also. . . His dad was a real nasty drunk. Weekend lush, but he held
down a job in the same factory for twenty-five years. Then the company
got taken over and dissolved, and his dad lost his job, and they found
out the pension fund had been looted. Completely stripped. His dad
couldn’t find another job and drank himself to death. Bled out, right
in his bed. Bill was in high school. He came home from football
practice and found him. Do you see why he understands? Why he needs
to do what he’s doing?”
“Sure,” I said, wondering how much of the story was true.
Thinking of the Identikit face of the man seen walking into the
darkness with Dawn Herbert.
“He raised his mom, too,” she said. “He’s a natural problem solver.
That’s why he became a cop, why he took the time to go back to school
and learn about finance. He has a Ph.D Alex. It took him ten years
because he was working.” She lifted her head and her profile was
transformed by a smile. “But don’t try calling him Doctor.”
“Who’s Presley Huenengarth?”
She hesitated.
Another state secret?” I said.
“It. . . Okay, I’ll tell you because I want you to trust me. And it’s
no big deal. Presley was a friend of his when he was a kid. A little
boy who died of a brain tumor when he was eight years old. Bill used
his identity because it was safe-there was nothing on file but a birth
certificate, and the two of them were the same age, so it was perfec
She sounded breathless-excited-and I knew “Bill” and his world had
offered her more than just succor.
“Please, Alex,” she said, “can we just forget all this and work
together? I know about the insulin injectors-your friend told Bill.
You see, he trusts him. let’s put our heads together and get her.
Bill will help us.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but he will. You’ll see.”
She hooked her beeper over her belt and the two of us went back up to
the house. Milo was still on the couch. Huenengarth/Zimberg/Bill was
standing across the room, in a corner, leafing through a magazine.
Stephanie said, “Hi, guys,” in a too-chirpy voice.
Huenengarth closed the magazine, took her by the elbow, and seated her
in a chair. Pulling another one close to her, he sat down.
She didn’t take her eyes off him. He moved his arm as if to touch her,
but unbuttoned his jacket instead.
“Where are Dawn Herbert’s disks?” I said. And don’t tell me it’s not
relevant, because I’ll bet you it is. Herbert may or may not have
latched on to what Ashmore was doing for you, but I’m pretty sure she
had suspicions about the Jones kids. Speaking of which, have you found
Chad’s chart?”
“Not yet.”
“What about the disks?”
“I just sent them over to be analyzed.”
“Do the people analyzing even know what they’re looking at?
The random number table?”
He nodded. “It’s probably a substitution code-shouldn’t be too much of
a problem.”
“You haven’t unscrambled all of Ashmore’s numbers yet. What makes you
think you’ll do better with Herbert’s?”
He looked at Stephanie and gave another half-smile. “I like this
guy.”
Her return smile was nervous.
“Man raises a good point,” said Milo.
Ashmore was a special case,” said Huenengarth. “Real puzzle-freak, high
IQ.”
“Herbert wasn’t?”
“Not from what I’ve learned about her.”
“Which is?”
“just what you know,” he said. “Some smarts in math, but
basically she was a klepto and a low-life-doper and a loser.”
As he spat out each noun, Stephanie flinched. He noticed it, turned
and touched her hand briefly, let go.
“If something comes up on the disk that concerns you,” he said, “rest
assured I’ll let you know.”
“We need to know now. Herbert’s information could give us some
direction.” I turned to Milo. “Did you tell him about our friend the
bartender?”
Milo nodded.
“Everything?”
“Don’t bother being subtle,” said Huenengarth. “I saw the masterpiece
your junkie bartender produced and no, it’s not me. I don’t hack up
women.”
“What are you talking about?” said Stephanie.