"I just told him that to get in," I said.
"I don't know anything about Marty. Is he back from Las Vegas?"
"I didn't know he was in Las Vegas," Gino said.
"I don't know if he's back. Marty worked for me for fifteen years. He does so no longer."
"Can you tell me why?"
"No."
"Do you know his wife? Bibi?"
"I'm afraid not," Gino said.
"I require that my private life be my own. I treat others on the same basis."
"He used to beat her up."
"Beating people up is what Marty does," Gino said.
"It is why I employed him so long."
"You implied last time I saw you that Marty might be stealing from you."
"Did I."
"Yeah. You know Anthony Meeker?"
"Who?"
"That's a mistake, Mr. Fish. Last time we talked you knew his name."
"It's a mistake of my age," Gino said.
"I still think well, but I no longer remember well. Is Anthony Meeker Julius Ventura's son-inlaw?"
"Yes, you implied last time that he might be stealing too."
Gino was sitting in one corner of the big rock maple couch. He had his legs crossed and his thin hands resting in his lap. I could see the dappling of age spots on the backs of them. He pursed his lips a little and stared for a moment out his big picture window at what probably seemed to him, his ocean. He raised his hands from his lap and put his fingertips together and tapped his lips for a moment. Then he pointed his fingertips at me.
"You think, Mr. Spenser, that I am being cute," Gino said.
"It is not an unreasonable thought. I am capable of cuteness. Indeed there is very little that I am not capable of. But in this instance I know very little more than you do. There have been some financial irregularities in my business. It was Marty's responsibility to oversee all the financial transactions and to ensure that they were as alleged. These irregularities came inopportunely at a time when we were beginning to organize in contemplation of a merger. I came to you to see if you could shed any light on whether Marty was culpable. You didn't shed much, being primarily interested in getting me to shed some light on your interest. It was largely a waste of our time."
"But you fired Marty."
"No. Marty left."
"Did he give a reason?"
"None. He simply failed to show up for work one day, and I have not seen him since. You tell me he was in Las Vegas. He may still be there. Or he may be next door, I simply don't know."
"When did he take off?"
"Three, no, four days after I came to see you."
I did some quick calendering in my head. That made it the same day we found Anthony. When I got more time I'd think about that.
"As far as I know, Mr. Fish, he came to Vegas and checked into the MGM Grand either under another name, or in a room rented for him by another guy. Tough little guy, big nose, wore a Panama hat all the time. Very quick with a gun."
"You saw him there?"
"Yes."
"And you were in Las Vegas…?"
"Looking for Anthony Meeker."
"On behalf of his wife?"
"His wife and his father-in-law."
"Do you know why Marty was in Las Vegas?" Gino said.
"Anthony Meeker was there with Marty's wife."
Gino was very still. I waited. Gino looked at his ocean again.
"And Shirley Ventura was in Vegas as well," he said.
"You know about her."
"Yes. Do you have any knowledge of who killed her?"
"No. Cops are trying to act like it was a random act, but I don't think they believe it."
"Do you?"
"No. Whoever killed her made every effort to conceal her identity. Which means he thought he could be connected to her."
"Her husband?"
"Could be," I said, "though it doesn't seem his style."
"Marty would enjoy something like that," Gino said.
"He was apparently in the area."
"It's his style, okay," I said.
"And she had his hotel phone number on her person. But I don't see a motive."
Gino was silent.
"Do you?" I said.
Gino didn't answer. He looked at Vinnie.
"If he uncovers something detrimental to our interests, Vinnie, will he use it?"
"He might," Vinnie said.
"He might not. Telling him not to won't make any difference."
"Can he be controlled?" Gino said.
"No."
"If we kill him?"
"Have to kill Hawk too," Vinnie said.
Gino nodded thoughtfully.
"Gentlemen," he said, "you see my situation. I want to know what you find out, but I don't want your investigation impinging on my business. Can we work out a financial solution?"
"What do you think we're investigating?"
Gino paused a moment and almost smiled a real smile for a moment.
"Put that way, I must admit I'm not sure."
"Don't feel bad," Hawk said.
"We not sure either."
"Well, who is your client?"
"We have none," I said.
"Are you merely curious?" Gino said.
"We want to find Bibi Anaheim, see if she's all right."
Gino stared at me and then shifted his eyes slightly and stared at Hawk. Then back at me.
"That's preposterous," he said.
"We softhearted," Hawk said.
Gino looked at Vinnie.
"Am I to believe this, Vinnie?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then by all means find her," Gino said.
"If I learn of her whereabouts I will tell you promptly."
"Might help if you'd tell us a little more about your business and Julius's," I said.
Gino stood up slowly, but easily, and started from the room.
"Vinnie will show you out," he said, and left.
We walked to the front door with Vinnie.
"Don't make a mistake about Gino," Vinnie said.
"Just 'cause he talks like fucking William F. Buckley. He's got no more feelings than a crocodile."
"You know where Marty is?" I said.
"No."
"His wife?"
"Never met the wife. Don't know where she is."
"Know anything that Gino didn't tell us?"
Vinnie looked at me with surprise.
"Hey," he said, "I take his money."
"Yeah," I said, "you do. I apologize."
"Thank you," Vinnie said and held the door open.
Hawk and I departed.
CHAPTER 32
Fairhaven is on the old Route 6 in southeastern Massachusetts across the harbor from New Bedford. There's a long bridge that sets down on an island in mid-harbor and then continues on to Fairhaven. If you keep going on Route 6 through Mattapoisett and Marion and Wareham and Onset, after a while you're on Cape Cod.
The high school had been built during a time when people thought learning was important and the buildings in which it was supposed to take place reflected that view. There were a lot of libraries scattered around Massachusetts that had been built during the same period and had the same British Imperial look. The high school, like so many of the libraries, had gotten a little shabbier, as if to reflect current attitudes.
There were a few teachers there who'd been there eighteen years ago, but no one remembered any student named Bibi. A tight-jawed English teacher told me that she tried to forget them as soon as they left her room. And the principal told me he only remembered the bad ones.
"Yearbooks?" I said.
"We keep them in here," the principal told me.
"If we keep them in the library, the students will deface them."
"Students are great, aren't they?" I said.
The principal was a cautious man. He didn't commit himself on that. But, once he had assured himself that I wouldn't deface it, he gave me the 1977 Fairhaven High School yearbook, and allowed me to sit on a straight chair in the school secretary's office to read it. I found Bibi's picture easy enough. Except for the acquired scar tissue she still looked like seventeen-year-old Beatrice Costa had looked. Most Congenial. Drama Club 2,3,4. Yearbook Staff 4.
Newspaper 2,3,4. Cheerleader 3,4. Ambition: television news reporter. Quote, "Hey, Abbey, where's the party." There was nothing there about marrying Marty Anaheim and getting her nose busted.