Bill Pronzini - Savages

“Not at all.”

He plunked himself down in a matching chair on the other side. I watched him cross one leg over the other and rest both hands comfortably on his knee. He wasn’t what I’d expected, given Nancy Mathias’s diary entry and Tamara’s phone comment earlier. The Dracula comparison was an overheated exaggeration. Tall and lean, all right, with sharp incisors and piercing eyes, but his swarthy skin didn’t seem particularly leathery and there was nothing sinister about his appearance or his manner. Rising young executive type, suit and tie, shoes polished to a gloss, fingernails manicured, thinning hair neatly barbered and combed. I didn’t much like those eyes-they looked through you, rather than at you, and the irises were a kind of subterranean black-but you can’t judge a man on that basis alone.

Pretty soon he said, “Terrible, what happened to Mrs. Mathias. Just terrible.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I imagine you see a lot of that sort of thing in your business.”

“What sort of thing is that?”

“Fatal home accidents.”

“We see a lot of alleged accident claims, yes.”

“Alleged? I don’t understand.”

“Not all of them turn out to be accidents.”

The black stary eyes narrowed. “You’re not suggesting Mrs. Mathias’s death wasn’t accidental?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” I said.

“The woman was alone behind locked doors when she fell,” Drax said. “The police were satisfied.”

“The police don’t get paid to be skeptical. I do.”

“Why are you skeptical?”

“I didn’t say I was. I said I get paid to be.”

“Then why are you here? What do you want with Mr. Mathias?”

“The answers to a few questions. Clarification of facts.”

“What questions? What facts?”

“That’s between Mr. Mathias and me.”

“He wasn’t even in the state when his wife died. You must know that. He was at a business meeting in Chicago.”

“So we understand, yes.”

“Do you doubt it?”

“I have no reason to doubt it.”

“Then why are you here to harass him?”

“Ask questions, Mr. Drax. I don’t harass, I investigate.”

“He’s under a terrible strain as it is,” Drax said. “Ring-Tech is expanding, we’re about to go public with our stock, and the death of his wife has made a difficult time even twice as bad. Can’t you understand that?”

I understood that he’d put the IPO first, Nancy Mathias’s death second. I said, “What would you have me do? Rubber-stamp a claim because a man I don’t know is going through a difficult time?”

“Brandon Mathias is not just any man. You don’t seem to realize that.”

“No? Suppose you enlighten me.”

“He’s a major player in the computer software business and one day he’ll be a major player in corporate America.” Drax’s voice had reverence in it, the kind that is usually accorded to kings and popes. Or to Donald Trump by his underlings.

“A VIP,” I said.

“Yes. Exactly. Much too important to be subjected to inconsequentials.”

“You consider his wife’s death inconsequential?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Drax said. “I meant your investigation. It’s unnecessary and intrusive at such a difficult period in his life.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“It’s the opinion of everyone at RingTech.”

“But not necessarily mine or Pacific Rim’s.”

Basilisk stare. Those piercing eyes had a hypnotic quality when emotions ran strong in him. “Are you trying to insinuate that Mr. Mathias had something to do with his wife’s death? So you and your company can void his claim?”

“I don’t insinuate any more than I harass, Mr. Drax.”

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“What you think is irrelevant. Your opinions don’t matter.”

“You can’t talk to me like that. How dare you!”

Nobody had ever said “how dare you!” to me before. I didn’t like it much, coming from Drax. I didn’t like him much. I told myself it was time to ease off, but I might have pushed him a little further if Brandon Mathias hadn’t picked that moment to walk in.

Drax had been leaning forward in his chair, glaring at me; as soon as he saw his employer, he stood up straight as an arrow and drew his shoulders back, the way a soldier does in the presence of big brass. I got up, too, more slowly-more reflex than anything else. As soon as I was on my feet, I wished I’d stayed seated.

The thing was, people would generally snap to attention when Mathias showed up. He was the kind of man who owns a room as soon as he enters it, who expects deference and demands obedience. One good look at him and you knew that. It wasn’t a matter of stature-he was an inch or so under six feet, narrow shouldered, small hands and feet, unprepossessing features, with a mop of Ted Kennedy-like brown hair. It was an air of supreme self-confidence, a kind of radiating magnetism. High-level politicians have it. So do what Drax had referred to as major players in corporate America. It can’t be faked or manufactured; those who have it are born with it.

Mathias greeted me with a grave smile, an apology-“I’m sorry to be so late; I was detained in a meeting”-and a firm handshake, maintaining eye contact the entire time. The eyes, a deep blue-green, might have had sadness in them, but he didn’t look like a grieving widower. Or a businessman under a terrible strain. He looked fit in a dark Armani suit, reasonably well rested, at ease, and in charge. Politicians’ charisma, and that was something you could fake. He wore his like a tight-fitting mask. So tight and so seemingly genuine that the iceman underneath was completely hidden.

He dismissed Drax, who left without a word, aiming another glare at me on his way out. Mathias went around behind his desk, sat down when I did. He placed his hands flat on the desktop and leaned forward slightly, letting me have his full attention, waiting for me to open the conversation.

I said, “My condolences on your loss, Mr. Mathias. How are you bearing up?”

“As well as can be expected, thank you.”

“I won’t keep you long. I just have a few questions.”

“Of course.”

“Were you and your wife having any problems prior to her death?”

Fastball, high and tight. He didn’t even twitch. “Problems?”

“Personal difficulties.”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Part of my job. Do you mind answering?”

“No, of course not. Nancy and I were devoted to each other. Our four years together were the happiest of my life.”

“So you’d say she was happy, too. Content.”

“Very much so.”

First lie. And not a small one.

I said, “I understand she was something of a recluse.”

“Nancy? Lord, no. She was a very warm, outgoing person.”

“But she didn’t go out often, stopped seeing all her friends.”

“Did her sister tell you that? Celeste Ogden?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Well, you really should take anything that woman says with several grains of salt. Mrs. Ogden disapproved of my marriage to Nancy, disapproved of our lifestyle. She made such an intrusive annoyance of herself that Nancy stopped having anything to do with her.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The woman is also a trespasser and a thief.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh yes. After Nancy’s accident, she illegally entered my home and rummaged through my wife’s belongings and removed a number of private papers.”

“How do you know this?”

“I discovered the items missing the following day. Found out later she talked the housekeeper into giving her a key. Simple addition.”

“Did you confront her?”