“Was Christian Steele one of those people?”
“Yup. That’s how I got suspicious. I mean, the envelopes were given to me already addressed and sealed. I didn’t recognize any of the names except Christian’s. Otto had already put out word he wanted anything, anything, on Steele. So I opened it up and took a peek. That’s when I saw the picture.”
“Who hired you to mail out the magazines?”
Blackjack placed one chip on red, one chip on odd. He spun the roulette wheel. “You wanna put down a couple of chips?”
“No. Who hired you?”
“Well, that’s the weird part. I don’t know. I got this big package in the mail with very specific instructions. Plus cash. But no name.”
“Any return address?”
“Nope. Just a postmark.”
“From where?”
“Right here in Atlantic City. I got it about ten, twelve days ago.”
The roulette wheel stopped. Twenty-two. Black.
Blackjack said, “Damn.”
“Do you still have the instructions?”
“Yeah, sure.” He opened a drawer and handed him a piece of paper. “Here.”
The letter had been typed:
Dear Mr. Sanford,
For the sum of $5,000 (plus expenses) I would like you to perform the following services:
1. Enclosed find seven envelopes. Two of them should be mailed from the campus mail box at Reston University on Friday. The other three should be mailed from a post office box in their respective towns.
2. Please mail out the following New Jersey Bell literature to each person on the list at the same time.
3. Please arrange a phone number in the 201 area code, one that will work on Return Call. This number should be immediately disconnected should anyone call it back or answer it. I would like you to hook up an answering machine with the enclosed tape to that phone. I would then like you to make calls to each of the numbers listed below from that number. On the first two nights—Saturday and Sunday—you will simply call repeatedly, hold the line when they answer, and say nothing until they hang up. On Monday, you will call and say the following: “Enjoy the magazine. Come and get me. I survived.” Please make your voice sound female and vague. (As you know, there are phones that can disguise voices and make them sound female.)
4. Enclosed is a money order for $3,000. Upon completion of this exercise I will contact you personally on or around the ninth of the month and pay off the remaining $2,000 plus expenses.
My name must remain anonymous. Thank you for understanding.
Myron looked up. “I assume the New Jersey Bell literature explained Return Call.”
Nod.
“Who were the seven people?”
Blackjack shrugged. The dice were rolled yet again. Another snake eyes. The guy had the touch. “I don’t remember. Christian was one. Some dean was another. I mailed another from a town called Glen Rock.”
“To a Gary Grady.”
“Yeah, that’s the name. I also mailed three from New York.”
“One of those to Junior Horton?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so. Junior. That rings a bell.”
“And the last one?”
“Some other place in New Jersey. Near Glen Rock.”
Myron stopped. “Ridgewood?”
“Yeah. Something-wood anyway. A woman’s name. I remember because all the rest were men.”
Myron said, “Carol Culver?”
He thought a moment. “Yeah. That’s it. A name with two C’s.”
Myron’s shoulders slumped.
“Hey, buddy, you all right?”
“Fine,” he said softly. “What about the phone calls?”
“The numbers were on another page. I threw them away when I finished. I called Steele and hung up a few times. By the time I called him back to give him the message calls, the line was disconnected. Guess he’d moved.”
Myron nodded. Christian had moved from the campus to the condo.
“The guy in New York—Junior—he was never home so I never reached him either. The others all got hang-ups and then the message calls.”
“How many of them used Return Call?”
“Just two. Christian and the guy from Glen Rock. It wouldn’t have worked for the guys in New York anyhoo. Return Call only works for that area code.”
“Have you heard from your client yet?”
“Nope. And yesterday was the ninth. I tell you, he better not stiff Blackjack Sanford.” Another mental pants-hitch. “If he knows what’s good for him.”
“Uh-huh. Anything else you can tell me?”
“About this case? Nope. Hey, you wanna go over to Merv’s? They know me over there. I can get us on a good table. Play a little blackjack maybe. Watch the legend in action.”
Tempting, Myron thought. Like having electrolysis performed on his testicles. “Maybe some other time.”
“Yeah, okay. Say, how much you think I should bill Otto for? Like you said, I want to be fair.”
“Oh, I’d bill him for the full amount.”
“The whole ten G’s?”
“Yes. You’ve been very helpful, Blackjack. Thank you.”
“Yeah, take care. Come by anytime.”
“Oh, one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
Myron said, “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
Chapter 45
It was ten-thirty when Myron arrived at Paul Duncan’s house. Lights were still on. Myron had not called to make an appointment. He wanted the element of surprise.
The house was a simple Cape Cod. Nice. Needed a new coat of paint maybe. The front yard had lots of budding flower beds. Myron remembered that Paul liked gardening in his down time. Lot of cops did.
Paul Duncan answered the door holding a newspaper. A pair of reading glasses were low on his nose. His gray hair was neatly combed. He wore navy-blue Hagar slacks and a twist-a-flex Speidel watch. The casual man from Sears. A television played in the background. An audience applauded wildly. Paul was alone, except for a sleeping golden retriever curled in front of the television as if it were a fire on a snowy night.
“We need to talk, Paul.”
“Can’t this wait until the morning?” His voice was strained. “After Adam’s memorial service?”
Myron shook his head and stepped into the den. The television audience applauded again. Myron glanced at the screen. Ed McMahon’s Star Search. The spokes-models weren’t on, so Myron turned away.
Paul closed the door. “What’s this all about, Myron?”