“But you’re saying Fox didn’t have anything to do with her murder.”
“Directly, no. That’s right. He didn’t. You’re missing the point. Whoever killed these people did it because of Marshall. I can’t explain the killer’s motivation, but it’s clearly something to do with these people’s association with Marshall. That’s obvious. So do you understand what I’m saying? I’m the one who brought Marshall into the public eye. My wife and I. We’re the ones who took a nobody and made him famous beyond belief. You see how it works? If I don’t make a superstar of Marshall Fox, four people aren’t murdered in cold blood. Two of them friends of mine. That’s what I’m trying to say. Whoever did this did it because of Marshall, and I created Marshall. He’s my Frankenstein. I don’t know if you can understand what I’m saying, but it is a horrible, horrible burden. For the sake of providing what I’m quite willing to admit is essentially silly entertainment five nights a week, four people are dead. It doesn’t make me happy, Mr. Malone.”
As he sat back in his chair and folded his fingers into a ball, a thought occurred to me. Possibly it was the same thought that had led Ross to call me up to his sanctum.
“You,” I said.
“Me? What about me?”
“Your safety. If Fox really is innocent, and the same person who killed Cynthia Blair and Nikki Rossman is at it again-”
Ross was waving his hands. “No, no. This isn’t about me.”
“But it could be. If someone really has a problem with Marshall Fox and they’re taking it out on all these people who are associated with him, what about the actual person who created him?”
Ross shook his head. “That’s not why I asked you here. Though, believe me, I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since last Friday night. But I’m not looking for protection. What I want is someone who isn’t invested in this whole thing the way the police are. I’m not saying they’re sitting on their hands; they’re trying to find out who killed Zack and Robin Burrell. But I happen to know that they prefer the copycat theory. The fact that the killer might be the same person who performed the murders they’ve already arrested Marshall for? They don’t want that.”
“No offense, but how is it you know what the police are thinking?”
“I’m putting myself in their shoes. I’m reading between the lines.”
“You’re guessing.”
He let out a sigh. “Yes. I’m guessing.”
“And what do you want from me?”
“You’re a private investigator. Let me emphasize. Private investigator. I thought of you the day after Robin Burrell was killed. Running into you in the courtroom. And then I saw reports the other day about your, um, incident. You’re looking for the killer as well, aren’t you?”
I tried to keep a neutral expression. “And if I am?”
“You are. Your sweetheart lives directly across the street from where Robin Burrell lived. I’m a stickler for research. I find things out.”
“You know, people don’t like other people nosing about in their business.”
Ross erupted into laughter. “Oh well, that’s choice. A private snoop lamenting someone else doing a little snooping? I like that. Maybe you’d let me set up a screen test for you, Mr. Malone. I could see a series developing out of that.” He made a square with his hands and held it up in front of him. “The Selfish Detective. Have you ever considered the slippery slope of show business?”
“My slope is plenty slippery, thanks anyway.”
The tension that had been growing in the room evaporated. Ross was only kidding about the TV-show idea, of course, but even so, slipping back into his element seemed to relax him somewhat. The color came up in his face.
“Here’s the story,” Ross said pleasantly. “I would like to make it official. I’d like to hire you. You’ve already heard my angle. There’s plenty self-serving on my part, I’m the first to admit it. But so what? I feel guilty about my man Marshall being the springboard for some pathetic sicko out there killing people. I want Marshall found innocent, and I want these killings to stop. I want to clear my conscience and Marshall’s name all at once. Nice tidy package.”
“The police are doing everything they can.”
“Then why are you running around looking for Robin Burrell’s killer?”
“Remember, that’s your theory, Mr. Ross.”
“Fine. The point is, I’d like to hire you. Like I say, I’ve done my research. It turns out you’re not so bad at what you do.”
“It’s been an okay Act One,” I said.
“So it’s settled. You’ve seen my absurd office, I don’t like to quibble over money. Whatever’s your normal fee, I’ll double it. I’m sorry, Mr. Malone, but I’m in the business of buying people. I want to be your top-priority client. And I want to hear from you every day. Progress reports. I’m not trying to bully you. I just have a certain way of operating.”
A pigeon floated gracefully past the window behind Ross’s head, angling down for a sharp descent. I shoved myself to the edge of the annoying chair.
“I have a certain way of operating as well,” I said. “It starts with my not having the client tell me how to go about doing my job.”
“You have connections. I know about your father. You’ve got friends on the force. At one point you were even planning to become a cop yourself.”
I stood up. “Hats off to your researchers, Mr. Ross. It looks to me like you have all the snoops you need.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. I’m not handling this too well.” He pulled open a drawer and removed an envelope. “I make no demands. That’s just how I’m used to operating. I want this nightmare ended.” He tossed the envelope onto the desk. “That’s five thousand dollars. If nothing else, it’s for coming in to see me.”
I picked up the envelope. It was thick and crunchy. I slapped it against my palm. Five thousand dollars makes a sweet slap. “If word gets out, you’ll have every gumshoe in the city bugging Linda for an appointment.”
Ross smiled wanly. “I feel helpless, Mr. Malone. It’s not a mode I’m accustomed to, believe me. It’s just that I’d like to feel I’m doing something to undo what’s happened.”
“Dead’s dead, Mr. Ross.”
“I know that. You decide if you’d like to accept my offer. I hope you do. Either way, keep the money. Or give it to your favorite charity, I don’t really care what you do with it. I just want to help in some way. If you decide it won’t kill you to keep me posted, either on your progress or the progress of the police, wonderful. I’ll pay you for my own peace of mind. Maybe that sounds pathetic to you, but don’t forget, I operate in a superficial world. Maybe if I hired a good writer, I could script a more meaningful gesture.”
I slapped the envelope against my hand a second time. “How about I get back to you?”
He stood. “Sure. That would be fine. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.” He clasped his hands behind his back and gave me a professional smile. It felt like an anti-handshake.
Linda’s smile was also way below wattage as she fetched my coat from the closet. I’ve yet to know a secretary who didn’t know everything that was taking place in her boss’s office, if not his mind. I looked to see if her ear was red from pressing against the door.
“He’s in pain,” she said softly as she handed over my coat.
I had an almost irresistible urge to chuck her on the chin. I fought the urge with all my might, then made my way out to the elevator for the long ride back to Planet Earth.
30
THE DOORMAN REMEMBERED ME.