The Final Detail (Myron Bolitar 6)

“Deal,” Myron said. “Here’s your statement: Esperanza Diaz did not kill Clu Haid. I stand behind her one hundred percent.”

“Was she having an affair with Clu?”

“That’s my statement, Bruce. Period.”

“Okay, fine, but what’s this about your being out of the country at the time of the murder?”

“A statement, Bruce. As in, ‘no further comment.’ As in, ‘I’ll be answering no questions today.’ ”

“Hey, it’s already public knowledge. I just want a confirmation. You were in the Caribbean, right?”

“Right.”

“Where in the Caribbean?”

“No comment.”

“Why not? Were you really in the Cayman Islands?”

“No, I was not in the Caymans.”

“Then where?”

See how reporters work? “No comment.”

“I called you immediately following Clu’s positive drug test. Esperanza said you were in town but would not comment.”

“And I still won’t,” Myron said. “Now it’s your turn, Bruce.”

“Come on, Myron, you’re giving me nothing here.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yeah, all right, sure, I want to be fair,” he said in a tone that made it clear he would start up again later. “Ask away.”

Casual, casual. He couldn’t just ask about Sophie Mayor’s daughter. Subtlety. That was the key. Myron’s office door opened, and Win swept into the room. Myron signaled with one finger. Win nodded and opened a closet door. There was a full-length mirror on the inside back. Win stared at his reflection and smiled. A nice way of passing the time.

“What were the rumors about Clu?” Myron asked.

“You mean before the positive test results?”

“Yes.”

“Time bomb,” Bruce said.

“Explain.”

“He was pitching great, no question. And he looked good. Thinned down, seemed focused. But then a week or so before the drug test, he started looking like hell. Christ, you must have seen it, right? Or were you out of the country then too?”

“Just go on, Bruce.”

“What else can I tell you? With Clu you’ve seen it a hundred times before. The guy breaks your heart. His arm was touched by God. The rest of him was, well, just touched, if you follow my meaning.”

“So there were signs before the positive test?”

“Yeah, I guess. In hindsight, sure there were lots of signs. I hear his wife threw him out. He was unshaven, red-eyed, that kind of thing.”

“It didn’t have to be drugs,” Myron said.

“True. It could have been booze.”

“Or maybe it was just the strain of marital discord.”

“Look, Myron, maybe some guys like Orel Hershiser get the benefit of the doubt. But when it comes to Clu Haid or Steve Howe or some other perennial screwup, you figure it’s substance abuse, and eleven times out of ten you’re right.”

Myron looked over at Win. Win had finished patting the blond locks and was now using the mirror to practice his different smiles. Right now he was working on roguish.

Subtle, Myron reminded himself, subtle.… “Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“What can you tell me about Sophie Mayor?”

“What about her?”

“Nothing specific.”

“Just curious, huh?”

“Right, curious.”

“Sure you are,” Bruce said.

“How much damage did Clu’s drug test do to her?”

“Tremendous damage. But you know this. Sophie Mayor stuck her neck out, and for a while she was a genius. Then Clu fails the drug test, and presto, she’s an idiotic bimbo who should let the men run things.”

“So tell me about her background.”

“Background?”

“Yes. I want to get a feel for her.”

“Why?” Bruce asked. Then: “Ah, what the hell. She’s from Kansas, I think, or Iowa or Indiana or Montana. Someplace like that. An aged Ivory Girl type. Loves fishing, hunting, all that nature stuff. She was also something of a math prodigy. Came East to go to MIT. That’s where she met Gary Mayor. They got married and lived most of their lives as science professors. He taught at Brandeis; she taught at Tufts. They developed a software program for personal finance in the early eighties and suddenly went from middle-class professors to millionaires. They took the company public in ’94 and changed the m to a b.”

“The m to a b?”

“Millionaire to billionaire.”

“Oh.”

“So the Mayors did what lots of superwealthy people do: They bought a sports franchise. In this case, the Yankees. Gary Mayor grew up loving them. It was going to be a nice toy for him, but of course he never got to enjoy it.”

Myron cleared his throat. “And they, uh, have children?” Señor Subtle-o.

“They had two. You know Jared. He’s actually a pretty good kid, smart, went to your alma mater, Duke. But everyone hates him because he got the job through nepotism. His main responsibility is to keep an eye on Mommy’s investment. My understanding is that he’s actually pretty good at that and that he leaves the baseball to the baseball guys.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They also have a daughter. Or had a daughter.”

With great effort, Win sighed, closed the closet door. So difficult to pull himself away from a mirror. He sat across from Myron looking, as always, completely at ease. Myron cleared his throat and said into the phone, “What do you mean, had a daughter?”

“The daughter’s very estranged. Don’t you remember the story?”

“Vaguely. She ran away, right?”

“Right. Her name was Lucy. She took off with a boyfriend, some grunge musician, a few weeks before her eighteenth birthday. This was, I don’t know, ten, fifteen years ago. Before the Mayors had any money.”

“So where does she live now?”

“Well, that’s the thing. No one knows.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She ran away, that much is known for sure. She left them a note, I think. She was going to hit the road with her boyfriend and seek her fortune, the usual teenage stuff. Sophie and Gary Mayor were typical East Coast college professors who read too much Dr. Spock, so they gave their daughter ‘space,’ figuring of course that she’d come back.”

“But she didn’t.”