the offer.
“You have my personal guarantee, Mitchell,” Melissa followed up. “And I’ve checked with the FDA and the Attorney General’s office . . . you’re entitled to one third of the damages . . . the fine could run up to fifty million.”
“That could take years,” Clearwater reckoned. “And if Thayer can cover their tracks I'll never see a penny. No! I want the two-fifty up front.”
Since Doug had already given her the green light, Melissa was about to accede to his demand when the new maintenance man returned. “Hold on,” she excused herself momentarily. “Thank you, Rick.” She took the medicine bag and placed it on the desk. Expecting him to heed a hasty retreat, she was taken aback when he remained, his clenched right fist planted squarely on the crown molding of her white mahogany desk. “What is it, Rick?” she asked, holding her hand over the mouthpiece.
“I don’t feel right taking your money?” he said.
“You don’t feel right? What the hell are you talking about? You did me a big favor and I want you to have it. Yes, yes,” Melissa said, returning to the phone conversation. “I hear what you are saying . . . excuse me, can you hold on just one more second?” She placed her hand over the mouthpiece again. “Rick, anything else?” she asked, looking annoyed.
“Yes, Miss Compton, I’m afraid there is.”
“What's that?”
“I have to apologize for not having introduced myself properly. I’m Rick Mallory, your eleven o’clock appointment? You know, the private detective here to discuss the Stallings kidnapping.” He dug a business card out of his Giorgio Armani wallet.
“Who?”
“Rick Mallory. Perhaps you’ve seen me on Court TV.”
Melissa did a double take—blinking four times in succession. It wasn’t possible. “Rick Mallory?” she repeated the name in amazement. “You don’t bear him the slightest resemblance.”
“I should also apologize for my appearance. I’ve been attending survival training over the weekend, in Fishkill . . . Air Force reserve.”
Melissa shook her head in disbelief.
“I was scheduled to return yesterday, but we were held over by the weather.” He pointed out the window. “I didn’t want to miss our appointment so I was forced to come directly here without going home first. Hope my appearance doesn’t offend you.”
She stared at him intently, desperately trying to reconcile the brawny roughhewn maintenance man standing before her with her image of the suave, urbane commentator she regularly viewed on Justice Today. Those were his eyes. It was Mallory!
Instinctively, she flipped a handful of her honey-blond hair over her left shoulder. “Fine, assuming you are who you say you are, why the devil are you investigating the Stallings case? The kid was kidnapped over eight years ago. I should think the trail has gone a little cold by now. Don’t you?”
“What’s that Miss Compton?” Clearwater interrupted.
“I’ll call you right back," she replied, hanging up abruptly.”
“His mother was in to see me a couple of weeks ago,” Mallory informed her. “She hasn’t given up hope of finding her son.”
“So she came calling on the Super Sleuth,” her voice derisive, mocking.
“Yes, Miss Compton,” Mallory replied, sidestepping the cynicism.
“I should think you would have had the decency to inform her that your reputation with regard to solving insolvable mysteries is mostly hype. You’re very good at reading your lines, but we both know the nature of this business.”
“I told her I would take the case,” Mallory replied resolutely.
“C’mon Mallory,” Melissa exhorted, her carefully modulated voice had risen to a decidedly sarcastic tone. “Aren’t you taking yourself a bit too seriously? Do you really expect me to believe that a non-rated, non-tournament player could beat the world chess champion at speed chess? And that episode of Truth and Anarchy with Tynan Wesley where he was cuffed and arrested had to be scripted by staffers at CTV. I know their style. Some of them worked for me before they left to work over there.”
“Play down my accomplishments if you like, but I assured Mrs. Stallings that I was going to help find her son. I was hoping you might give me your perspective on the case, since you covered the case when it went down.”
“The combined police forces of three states . . . North Dakota, Minnesota, and Montana, not to mention the FBI, couldn’t find the kid after years of painstaking investigation, turning over every rock and bramble on the drift prairie. You ever been to North Dakota, Mallory?” Her ears were ringing even louder now; she felt like her head was about to implode but despite her malaise, her juices were flowing.
“No, Miss Compton, never,” he confessed.
“Yet you think, after eight long years have gone by that you ‘re just going to waltz in and pull the kid out of a hat?”
“Maybe they missed something. One key fact, overlooked, can turn an investigation around.”
“And just how are you going to find that fact when at least fifty of the best law enforcement agents couldn’t?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. So far, I’ve read the newspaper accounts, the police depositions by the parents and neighbors, and I’ve viewed most of the TV footage. But, I’m especially interested in your take on the story.”
“Mr. Mallory . . .” Melissa's fuse had short-circuited. She was tired of playing cat and mouse with this oversized egotist. She wouldn’t answer any more of his questions. If anything, she’d be the one asking the questions. She held up her hand like a stop sign, “I’m very busy at the moment. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
“I made this appointment over a week ago,” Mallory pleaded.
“Sorry, Mallory, but something came up and I really can’t help you.”
“I understand,” he said, nodding resignedly. He turned to leave.
When he got to the door, Melissa called after him: “Every expert concluded that Robbie Stallings’s abductor was probably a sexual deviant, who abused the boy and murdered him within 24 hours of his abduction. Best you can hope for is to find the killer and that isn’t likely.”
“The Stallings boy is alive,” Mallory asserted, without turning back to face her.
“And just how do you know that, Mallory?” she demanded.
“Because his mother said so and I believe her.” Mallory left, gently easing the door shut behind him.
Melissa was enraged. Who the hell did this son of a bitch think he was? He had a lot of nerve exploiting the situation, profiting at the expense of the family. There was no finding the kid and he knew it. The phone rang. Aronson again. “Is Doug willing to fork over the money?” he asked.
“Yes. He got the okay from the sponsors. You can give Clearwater
