“True,” I said.

“But, I’m not forgetting what I owe you… When Lisa was gone.”

“That’s not an owesie,” I said.

“It is to me. I’ll help you when I can.”

“Mary Smith says she never hired this guy,” I said.

“Mary Smith’s an idiot,” Belson said.

“Well,” I said. “There’s that.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Larson Graf faxed me an invitation list with the names of Mary Smith’s 227 closest friends, in alphabetical order. I recognized enough of the names to assume that these weren’t people who hung out at bowling alleys.

The first one I was able to talk with was a guy named Loren Bannister, who was the CEO of an insurance company. He probably thought I was a prospect.

“Mary Smith?” he said.

“Yes, sir. Your name was high on her list.”

“Maybe because the list was alphabetical,” he said.

Bannister was square-jawed and silver-haired with a nice tan. He was in full uniform. Dark suit, white shirt, gold cuff links, red tie with tiny white dots.

“You’re too modest,” I said.

“Um-him. I assume this is connected with Nathan Smith’s death?”

“Yes.”

“She really kill him?” Bannister said.

“No.”

“And you work for Cone Oakes?”

“Yes.”

“Barry Cone called me,” Bannister said. “How can I help you?”

“Tell me about Mary Smith.”

“Well, I don’t know her very well,” Bannister said. “I knew Nathan a little.”

“They seem happy to you?”

“Sure. I guess so. She was younger. As I said, I’d see them now and then, at charity events, mostly.”

“Did you know them socially?”

“In the sense that we would go out to dinner with them? No.”

“Do you know Larson Graff?”

“Graff?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe so. Who is he?”

“He’s Mary Smith’s PR man.”

Bannister smiled. “Oh,” he said. “Him.”

“You know him?”

“I didn’t know his name,” Bannister said. “Mary is at a lot of affairs without Nathan. Whatsisname escorts her.”

“Did your company insure the Smiths?”

“I don’t really know,” Bannister said. He smiled. “I don’t do much direct selling.”

“Could you find out?” I said.

“Does it say CEO on my door?” he said. “Of course I could find out.”

“Would you?”

Bannister looked as if he might say no. But instead he picked up his phone.

“Allison? Please find out if we have policies on Nathan Smith or Mary Smith.” He looked at me. “Address?”

I gave him the address and he repeated it to Allison.

“Get back to me promptly,” he said and hung up. He seemed confident that he would be gotten back to promptly.

“Aside from walker duties,” I said, “would you know why Mary Smith would need a public relations person?”

“No.”

“Who would know?” I said.

Bannister leaned back in his swivel chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Barry Cone’s a buddy of mine,” Bannister said. “He asked me to talk with you. I’m happy to do so. But I don’t get why you’re talking to me. I don’t really know Mary Smith. I don’t know who would know about her. I say hello to her at cocktail parties that I go to because being prominent is part of my job.”

“And Nathan Smith?”

“See him at the Harvard Club once in a while,” Bannister said. “Knew him casually. He was a player.”

“A player?”

“Yes. In the money business.”

“What did he do?” I said.

Bannister smiled. “He fiddled with money.”

“How?”

“Like everybody else,” Bannister said. “He bought and he sold.”

“Stocks and bonds?”

“And real estate, and banks, and, for all I know, lottery tickets.”

“Who would know more about him?” I said.

Bannister shrugged. “His attorney. His broker. His doctor. His priest? I don’t know how to make this clearer. I don’t really know either one of them.”

The phone rang and Bannister answered. He listened, made a couple of notes, said thank you, and hung up.

“We have a whole-life policy on Nathan Smith,” he said.

“How much?”

Bannister hesitated only a moment. “Ten million dollars,” he said.

“There’s some premiums to pay,” I said.

“Not as much as you might think,” Bannister said. “It was taken out for him at birth, by his grandfather.”

“Beneficiary?”

“Mary Smith.”

I didn’t say anything. Bannister had tilted back in his chair again and reclasped his hands.

“That doesn’t help your cause,” Bannister said.

“Not much,” I said. “Can I get a copy of the policy?”

“It’s confidential.”

“Yeah, but you and Barry Cone are buddies.”

Bannister smiled. “I’ll have somebody run it off and FedEx it over,” he said. “May I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why, if you are trying to clear Mary Smith, are you investigating Mary Smith?”

“I have nowhere else to investigate,” I said. “Think of it as cold-canvassing.”

Bannister smiled. “I never sold insurance,” he said. “My last job was at Pepsi-Cola.”

“Management is management,” I said.

Bannister nodded and smiled. “Good luck with the cold canvass,” he said.

CHAPTER SIX

It was almost May. The azaleas were blooming. The swan boats were active in the Public Gardens. The softball leagues had begun across Charles Street, on the Common. And, in the Charles River Basin, the little rental sailboats skidded and heeled in the faint evening wind.

“You’re working for that hussy again,” Susan said.

“Rita?”

“Miss Predatory,” Susan said.

“I like Rita,” I said.

“I know.”

“Are you being jealous?” I said.

“Analytic,” Susan said. “Rita is sexually rapacious and perfectly amoral about it. I’m merely acknowledging that.”

“But you don’t disapprove.”

“Professionalism prevents disapproval,” Susan said.

“So the term ”hussy“ is just a clinical designation,” I said.

“Certainly,” Susan said. “She has every right to wear her skirts as short as she wishes.”

“She wears short skirts?” I said.

“Like you didn’t notice.”

“So do you like Rita, Ms. Professional?”

“Red-haired floozy,” Susan said.

“I so admire professionalism.”

Susan and I stood on the little barrel-arched bridge over the lagoon and watched Pearl the Wonder Dog as she tracked the elusive french-fry carton. Her face was gray. She didn’t hear well. Her back end was arthritic and she limped noticeably as she hunted.

“Old,” Susan said to me.

I nodded.

“But her eyes are still bright and she still wags her tail and gives kisses,” Susan said.

“Me too.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the tail wagging,” Susan said.

Pearl found a nearly bald tennis ball under the island end of the bridge and picked it up and brought it to us and refused to drop it. So we patted her and Susan told her she was very good, until Pearl spotted a pigeon, lost interest in the ball, dropped it, and limped after the pigeon.

“She hasn’t got long,” Susan said.

“No.”

“Then what do we do?”

“If she has to be put away, can you do it?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Because you can’t?”

“I don’t know about can’t,” I said. “But if you can do it, I’ll let you.”

“I thought you were fearless,” Susan said.

“I am, but it’s embarrassing for a guy as fearless as I am to cry in the vet’s office.”

“But it’s okay for me?”

“Sure,” I said. “You’re a girl.”

“How enlightened,” Susan said.

Pearl came back to check where we were. Since her hearing had declined she was more careful about checking on us. Susan bent over and looked at her face.

“But not yet,” Susan said.

“No.”

Susan put her arms around my waist and pressed her face against my chest. I patted her back softly. After a while she pushed away from me and looked up. Her face was bright. The shadow had moved on.