“What about him?”

“I’m looking for him.”

“There seems to be an army looking for him.”

“But I’m going to have your help.”

“Why would I help you?”

“Because if I can find him, the police will have a sweet suspect to nail Wren’s murder on. Which would be a great benefit to Julia.”

“Yes, it would.”

“And we both are doing all we can for poor Julia.”

“Yes, we are.” He stared at me for a moment and then dropped his chin. “He is a frightening man, Victor.”

“Then the sooner I find him, the better for everyone.”

“I’ve never met him, of course. And so everything I know is secondhand, from Wren.”

“Go on.”

“Wren said he was tall, good-looking, a ne’er-do-well. He drove a convertible and wore sunglasses and dated actresses. He lived on the West Coast but was often in Philadelphia to visit family and friends.”

I think it was the sunglasses that got me to thinking. The actresses, too, maybe, but really the sunglasses. I mean, where did that come from, sunglasses?

“Wren told me Miles had shadowy contacts with mobsters and drug dealers,” continued Clarence. “Some of his deals had been quite questionable, and there were rumors of an incident in Fresno that left one man dead.”

“Fresno?” I said.

“Yes, that’s right. Fresno. Wren told me that he didn’t trust Miles, didn’t really want anything to do with him. But Mr. Trocek had done him a favor in the past, and Wren wanted to help him with his investment. Miles, with his contact at the bank, was perfect for that. So Wren asked me to draft the agreement quite carefully, to protect everybody in case Miles stepped out of line.”

“Did you ever talk to this Miles fellow?” I said.

“Once, on the phone,” said Clarence.

I watched him closely as he spoke.

“His voice was deep, booming,” said Clarence. “He called me ‘Clarence, old buddy,’ even though we’d never met. He tried to be helpful, but he wouldn’t tell me much. He said his accountant would get back to me to answer my questions, but the accountant never did.”

Clarence spoke now with none of the hesitancy or meandering language that had typified his speech before then, and I let him. He tossed off a few more details, he mentioned something about a toupee. I nodded and returned his smirk when he told it, but I wasn’t listening anymore. It was the “Clarence, old buddy” that did it finally, and the way Clarence Swift couldn’t avoid the slight sneer that appeared on his lips when he repeated it. As soon as I heard it, I realized what I should have realized long ago. That Miles Cave didn’t exist. That he had never existed. That he was a figment of Wren Denniston’s imagination, and Clarence knew it.

Clarence kept on talking, telling me what he could about Miles Cave, with his convertible and sunglasses and actress girlfriends, with his life that contained everything that Clarence’s did not, while I looked again around the office.

Piles of files, documents, small drawers for keeping three-by-five cards listing rentals paid. All the hallmarks of a crimped legal practice and a real estate management company barely getting by. And the photographs in their frames. Clarence with an older man, his father, maybe? Another portrait of that older man, staring fiercely at the camera. Clarence with Wren Denniston. Clarence with his secretary, Edna. And one of a woman, tall and broad. It looked like Edna in her younger years, but that’s not who it was. I had seen that photograph before, Clarence had shown a copy of it to me in my office. It was of his fiancée, Margaret.

But I recognized the woman from more than her picture.

Clarence Swift again pulled out the handkerchief and wiped his brow. He had worked up quite a sweat manufacturing his Miles Cave tale. I almost felt like clapping.

“I hope that helped, Victor,” said Clarence as he snapped his handkerchief back into his pocket.

“It did,” I said. “More than you know. Thank you.”

“Do you need something, Mr. Swift?” called the secretary again from the outer office.

“We’re fine, Edna. Fine.” He looked at me, pursed his lips as if at the trials he suffered at the hands of his secretary. “And I again apologize for misleading you initially.”

“No harm, no foul, Clarence. Have you heard from this Mr. Cave lately?”

“No, not at all.”

“You’ll let me know if you do.”

“Of course.”

“Do you think he might have killed Dr. Denniston?”

“It’s possible, maybe probable. From what Wren told me, I sensed he could be quite dangerous.”

“Fresno,” I said, nodding.

“Yes, Fresno. But one thing I know for sure is that Mrs. Denniston had nothing to do with the murder.”

“How are you so certain that she didn’t?” I said as I stood.

“Because I know her,” said Clarence. “She is a unique woman, so extraordinary in so many many ways. It would be impossible for her. Just impossible. The very thought…”

“Yes,” I said. “The very thought.”

“I hope you find him, Victor. Find him and drag him to justice.”

“That’s just what I intend to do,” I said.

27

So why didn’t I charge up to the bastard, grab him by the lapels, butt him in the chest like an irate French soccer player, and call him a liar?

Because he would have denied it, in a whining, plaintive voice that would have set my teeth on edge and my ears to bleeding. Because I couldn’t have proved it, not yet at least. Because I didn’t understand what it was all about or what it had to do with Wren Denniston’s murder or what happened to the money, and I didn’t think it advisable to spook him before I had some answers. But I now knew one thing for sure, if I hadn’t known it already.

Clarence Swift was the enemy, deadly or not, I couldn’t yet tell, but without doubt the enemy.

“So we done roaming and ready to get down to getting me my money?” said Derek as I stalked away from Swift & Son while Derek followed on my heels.

“I’m going back to the office now,” I said. “You can fill in the tax forms there.”

“I been thinking about that tax thing, and I got to tell you, bo, it’s not such a good idea. Really, why bring the tax man in on our business and get all legal on me?”

“Because I’m a lawyer, Derek. You know, if your income is low enough, you might get money back from the government. Filing your taxes could provide a financial windfall.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing, know what I mean?”

“Unfortunately, I think that I do. Now, could you do me a favor and let me think for a bit?”

“Sure can. I don’t mean to be messing with your mind.”

“Thank you.”

“But what I was-”

“Derek.”

“I only mean-”

“Derek.”

“Okay, bo. I can take a hint.”

“Good.”

“It’s just that…”

He kept talking. That was just the way he was built, but I tuned him out as I tried to figure what the hell was going on.

Why had Wren Denniston invented Miles Cave? To create a partnership for Gregor Trocek’s money. Why do that? The only answer was that he had planned to steal the money from the start. I’d bet almost anything that the date of the partnership’s creation was after Wren discovered the embezzlement in Taipei that killed the hedge fund and caused Inner Circle’s collapse. Gregor needed a vehicle to invest his illegal cash. Wren created it, all the while plotting to steal the cash and leave Gregor searching for the mysterious Miles Cave. And how much did Clarence know about it? Probably everything.

Did the missing money have anything to do with Wren Denniston’s murder? I’d bet yes – one point seven mil is a lot of motive – but then who pulled the trigger? Gregor Trocek, who put the money up in the first place? He was still searching for Miles Cave, he’d been duped, maybe he’d found out what had happened and decided to get some revenge before he found the cash. Or maybe it was someone who knew where the money had gone to. Someone like Julia? But she had an alibi. Someone like Clarence Swift? Who had created the partnership? Who was probably in on the scheme from the start? Who was lying to everyone to protect his secret?