Ed McBain - Another Part of the City

“Comex saw fit to call me,” Hyde said.

“Meaning what?” Rothstein said. “If you’re suggesting that our firm has done anything illegal...”

“Innuendo isn’t my style,” Hyde said.

“Or even immoral...”

“Of course not,” Hyde said.

“Then... forgive me... but what’s this all about?”

“It would help if I could know the names of the officers and directors of these three corporations,” Hyde said. “I’m sure you have the necessary disclosure forms...”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you think someone in your office could fill them in for me? And have them signed by the principals? I would appreciate it.”

“We’ll put someone on it right away,” Phelps said.

“There’s no great hurry,” Hyde said. “Christmas is almost here. I can imagine how busy you are.” He smiled, raised his eyebrows again. “But right after the holidays?”

“Yes, certainly,” Rothstein said.

“Well then, fine,” Hyde said, and glanced at his watch.

Phelps let out his breath.

On the sidewalk outside, he said, “So now we contact the Kidds.”

“No problem.” Rothstein said. “We’re still under the six-thousand-lot limit for any single principal.”

“Yes, but it makes me nervous.”

“A routine check,” Rothstein said. “Where are you headed now?”

“I’ve got to meet Kitty. We’re seeing a travel agent about that damn Caribbean trip. I should be back in an hour or so.”

The trouble with Lowell Rothstein was that he seemed to be lying.

Smooth and slick as ice, a pleasant smile on his handsome face — but nonetheless lying in his teeth.

“You’re sure you don’t know him, huh?” Reardon said.

“I’m afraid not.”

Reardon looked at him long and hard. Sometimes, when they were lying, a long, hard look was enough to turn them around. Not Rothstein. The pleasant smile lingered on his face. His eyes held Reardon’s unflinchingly.

“Your partner seems to think he was here last Monday.”

“My partner is wrong,” Rothstein said.

“A man named Peter Dodge did not come here to buy silver contracts?”

“He did not.”

“Then where’d your partner get the idea?”

Rothstein shrugged. “We’re a big firm with a great many customers,” he said, and shrugged again.

“Mr. Rothstein,” Reardon said. “I wonder if I could see your appointment calendar for Monday, December fifteenth.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Rothstein asked.

“Because your partner seemed certain a Peter Dodge was listed on it.”

“My appointment calendar is a personal record, Mr. Reardon. A stock broker’s business is as confidential as that of a doctor or a lawyer. If I were a doctor, for example, and you wished to see my appointment calendar in order to ascertain whether a seventeen-year-old girl had been here for an abortion, would you expect me to reveal such information? Of course not. Therefore, to protect the confidentiality between me and my...”

“Peter Dodge wasn’t here for an abortion,” Reardon said. “He was here to...”

“He wasn’t here at all. ”

“He was here to buy silver contracts.”

“I’m sorry. I have no such recollection.”

“Do you know he’s dead?”

“Dead?” Rothstein said, looking genuinely surprised. “No. How would I know that?”

Reardon sighed.

“I can get a court order for that calendar.” he said. “Would you like me to do that?”

“Do as you see fit, Mr. Reardon,” Rothstein said. “I do not know Peter Dodge, and I did not see him on Monday, December fifteenth. You’re mistaken. Now, I’m sorry, but...”

“Thanks,” Reardon said.

He took the elevator down to the ground floor, and was just coming out of the building — starting for the curb, in fact, where Ruiz was waiting behind the wheel of an unmarked sedan — when he saw Phelps coming up the street, a newspaper under his arm, a briefcase in his right hand. He went to him at once.

“Mr. Phelps?” he said.

Phelps was startled for a moment. Then, recognizing Reardon, he said, “Oh, Detective Reardon, how are you? You’re back again, I see.”

“I just spoke to your partner,” Reardon said.

“Ah, good,” Phelps said. “Was he able to help you?”

“He doesn’t remember seeing Peter Dodge.”

“Oh?” Phelps said. The alert look came into his eyes again, the same one that had been there yesterday, when Reardon was asking about silver contracts. “That’s strange,” he said.

“But you got the information from his secretary, didn’t you? That Dodge was here?”

“Well, yes, but... we’re a big firm, you see...”

“With a great many customers, yes.”

“Yes. So perhaps...”

“And she got the information from his appointment calendar, didn’t she?”

“Well, I don’t really know where she...”

“You asked Alice, I believe it was, to have Jenny — wasn’t that her name? — check Mr. Rothstein’s appointment calendar. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, but...”

“And you were informed that Peter Dodge had indeed been in to see Mr. Rothstein on Monday afternoon... about buying silver.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know why he was here, Mr. Reardon. If he was here. If Lowell says he wasn’t, I’m sure he’d know better than I. Perhaps his secretary mis read the appointment calendar, or perhaps Lowell himself...”

“Ask him, would you?” Reardon said.

“Ask him what?”

“Whether he was in error about Peter Dodge coming here to buy silver.”

“Well, certainly. But if he’s already told you...”

“Ask him. anyway, would you? And get back to me on it.” He fished into his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and found a card. “Here’s my card,” he said.

Phelps looked at it.

“Part of it’s in Chinese, huh?” he said, smiling faintly.

“Sometimes all of it’s in Chinese,” Reardon said.

Phelps gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ll talk to you.” Reardon said, and walked to the waiting car. As he got in beside Ruiz, he could see Phelps going through the revolving doors into the building.

“Where to, your Honor?” Ruiz asked.

“Let’s stick around awhile,” Reardon said.

He had just worked Phelps the way he would have worked a partner in a holdup or a murder. Separate him from his pal, plant some seeds, wait to see if they take root. Phelps — if indeed the appointment calendar information was correct — now had reason to believe his partner had lied about a man coming here to buy silver. Whether this meant anything at all simply remained to be seen. Sometimes your seeds grew into a forest; sometimes they died on parched earth.

Phelps did not even say “Good morning” to the firm’s receptionist. He went immediately past her desk, and opened the door beyond it, and hurried down the hall to Rothstein’s office. He did not knock. Rothstein was dictating a letter to his secretary when Phelps barged in.

“Jenny, I’d like to talk to Mr. Rothstein privately,” he said.

The secretary looked at Rothstein. Rothstein nodded.

The moment she was gone, Phelps said, “Why are you lying to the police about this Dodge person?”

“What? What Dodge person?”

“Peter Dodge. Why’d you say he wasn’t here?”

“Because he wasn’t,” Rothstein said. “What’s the matter with you, Joe?”

“The matter with me... Lowell, his name was in your appointment calendar, Jenny gave me his name. Now why did you tell that detective he...?”

“If he was here.” Rothstein said, “I forgot, plain and simple.”

“There’s not much you forget, Lowell.”