"It's nice of you to agree to talk to me, Mrs. Richardson."
"Anything to help in the investigation, Mr"
"Kurtz."
"Yes. But you're not with the police, you say. A private investigator?"
"An investigator, yes, ma'am," said Kurtz. When he had been a real P.I., he had owned one good suit and two decent ties for such interviews, and now he felt foolish in his Eddie Bauer windbreaker and chinos. Arlene had given him one of Alan's old ties, but Kurtz was two inches taller
and forty pounds heavier than his secretary's dead husband, so there would be no suit from that source. Kurtz looked forward to earning some money. After purchasing the two pistols, giving Arlene $300 toward equipment, and paying for his food and lodging, Kurtz was down to about $35.
"Who else is interested in finding Buell?" asked the accountant's wife.
"I'm not at liberty to reveal my client's identity, ma'am. But I can assure you that it's someone who wishes your husband well and wants to help find him."
Mrs. Richardson nodded. Her hair was tied up in an elaborate bun and Kurtz found himself noticing the artfully loose wisps of blond hair touching her perfect neck. "Is there anything that you might tell me about the circumstances of Mr. Richardson's disappearance?"
She shook her head slowly. "I've reported everything to the police, of course. But there's honestly nothing out of the ordinary that I can recall. It was just a month ago this Thursday. Buell left at his usual time that morning eight-fifteen and said that he was going straight to his office."
"His secretary told us that he didn't have any meetings scheduled for that day," said Kurtz. "Isn't that unusual for an accountant?"
"Not at all," said Mrs. Richardson. "Buell had a very few private clients and much of his business with them was conducted over the telephone."
"You know the names of those clients?"
Mrs. Richardson pursed her perfect pink lips. "I'm sure that's confidential, Mr"
"Kurtz."
" but I can assure you that all of his clients were important people serious people and all above reproach."
"Of course," said Kurtz. "And he was driving the Mercedes E300 on the day of his disappearance?"
Mrs. Richardson cocked her head. "Yes. Haven't you read the police report, Mr"
"Kurtz. Yes, ma'am, I have. Just double-checking."
"Well, he was. Driving the smaller Mercedes, I mean. I had some shopping to do that day so I had the larger one. The police found the little one the next day. The little Mercedes, I mean."
Kurtz nodded. Little Skag had said that the accountant's E300 had been left in Lackawanna, where it had been stripped within hours. There had been hundreds of fingerprints on the shell of the vehicle, all those identified so far belonging to the gangbangers and civilians who had helped themselves to parts.
"Can you think of any reason for Mr. Richardson to want to drop out of sight?" said Kurtz.
The statuesque blonde snapped her head back as if Kurtz had slapped her. "Do you mean, for instance, another woman, Mr"
"Kurtz," said Kurtz and waited.
"I resent that question and its implications."
I don't blame you , Kurtz wanted to say aloud. If your husband was stalking poon on the side, he was a moron . He waited.
"No, there was no reason for Buell to want to how did you put it, Mr. Katz? To drop out of sight. He was happy. We were happy. We have a good life. Buell was considering retiring in a year or so, we have the place in Maui where we were going to spend time, and we recently bought a boat a little sixty-foot catamaran" Mrs. Richardson paused. "We planned to spend the next few years sailing around the world."
Kurtz nodded. A little sixty-foot catamaran. What the hell would a big boat be like ? He tried to imagine a year on a sixty-foot yacht with this woman, tropical ports, long nights at sea. It wasn't too difficult. "Well, you've been very helpful, Mrs. Richardson," Kurtz said, rose, and headed for the door.
Mrs. Richardson hurried to keep up. "I don't see how my answering these few questions can help find my husband, Mr"
Kurtz had given up on the name thing. He'd known Sterno sniffers with better short-term memories than this woman.
"Actually, you've been very helpful," he said again. And she had been. Kurtz's only real reason for interviewing her was to see if she might have been involved in the accountant's disappearance. She hadn't been. Mrs. Richardson was beautifulstriking, evenbut she obviously wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Her ignorance had not been feigned. Kurtz doubted if she was even aware that her husband was almost certainly decomposing in a shallow grave or being nibbled on by bottom feeders in Lake Erie as they spoke.
"Thanks again," he said and walked out to Arlene's Buick.
"Shit," said Malcolm. He and Cutter were just getting out of the SLK. Malcolm put his hand out as if to grab Cutter, but stopped with his fingers an inch short of the man's
arm. He would never touch Cutter without permission, and Cutter would never give such permission. "Wait," said Malcolm, and both men slid back into the car.