Swan Dive - Jeremiah Healy Read Online Free Page B

to bring everyone into the
conversation. "I’m afraid I’ve just had a call from Mr.
Marsh. He’s been delayed and won’t be here for approximately
forty-five minutes."
    Chris said, "Jeez, Felicia, I told you when we
set this up that I’d be pressed if we ran late. I got this closing
up in Lowell . . ."
    Arnold acted heartbroken. "Yes, Chris, I know.
And I reminded Mr. Marsh of that and he promised to be just as quick
as he could be. But I really am reluctant to start anything
substantive without his being present. So . . ." She opened the
door and backed through it."
    ". . I’m going to try to get some other work
done. Please feel free to use the library. Just buzz live on the
intraoffice phone if you’d like coffee."
    After the door closed, Hanna said, very quietly, "I
told you this would happen."
    "Now, Hanna, I’m sure . . ."
    I said, "What do you mean?"
    Hanna looked up at me, her gray eyes hard and sad at
the same time. "This is Roy’s way. To hold everybody up so he
can be the center, the control of everything."
    "Well, at least this way you and Chris have more
time to prepare. I’ll be in the library so you two can talk
confidentially."
    I was scanning the library shelves for anything
remotely interesting to read when I heard Arnold’s voice behind me.
"John, could I have a word with you? In my office?"
    By the time I had turned around, she was already
walking away from me with that long, vibrating strut of a leggy woman
in high heels. I felt like a fourth-grader being summoned by the
principal.
    Arnold’s office was a little larger than the
conference room and even more tastefully appointed in Orientals and
leathers. On the corner of the building, one large window captured
the harbor while the other offered a more specific view of a couple
of magnificent
homes across the water on
Marblehead Neck.
    "Please, sit down."
    I sat and watched her ease into the large swivel desk
chair. She had a dancer’s body and a ballerina’s absolute control
of it. I decided to wait her out.
    "Well?" she finally said.
    I just watched her.
    She dissolved to disgust. Picking up the telephone,
she pushed one button and said, "Paul? Now, please."
    She hung up and seconds later a door on a side wall
opened. The bearded man I’d seen earlier came through it, pad in
hand.
    Arnold said, "Mr. Cuddy, this is my associate,
Paul Troller. Paul?"
    Troller spoke without reading from his pad. "The
Board of Bar Overseers lists no ‘John Cuddy’ or variation thereof
licensed to practice in the Commonwealth. The Board of Bar Examiners
shows no such name or variation sitting for any of the last three bar
exams." He regarded me in a superior way. "I haven’t had
time to research the penalty for impersonating an attorney."
    I said to Arnold, "His batteries expensive?"
    She toyed with a grin as he clenched his free list
and bent the pad lengthwise in the other. "I wouldn’t upset
Paul if I were you. He was a finalist in the Golden Gloves before
enrolling in law school."
    I reached for my identification as Paul took a step
toward me. "I’m a private investigator. There was some concern
about Mr. Marsh’s good behavior here today. If Chris had seen a
copy of Paulie’s résumé, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been
necessary."
    Troller’s next step was cut short by her saying
"Paul," stretching out the syllable with an authoritative
lilt at the end. She leaned forward and took my identification,
seeming somehow relieved as she read it.
    "You were the one involved in the shooting at
Middlesex last month."
    "Correct."
    She glanced down at the ID again as she returned it
to me. "That still your address?" She was leering at me and
peripherally checking for Paul’s reaction. Lovely woman.
    I stood up. "Just
call us when Marsh arrives."
    * * *
    He didn’t look like an insurance salesman. What he
looked like was a snake. .
    Marsh came into the conference room dressed in old
corduroy pants and a windbreaker with a chamois workshirt underneath.
He