in the city,” Abra put in with the faintest of southern drawls. Eli merely patted her arm.
“Is Mr. Duncan working out of another office? I should’ve called him, but I couldn’t find his card. I remembered where the office was. Maybe you could direct us to where he’s working now, or maybe you have his number so we can call him?”
“It won’t do you any good. Mr. Duncan was shot and killed a few weeks ago.”
“Oh my God!” Abra gripped Eli’s arm. “I want to go. I really just want to go home.”
“Not here,” the receptionist qualified, and added with a thin smile, “And not in the city. He was working up north, a place called Whiskey Beach.”
“This is terrible. Just terrible. Mr. Duncan helped me with a . . .”
“Personal problem,” the receptionist supplied.
“Yes, a couple of years ago. He was a nice guy. I’m really sorry. I guess you knew him.”
“Sure. Kirby did some work for my boss from time to time, and for the loan company across the hall.”
“I’m really sorry,” Eli repeated. “Thanks for your help.” He took a step back, stopped. “But . . . you said he was up north, but there was a break-in here. I don’t understand.”
“The cops are working on that. It looks like whoever killed him came looking for something here. All I know is he told the boss he’d be in the field for a few days. The next thing I know there’s police tape on the door, and the cops are asking if I saw anything or anyone suspicious. I didn’t, though you can get some of that here with people looking for help with personal problems.”
“I guess.”
“The way I hear it, it happened the same night he was killed, or most likely. So there wouldn’t have been anyone around to see anything. So . . . I can give you a referral to another investigator.”
“I just want to go.” Abra tugged at Eli’s hand. “Can we just go home, deal with this there?”
“Yeah. All right. Thanks anyway. It’s a real shame.”
When they stepped out Eli considered trying one of the other two offices, but he didn’t see the point. Abra stayed quiet until they headed down the stairs.
“You’re really good at that.”
“At what?”
“Lying.”
“Prevaricating.”
“Is that what lawyers call it?”
“No, we call it lying.”
She laughed, bumped shoulders with him. “I don’t know what I expected to find out coming here. The break-in happened either really late at night or early in the morning. No one would’ve seen anything.”
“I got something out of it.”
“Share,” she insisted as they got back in the car.
“If we go with the theory Suskind hired Duncan, you’ve got an upper-middle-class type. A suit type, family-in-a-big-house-in-the-pretty-burbs type. Status is important to him. But when he hires an investigator he goes down-market.”
“Maybe someone recommended him.”
“I doubt it. I think he didn’t want high-end with high rates for two reasons. One, he didn’t want anyone who might have done work for anyone in his own circle. Two, and I think more telling, he’d be hit with a lot of expenses.”
“He bought a beach house,” Abra began.
“An investment toward the jackpot. And he attempts, at least, to hide his ownership.”
“Because he knows he’s headed for a divorce. The man’s a worm,” Abra stated. “On the karma wheel, he’ll come back as a slug next.”
“I’m open to that possibility,” Eli decided. “In his current slot on the karma wheel, he’s going to have legal fees—and he’ll go high-end there—child support, marital settlement. I’m thinking he paid Duncan in cash, to keep it off the books. No record of the outlay when he has to show his finances to the lawyers.”
“He still had to break in, search, because an investigator’s going to keep records of clients, even cash transactions.”
“Files, electronic or paper, copies of cash receipts, a logbook, client list,” Eli agreed. “He wouldn’t want to be connected as a client of an investigator hired to shadow me, who’d ended up dead. Very sticky.”
“Very.” She considered. “He probably never came here, did he, to the office?”
“Probably not. He’d want to meet somewhere like a coffee shop or bar. Not in his area or Duncan’s.” Eli pulled up at another building—steel and block.
“This is where he lived?”
“Second floor. Dicey area.”
“What does that tell you?”
“That Duncan felt he could handle himself, wasn’t worried about his car getting stripped, his neighbors screwing with him. Tough guy maybe, or just one who figured he knew the score and how to play the game. Someone like