one of MTM’s principals.
Mallory grimaced. He was not exactly anxious to throw himself into the breach. Following the Black Squares Club case that had been resolved on national TV in a tête-à-tête with Tynan Wesley, conservative advocate and mastermind of the crossword murders, a flood of cases had descended on the firm. Esther Rozan, fifty-one percent owner of MTM Investigations, and Mallory’s on again off again fiancée was away for “treatments” at a spa in Tahoe. To make matters worse, Rudy Errico, MTM’s executive vice-president was likewise away, on his honeymoon. Rounding out the list of no-shows was David Meyerson, MTM’s partner in charge of the data encryption business. He held down a full-time teaching position at Columbia University, and didn’t concern himself with the nuts and bolts of running the business. Tunney wasn’t the least bit happy at having to do the job of three people.
“Sleep on the street last night?” Lilly asked, referring obliquely to Mallory’s three-day growth and unkempt appearance.
“Air Force reserve weekend,” Mallory replied. “Just got back.”
“Oh yeah, Air Force weekend. I forgot. Fly jets this time?”
“No, not this time . . . survival training.”
“Maybe you can apply for the TV program, Survivor.”
“Sorry, Lilly, but I can’t go without sex for more than a week.”
“Could have fooled me,” she replied sarcastically. “Oh, and Melissa Compton called.”
“She called, or her secretary?” Mallory wanted to know.
“Her secretary,” she replied, “Miss Compton would like to meet with you this afternoon regarding the Stallings kidnapping case.” Lilly imitated her candy-coated delivery. “I told her you were booked solid for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Melissa Compton,” Berg echoed like a jilted lover. “Maybe you’re getting too big for the Ice Man and the Herald.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Ice. She just unceremoniously threw me out of her office.”
“You went to see Melissa Compton looking like that?” Lilly asked incredulously. “No wonder she threw you out.”
“But she wants to come over here to see you,” Berg interjected. “That old Mallory charm at work?”
“Ice, you’re a paranoid egomaniac. But you happen to be my friend so I’m going to go against my better judgment and feed your ego.”
“Now you’re talking, Rickie m’boy! What you got for me?” Berg asked, raising his thick eyebrows to the ceiling.
“I’m going out to North Dakota to do some poking around. I’ve spoken to Burns at CTV about you taking over my spot next week. You interested?”
“Well . . . there’s a chance I might be available.”
“Oh, Christ,” Lilly interjected, sarcastically.
“Lilly, call Miss Compton back. Tell her to come over whenever she wants.”
“While the cat’s away . . .” Lilly quipped, referring to Esther.
“What’s that Lilly?”
“Nothing, Rick,” she said, turning away.
“And call Pincus. I want him over here this afternoon.”
“No need, Rick. He’s coming in this morning with the material you gave him.”
“I love a man who does his homework,” Mallory commented. “Dominick?”
“He’s due here in fifteen minutes.” Dominick was his barber. Burns at CTV recommended him.
“You’re unquestionably a man in need of a haircut and a shave,” Berg commented.
“Ice, you have a few minutes? Why don’t you come down to my office and give me your impressions of the Stallings case.”
“The Ice Man cometh,” Berg responded, laughing at his own pun.
Mallory stopped at Nick Tunney’s office and stood conspicuously in the doorway.
Tunney looked up from behind a stack of case folders. He was tall, peppered haired, mid-forties. An ex-FBI agent, his free-wheeling days were behind him. A conscientious sort, he knew the law enforcement business inside out, and his avuncular style afforded Mallory a comfortable cushion for bouncing off his highly speculative, sometimes off-beat theories. “Can I expect some help today?” he pleaded, without wasting time on a greeting or acknowledging the presence of the press.
“I can’t today,” Mallory replied.
“Why not? This is our detective agency isn’t it? I would think you might want to pitch in occasionally just to make it look good.”
“Nick, I’d like to help, but I’m really into this Stallings case. Melissa Compton is coming over this afternoon. And I still have to read the files you got for me from the FBI.”
“Fifty missing persons and six firms requesting psychological tests with undercover follow up. Your girlfriend decides to take a vacation at the busiest time of the year, right before the holidays, when rich men decide to leave their wives and the company comptroller runs off with the receipts. I’m overwhelmed,” Tunney pleaded.
“Alright. Calm down,” Mallory relented. “Give me some time to clean myself up and I’ll come in to help. By the way do you still know that Russian intelligence attaché,” Mallory asked.
“You mean Bobki?”
“Yeah, Bobki.”
“Bobki now has his own detective agency in Moscow.”
“Detective agency?”
“Well that’s what he calls it,” Tunney remarked. “More of a B to B than an agency. He sells old KGB files.”
“KGB files? He making any money at that?”
“Raking it in. His biggest customer is the United States government.”
“Touch base with him. Find out what he charges. I may have some business for him.”
“Sure, Rick.”
“Hello, Nick,” Berg said, not enjoying being totally ignored.
“Ice,” Tunney acknowledged him grudgingly. There was a long pause. Berg and Tunney had words in the past when Berg jumped the gun on the Lucas case, blowing the cover on two FBI agents that Lucas later murdered. “How’s the character assassination business?” Tunney asked, showing his disdain for the media and Berg, in particular.
“Never better,” Berg retorted. “You know the old line, Nick. No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.”
“Sorry, but I never heard that one.”
“H.L
