Think Twice

Here was what Myron knew about the murders: Cecelia Callister, age fifty-two, a semi-supermodel from the 1990s, and her thirty-year-old son, Clay, were found murdered in the mansion where they resided with Cecelia’s fourth husband, Lou Himble. Himble had recently been indicted on fraud charges related to his cryptocurrency startup.

“I thought the case was open and shut,” Myron continued. “The husband was having an affair, she found out, was going to turn state’s evidence on him, he had to silence her, the son walked in on them. Something like that.”

Special Agent Monica Hawes and Special Agent Young Beluga Whale exchanged another glance. Then Hawes repeated in a careful voice, “Something like that.”

“So?”

Myron waited. Win waited.

“We have reason to believe,” Hawes said, still using the careful voice, “that Greg Downing is still alive. We have reason to believe your former client is involved in the murders.”

The two feds leaned forward to gauge the reaction. Myron did not disappoint. Even though this accusation should have seemed inevitable by now, Myron went slack-jawed when he heard it out loud.

Greg. Alive.

How did he process that? After all the years — their on-court rivalry, Greg stealing Myron’s first love, Myron’s awful payback for that, Greg’s even worse payback, the years of reconciliation — and Jeremy, dear sweet, wonderful Jeremy...

It made no sense. Every part of his face registered complete and utter bafflement.

And Win’s reaction? He was checking the time on his vintage Blancpain watch.

“Please excuse me,” Win said. “I have a pressing engagement. My, what a delight to have met you both.”

Win rose.

“Sit down,” Hawes demanded.

“I don’t think I will.”

“We aren’t finished.”

“You aren’t, are you?” Win gave them both his most winning smile. It was a good smile, even better than Myron’s cooperative one. “I, however, am. Have a most pleasant afternoon.”

Without so much as a backward glance, Win sauntered out of the office. Everyone, including Myron, stared at the door as Win vanished from sight.

Win’s full name is Windsor Horne Lockwood III. The skyscraper they currently sat atop was called the Lock-Horne Building. The italics are here to emphasize that the building was named for Win’s family and thus big bucks are involved. For many years, Myron’s sports agency MB Reps (the M for Myron, the B for Bolitar, the Reps because they represented people — Myron came up with that name on his own but remained humble) had been housed on the building’s fourth floor. A few years back, Myron stupidly sold his agency and moved out and now a law firm resided in that space. When Myron decided to come back two months ago, the top floor was the only available space.

Not that Myron was complaining. The pretty bitching view impressed clients, if not FBI agents.

Over the past two months, Myron had been working hard to woo back some of his old clients. He had overlooked Greg Downing for the simple reason that, well, the whole dead thing. Dead men make poor earning clients. Bad business.

The two agents were still staring at the door. When they finally realized that Win was not returning, Hawes turned her focus back on Myron. “Did you hear what I said, Mr. Bolitar?”

Myron nodded, got his bearings. “You claim a man who died of a heart attack — a man who had an obituary and a funeral and who, as you pointed out, I eulogized — is, in fact, still alive.”

“Yes.”

Myron looked back at the door where Win had just up and left. Yes, Win loved to play the aloof, elite, above-it-all snob because that was what he was, but Myron still found it hard to believe that Win would just walk out without reason. That made Myron pull up and try to take a more cautious route.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Myron asked.

Young Beluga did not like that one. “What are you, a shrink?”

“Good one.”

“What?”

“The shrink line,” Myron said. “It’s very funny.”

Young Beluga’s narrow eyes narrowed even more. “You being a wiseass with me?”

Myron did not reply right away. Thoughts about Greg’s family swirled in Myron’s head. He fought hard to keep them at bay. Greg’s wife, Emily. Greg’s... man, it was hard to even think about it... his son, Jeremy. So much past. So much history. So much misery and joy. There are people we stumble across who change things forever. Some are obvious — family and partners — but in the end, when Myron looked at his own life’s journey and trajectory, nobody altered Myron’s more than Greg Downing.

For the better or the worse?

“You hear me, wiseass?”

“Loud and clear,” Myron said, fighting to keep focus. “Can you prove what you’re saying is true?”

“About?”

“About Greg being alive. Can you prove it?”

The two agents hesitated, exchanged yet another glance. Then Hawes said, “Greg Downing’s DNA was found at the Callister murder scene.”

“What sort of DNA?”