"I don't know. Maybe there was an accident, you know. Hit and run, or something."
I nodded.
"Cops?" I said.
Ventura grunted.
"No cops," he said.
"Simple missing person? Why not?"
"You know better," he said.
"You got people," I said.
"Why on family business, a wandering husband, only three days gone, would you go to Hawk?"
"We're talking about my kid here, you know? I want the best."
"For a missing hubby? Hawk? And he won't do it without me?"
"You want the job or not. Most people be happy to get it."
I stood up and turned my back on them and looked out my window, down at Berkeley Street where it crosses Boylston. I like the view. You could see up Boylston a good way, and down Berkeley, toward the river. Lot of attractive women worked in the Back Bay, many of them walking about this very corner, and I was trying to stay abreast of this year's fall fashions. I didn't like Ventura. His daughter appeared to be a nitwit. I didn't believe either one of them. I didn't need the money. There was no reason to take the job… except that it was the kind of work I did. And there was no one waiting in the hall for the next appointment.
"You got a picture of him?" I said, still looking down at the street life below me.
"Yes," Shirley said.
I turned around and sat back down at my desk. Shirley took a wedding photo out of her purse. There she was in the white gown and veil and elaborate tiara. There he was in his pearl gray tux with the black satin shawl collar. He had a sharp narrow face, with a sharp nose and narrow eyes. His black hair was longish and smooth and thick with mousse, brushed back on the sides, and falling in a darling curl on his forehead.
"Adorable," I said.
"When did you see him last?"
"Monday morning when he left the house," Shirley said.
"Same time as usual?" I said.
"Yes. Anthony was very responsible about his work. He felt the responsibility of being Daddy's son-in-law."
I looked at Ventura. He didn't say anything.
"And you didn't have a fight before he left?"
"Oh, no."
"What's the address?" I said.
"Address?" Shirley looked at her father.
"Why you need to know where she lives?" he said.
"Just thought it might be a nice place to start."
"I don't like people knowing any of our addresses."
"Sure," I said.
"I understand. No need to tell me anything. I'll just stick my head out the window and yell "Hey, Anthony." That'll probably work."
"I'm in a sensitive business," Ventura said.
"I don't like people poking around in it."
I held the picture out to Shirley.
"Then take back your picture, and take a walk. You hire me to look for Anthony I'm going to be poking around in your business."
Shirley didn't take the picture.
"I'm going to look through his belongings. I'm going to ask around the neighborhood. I'm going to talk to people who knew him."
"The hell you will," Ventura said.
"We have a condo," Shirley said.
"In Point of Pines."
She gave me the address. Ventura stood up and took the picture that I was still holding out toward Shirley.
"Come on, Shirley. Deal's off," he said.
"This is family business."
Shirley's face got red and squeezed up and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She clasped both hands together in her lap and lowered her head as if she were studying the grip and began to sob. I sat back in my chair and watched.
"Come on," Ventura said again.
Shirley kept right on sobbing at her lap.
"Goddamn it, Shirley…"
Shirley sobbed resolutely. I sat, with my chair tilted back, and waited.
"Oh, fuck!" Ventura said and tossed the picture back on my desk and sat down.
I got a box of Kleenex out of my bottom drawer and placed them on the desk where Shirley could reach them. She plucked one out and dabbed at her eyes with it.
"We're in business?" I said to Ventura.
"Yeah."
Shirley looked up and smiled, and said, "Thank you, Daddy."
Ventura nodded without looking at her. He was looking at me. A hard look. So I'd know how dangerous he was. He was wasting his time. I already knew how dangerous he was.
"You know my occupation, right?" Ventura said.
"Yeah."
Ventura looked an even harder look at me. I managed to keep my poise.
"You learn anything, might be, ah, some kind of problem, you know, you keep it to your fucking self, right?"
"Anyone ever actually faint when you were giving them the hard stare?" I said.
Ventura didn't answer. He kept looking at me.
"You know, sort of gasp with terror," I said, "and slide down in the chair and let their head fall sideways with their tongue hanging out? Like this?"
I demonstrated what I meant. Shirley giggled into the Kleenex she was still using.
"Shut up, Shirley, he ain't funny," Ventura said, without easing up on his hard look.
"You know that, Spenser?" he said.
"You ain't funny. You think you are. You think you're a fucking riot, you know? Well, you ain't.
My kid wants you to find her husband. Okay, you find him, and I pay you, and you go your way. No problem. But you dick around with me at all, and something will happen that won't be so fucking funny."
Still playing dead, slumped in my chair with my head tilted, and my tongue out, I opened one eye and looked at Shirley. She giggled again. Then I slurped my tongue in and sat up.
"Okay," I said.
"Now it's my turn. There's a lot about this deal that doesn't make any sense, because there's a lot you're not telling me. That's all right, I'm used to it. I'll take the case. But when I find out what you're not telling me, I reserve the right, if I don't like it, to quit."
Ventura didn't have a big repertoire. He was back to his hard look again.
"What did Anthony do for you?" I said to Ventura.
"He worked for me."
"Doing what?"
"Doing what I told him."
I looked at Shirley. Her eyes were dry now, though she still held the Kleenex in both fists, clenched in her lap, just in case.
"Anthony was in the financial part," she said as helpfully as she could.
I looked at Ventura. He stared back at me.
I said, "Un huh."
"He chase women?" I said.
"Oh no," Shirley said.
"Never. He wasn't like that at all."
"Gamble?"
Shirley's eyes flicked almost invisibly toward her father and then back at me. It was so quick I wasn't entirely sure it happened.
"No," she said firmly.
"I mean he'd play cards for pennies with the guys and drink a few beers, and stuff once in like a blue moon, but gamble, no way."
"Any vices at all?" I said.
"Booze, coke, too much coffee?"
"Oh no. You have the wrong picture of him. Anthony was very nice, and he was crazy about me."
It went like that for maybe forty minutes more. Me asking questions. Shirley answering, and Ventura sitting like a mean toad giving me the stone stare. At the end of the forty minutes it was clear that Anthony had no reason to take off, and every reason to stay home and drink champagne from Shirley's slipper. Except that Anthony was gone.
Being a trained investigator, I smelled a rat.
CHAPTER 2
Susan and I were running up and down the steps at the Harvard Stadium late on a Sunday afternoon. At the top of section 7, we paused for a moment to breathe. We were the only ones in the stadium. On the circular track out back of the stadium a few people were jogging. At the far end of the athletic complex, where, across the road, the Charles River curved in one of its big rolling bends, there was a pickup soccer game in progress. Susan wore glistening black spandex tights and a luminescent green top. Her thick dark hair was held off her forehead by a green sweatband, and there were green highlights on her state-of-the-art sneakers.
Her thigh muscles moved smoothly under the spandex, there was ' clear muscle definition in the backs of her arms, and sweat glistened on her face. If I hadn't already done so in a guidance office in Smithfield twenty years ago, I would have fallen in love with her right there.