William Rabkin - The Call of the Mild

But if Rushton was offended, he didn’t show it. Of course, Gus thought, if Rushton was so enraged he was about to turn into Lou Ferrigno, he wouldn’t show that, either.

“You say Archie Kane was your client,” Rushton said. “Do you have any evidence of that? A contract, perhaps? Or a deal memo? Even a retainer check?”

“Not that I’m free to show you,” Shawn said.

“I see.” Rushton reached for the phone. Gus half-expected him to order the dogs to be released. “Helen, my business meeting seems to have turned into a social call,” he said into the intercom. “Feel free to put through calls.”

Gus wondered if they were supposed to leave at this point. Fortunately, Shawn was no better at supposed to than he was at fine lines. He was looking around the room again, and this time Gus realized he wasn’t just admiring the decor.

Shawn looked around the office and he saw. Saw among the framed photos one of a much younger Rushton-already in a wheelchair in his forties-shaking hands with Marcel Marceau. Saw among all the expensive nautical antiques on Rushton’s desk a cheap trophy with WORLD’S GREATEST BOSS embossed on a metal plate flaking with age. Saw a plaque honoring the lawyer with an award from something called the “Second Chance for Kids Foundation.” Saw a snapshot of a young mime imitating the lawyer behind his back. Saw Rushton’s calendar on the desk opened to today’s date, with the initials AK scrawled in the first hourly slot at the top of the page.

Shawn turned back to Rushton. “Not that I can show you,” he said. “But I can tell you.”

Rushton glanced at his watch. “My personal services run up to five thousand dollars per hour,” he said. “I’ll give you two minutes for free. Anything above that will incur the hourly charge. And people don’t refuse to pay my bills.”

“Archie Kane worked for you for many years,” Shawn said. “Officially for the firm, but his loyalty was always with you. That’s because you met him when he was a troubled youth. If you hadn’t given him a minimum-wage job in your office when he was still a teenager, he would have ended up on the street trying to support himself as a mime. And we both know how far his particular set of miming skills would have taken him. Over the years he proved himself to be completely loyal and reliable, so much so that even though he never became a lawyer, he was a valuable part of this firm. Valuable, again, to you more than to the firm itself. But then, you are the firm.”

“The other founding partners are dead, it’s true,” Rushton said.

“Archie would have done anything to protect you,” Shawn said. “And when he began to realize there was someone in this firm who was using it as the base for a criminal conspiracy, smuggling stolen tech secrets, he tried to alert you. But he didn’t have any evidence, and he couldn’t tell you who it was, so you dismissed it as him being overprotective. Archie wouldn’t let anyone do you harm, even yourself, so he started to investigate on his own. He did uncover the conspiracy, and he was planning to reveal it to you this morning. But he was careless, and they found out about him first. I suspect when the police examine that Town Car they’ll discover the brake line was cut.”

“I just got off the phone with them,” Rushton said. “It was. Go on.”

Shawn leaned back in his armchair. “The first two minutes were free. Anything above that is going to incur the hourly charge. And while people do refuse to pay our bills sometimes, it really hurts my feelings.”

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Spencer?” Rushton said. “To collect a fee for the work you did for Archie Kane?”

Shawn leaned forward in his chair and punched a finger at Rushton. “Archie Kane was our client,” he said. “‘When a man’s client is killed, he’s supposed to do something about it. It doesn’t make a difference what you thought of him. He was your client and you’re supposed to do something about it. And it happens we’re in the detective business. When one of your organization gets killed, it’s bad business to let the killer get away with it, bad all around, bad for every detective everywhere. ’ ”

“You did that well, Mr. Spencer,” Rushton said. “Not as well as Humphrey Bogart, but then you didn’t have John Huston directing you.”

“What, does everyone have that movie memorized?” Shawn said.

Gus saw this moment slipping away. More precisely, he saw it running away, being chased by the guard dogs that Rushton was undoubtedly about to release.

“The words aren’t ours, but the sentiment is,” Gus said quickly. “We didn’t know Archie Kane well, but we never doubted his devotion to this firm. Just about the first thing he ever said to us was that he wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

“And he was wearing whiteface when he said it,” Shawn said. “If he was willing to break the mime’s solemn vow of silence, you know how much it meant to him.”

“He was dressed as a mime?” For the first time since he wheeled into the room, Rushton allowed a flicker of feeling to cross his face. “Archie hated miming. It was his counselor at the institute who pushed him down that path. And it turned out to be a good thing for him-it’s how I got to know the boy. I personally have always loved the art form. But when I hired Archie, he vowed he’d never mime again now that he had a purpose in life. And as far as I knew, he never did.”

“He did it for you,” Shawn said. “He died trying to protect you.”

“Because I wouldn’t listen to him,” Rushton said.

“Because one of the people working for you is a murderer,” Shawn said. “Archie Kane was the second victim; the first was a woman named Ellen Svaco, who seems to have been involved in the smuggling ring Archie was trying to expose.”

“Archie warned me it was someone close,” Rushton said. “One of my junior partners. Which one is it?”

“We don’t know,” Shawn said.

“Yet,” Gus added.

“What do you need from me?” Rushton said.

“Access,” Shawn said. “Instruct your people they’ve got to talk to us. Give us free rein for two days, and we’ll give you your killer.”

“I can give you something better than that,” Rushton said. “I can give you a job.”

Babysitting. Decades on the force, a lifetime in detective work, and now Henry had become a professional babysitter. His sole job for the SBPD was to keep Chris Rasmussen occupied so the grown-ups could do the real work.

To make the day even more humiliating, every place Rasmussen had taken Henry felt like a stop any young child would want to make. They’d hit the local animal shelter to see if Ellen Svaco had tried to adopt a cat, and had to look through all the cat cages to see if there was a “Fluffy” there. They had been through half a dozen pet stores on a futile mission to see if anyone remembered the woman who’d had the name inscribed on all her cat implements. And to guarantee maximum embarrassment, wherever they went, Rasmussen would inevitably introduce himself by patting the badge printed on his polo shirt like a little boy with a tin star.

As they pulled up to one more useless stop, this one a veterinarian’s office, Rasmussen gave Henry a firm chuck on the shoulder with his fist. “The brainwork is the key, but it’s the leg-work that makes it turn in the lock.”

Henry sighed heavily. This whole day was like being trapped with a human fortune cookie-worse, because Henry had written all the fortunes himself. “I don’t understand how you know all these things I’ve said.” Henry got out of the car and waited for Rasmussen to join him at the vet’s entrance. “It’s not like I wrote a self-help book or anything.”