The Final Detail
Page 21

files, but he still felt oddly defensive.
Myron gave the video camera to Big Cyndi and started making calls to clients who had left MB. Most didn't pick up. The few who did tried to defect. Myron played it soft, figuring that any overaggression would backfire. He merely told them that he was back and would like very much to speak with them at their earliest convenience. A lot of hemming and hawing from those who actually spoke to him. Not unexpected. If he were to regain their confidence, it would take time.
The cops finished up and left without so much as a good-bye. Manners. Big Cyndi and Myron watched the elevators close.
"This is going to be very difficult," Myron said.
"What?"
"Working without any files."
Big Cyndi opened her purse and showed him computer disks. "Everything is on these."
"Everything?"
"Yes."
"You backed up everything on these?"
"Yes."
"Letters and correspondences, okay, but I need the contracts-"
"Everything," she said. "I bought a scanner and ran every paper in the office through it. There's a backup set in a safety-deposit box at Citibank. I update the disks every week. In case of fire or other emergency."
When she smiled this time, Myron's cringe was barely perceptible.
"Big Cyndi, you are a surprising woman."
It was hard to tell under the melted Masque de Crayola, but it almost looked like she was blushing.
The intercom buzzed. Big Cyndi picked up the phone. "Yes?" Pause. Then her voice grew grave. "Yes, send her up." She replaced the receiver.
"Who is it?"
"Bonnie Haid is here to see you."
Big Cyndi showed the Widow Haid into his office. Myron stood behind his desk, not sure what to do. He waited for her to make the first move, but she didn't. Bonnie Haid had let her hair grow out, and for a moment he was back at Duke. Clu and Bonnie were sitting on the couch in the basement of the frat house, another major kegger behind them, his arm draped over her shoulder, she wearing a gray sweatshirt, her legs tucked under her.
He swallowed and moved toward her. She took a step back and closed her eyes. She put a hand up to stop him as though she could not bear the pain of his intimacy. Myron stayed where he was.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Thank you."
They both stood there, two dancers waiting for the music to begin.
"Can I sit down?" Bonnie asked.
"Of course."
She sat. Myron hesitated and then chose to go back around his desk.
"When did you get back?" she asked.
"Last night," he said. "I didn't know about Clu before then. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
Bonnie cocked her head. "Why?"
"Pardon?"
"Why are you sorry you weren't here? What could you have done?"
Myron shrugged. "Help maybe."
"Help how?"
He shrugged again, spread his arms. "I don't know what to say, Bonnie. I'm flailing here."
She looked at him a moment, challenging, then dropped her eyes. "I'm just lashing out at whoever's in front of me," she said. "Don't pay any attention."
"I don't mind; lash away."
Bonnie almost managed a smile. "You're a good guy, Myron. You always were. Even at Duke there was something about you that was-I don't know-noble, I guess."
"Noble?"
"Sounds silly, doesn't it?"
"Very," he said. "How are the boys?"
She shrugged. "Timmy is only eighteen months old so he doesn't have a clue. Charlie is four so he's just pretty confused right now. My parents are taking care of them."
"I don't want to keep sounding like a bad cliche," Myron said, "but if there's anything at all I can do..."
"One thing."
"Name it."
"Tell me about the arrest."
Myron cleared his throat. "What about it?"
"I've met Esperanza a few times over the years. I guess I find it hard to believe she'd kill Clu."
"She didn't do it."
Bonnie squinted a bit. "What makes you so sure?"
"I know Esperanza."
"That's it?"
He nodded. "For now."
"Have you spoken to her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"I can't talk about specifics"-mostly because he didn't know any; Myron was almost grateful that Esper-anza had not told him anything-"but she didn't do it."
"What about all the evidence the police found?"
"I can't answer that yet, Bonnie. But Esperanza is innocent. We'll find the real killer."
"You sound so sure."
"I am."
They fell into silence. Myron waited, mapping out an approach. There were questions that needed to be asked, but this woman had just lost her husband. One had to tread gently lest one trip an emotional land mine.
"I'm going to look into the murder," Myron said.
She looked confused. "What do you mean, look into?"
"Investigate."
"But you're a sports agent"
"I have some background in this."
She studied his face. "Win too?"
"Yes."
She nodded as if something suddenly