The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [217]
She stuck it out to Pauley. He took it, stared down at it.
“Please read it, Mr. Pauley,” Savich said. “Dane and Nick haven’t heard it.”
Frank read: “Dear Mr. Lido, I’m enclosing an episode of The Consultant. We’ve decided to cancel the series due to many factors, and someone suggested that you might find it appropriate for your audience. Give it a try, see what you think, get back to me.”
Frank looked up. “He signed my name, and my title. It isn’t my handwriting though, I can prove that.” He was up fast, nearly ran to his desk and pulled some papers off the top. “Here,” he said, shoving the pages into Savich’s hand, “this is my handwriting.”
“It’s very similar,” Sherlock said at last. “Even the letters are slanted the same way. It’s hard for me to tell.”
“Not for me.”
Savich rose. “All right, Mr. Pauley. We will be in touch.”
Nick just happened to look over her shoulder as she left Frank Pauley’s office. He was standing in the middle of the room, his arms stiff at his sides, his hands fists. Just like he had been standing when they’d come in.
They were standing at the elevator doors when Dane said, “While we’re here, why don’t we drop in on Linus Wolfinger?”
“That’s the plan,” Savich said and punched the up button.
They went through the three secretaries, all of them the same adult crew, still showing no cleavage, just elegant suits in subdued colors. The place hummed with efficiency.
Nick nodded to Arnold Loftus, Linus Wolfinger’s bodyguard, who was leaning against the same wall, looking buffed, tan, and bored. Sherlock picked up a magazine from one of the end tables and handed it to him.
Arnold Loftus automatically took the magazine. “Thank you. Hey, you guys are the FBI agents, right?”
“That’s right,” Sherlock said. “Does the FBI interest you?”
“Oh yeah, you guys get a lot more action than I do.”
Nick smiled at him. “How’s tricks?”
He shrugged. “Never anything going on. Wolfinger prances around, telling everyone what to do and how to do it, and people want to stick a knife in him, but they haven’t yet because they’re more afraid of him than they are of their mothers, at least that’s how it looks to me. I guess if somebody got pissed off enough to go after him, I’d have to save him. Hey, thanks for the magazine.”
“You’re welcome. Is Mr. Wolfinger here?”
“Oh yeah, you just have to get past his guard dog.”
“You’re not the guard dog?”
“Nah, I’m the ultimate weapon.”
Savich laughed, just couldn’t help himself. “What’s the guard dog’s name?”
“I call him Mr. Armani, but his real name is Jay Smith.”
“Now we’ve got a Smith and a Jones,” Dane said, and looked toward Nick, who ignored him.
“I don’t think,” Sherlock said after they’d stepped away, “that Mr. Arnold Loftus and Mr. Linus Wolfinger are lovers.”
“Agreed,” Nick said. “Who was it who told us about that?”
“I’ll have to look it up in my notes,” Sherlock said.
Jay Smith, in a beautifully tailored pale gray wool Armani suit, frowned at them. “Mr. Wolfinger is very busy. There are a number of people waiting—”
Savich simply walked by him, paused a moment, and said over his shoulder, “Do you want to tell Mr. Wolfinger that we’re here to speak to him or should I just go on in?”
“Wait!”
“Oh no, this is police business. I don’t ever wait.” Savich winked at Sherlock, and she put her palm over her breast and mouthed, “My hero.”
Savich opened the door, stepped into the huge, bare office and stopped cold.
Linus Wolfinger was lying on top of his desk, and he looked to be asleep, unconscious, or dead.
TWENTY-SIX
“Shall we try CPR?” Nick said.
“It may be too late for him,” Dane said. “Hey, he doesn’t look bad, if he’s dead. A real pity, he was so young.”
“I think he looks very peaceful,” Sherlock said. “Do you think I should maybe kiss him? See if he’ll come around?”
“Like the Sleeping Prince?” Nick asked.
Jay Smith was wringing his hands behind them. He whispered, “That’s not funny. He’s not dead and