him on Monday, December fifteenth. You’re mistaken. Now, I’m sorry, but...”
“Thanks,” Reardon said.
He took the elevator down to the ground floor, and was just coming out of the building — starting for the curb, in fact, where Ruiz was waiting behind the wheel of an unmarked sedan — when he saw Phelps coming up the street, a newspaper under his arm, a briefcase in his right hand. He went to him at once.
“Mr. Phelps?” he said.
Phelps was startled for a moment. Then, recognizing Reardon, he said, “Oh, Detective Reardon, how are you? You’re back again, I see.”
“I just spoke to your partner,” Reardon said.
“Ah, good,” Phelps said. “Was he able to help you?”
“He doesn’t remember seeing Peter Dodge.”
“Oh?” Phelps said. The alert look came into his eyes again, the same one that had been there yesterday, when Reardon was asking about silver contracts. “That’s strange,” he said.
“But you got the information from his secretary, didn’t you? That Dodge was here?”
“Well, yes, but... we’re a big firm, you see...”
“With a great many customers, yes.”
“Yes. So perhaps...”
“And she got the information from his appointment calendar, didn’t she?”
“Well, I don’t really know where she...”
“You asked Alice, I believe it was, to have Jenny — wasn’t that her name? — check Mr. Rothstein’s appointment calendar. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, but...”
“And you were informed that Peter Dodge had indeed been in to see Mr. Rothstein on Monday afternoon... about buying silver.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know why he was here, Mr. Reardon. If he was here. If Lowell says he wasn’t, I’m sure he’d know better than I. Perhaps his secretary misread the appointment calendar, or perhaps Lowell himself...”
“Ask him, would you?” Reardon said.
“Ask him what?”
“Whether he was in error about Peter Dodge coming here to buy silver.”
“Well, certainly. But if he’s already told you...”
“Ask him. anyway, would you? And get back to me on it.” He fished into his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and found a card. “Here’s my card,” he said.