I looked over at Mac. “I take it there’s no trace of Wendell.”

“All his personal possessions were on the boat, including four thousand in cash and a Mexican passport, which doesn’t prove a thing. He could have half a dozen passports.”

“So we’re supposed to think, what…that he’s dead or gone?”

Mac gestured his irritation, showing the first signs of his usual impatience. “The guy’s gone. There’s no suicide note, but this is exactly what he pulled last time.”

“God, Mac. How can you be so sure about that? Maybe it’s a cover. Something to divert our attention.”

“From what?”

“From what’s really going on.”

“Which is what?”

“Beats me,” I said. “I’m just telling you what occurs to me. Last time he did this, he abandoned the Lord off the coast of Baja and set off in a dinghy. Renata Huff intercepted him, and the two sailed away on the Fugitive. This time she was sitting in my office within an hour of his disappearance. This was noon yesterday.”

Mac wasn’t buying it. “She was under surveillance from the time she left your office. Lieutenant White-side decided it made sense to keep an eye on her. All she did was go home. She’s been there, off and on, ever since.”

“My point exactly. Last time he made a run for it, he had a coconspirator. This time, assuming that’s what he’s up to, who’s he got on his side? Carl Eckert and Dana Jaffe surely wouldn’t come to his rescue, and who else is there? Actually, now that I think about it, his son, Brian was still free yesterday, and there’s always Michael. Wendell might have had other friends. It’s also possible he tried the gig alone this time, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

Titus spoke up. “Kinsey thinks he’s actually dead,” he said to Mac, his mouth turning up with amusement. He tore along the line of perforation, removing a check from the ledger.

“We’re supposed to think he’s dead!” Mac said. “That’s what he did the last time, and we fell for it like a ton of bricks. He’s probably on a boat right this minute, sailing off to Fiji, laughing up his ass at us.”

Gordon closed the ledger and pushed the check in my direction.

“Wait a minute, Mac. Someone took some shots at us Thursday night. Wendell made it home, but suppose they flushed him out the next day? Maybe they caught up with him and killed him.” I picked up the check and glanced at it casually. The amount was twenty-five hundred dollars, made out to me. “Oh, thanks. This is nice. I usually don’t bill until the end of the month.”

“This is final payment,” he said. He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “I have to admit I wasn’t in favor of hiring you, but you’ve done a very nice job. I don’t imagine Mrs. Jaffe will give us any more trouble. As soon as you submit your report, we’ll turn the matter over to our attorney and he can see to the affidavits. We probably won’t need to take the matter to court. She can return any remaining monies and that will be the end of it. In the meantime, I see no reason we can’t do business together in the future, on a case-by-case basis, of course.”

I stared at him. “This can’t be the end of it. We don’t have any idea where Wendell is.”

“Wendell’s current whereabouts are immaterial. We hired you to find him and you did that…quite handily, I might add. All we needed to do was show that he was alive, which we’ve now done.”

“But what if he’s dead?” I said. “Dana would be entitled to the money, wouldn’t she?”

“Ah, but she’d have to prove it first. And what’s she have? Nothing.”

I looked over at Mac, feeling dissatisfied and confused. He was avoiding my gaze. He shifted on his chair, clearly uncomfortable, probably hoping I wouldn’t make a fuss. I got a quick flash of his complaints about CF in my office that first day. “Does this seem right to you? This seems weird. If it turns out something’s happened to Wendell, the benefits would be hers. She wouldn’t have to give back any money.”

“Well, yes, but she’d have to refile,” Mac said.

“But aren’t we in business to see that claims are settled fairly?” I looked from one to the other. Titus’s face was blank, his way of disguising his perpetual dislike, not just of me, but of the world in general. Mac’s expression was tinged with guilt. He was never going to stand up to Gordon Titus. He was never going to complain. He was never going to take a stand. “Isn’t anybody interested in the truth?” I asked.