Read Online Dead Anyway by Chris Knopf - Free Book Online Page A

highly social guy like Sebbie who loved hanging around his restaurants and clubs. This underpins my theory that he never left Connecticut.”
    “Man, this is bizarre.”
    I looked at him, noticing again that his irises, bright blue, were surrounded by the whites of his eyes. It added a dash of craziness to his overall aspect. He huffed again and sat back in the bench.
    “Killing Sebbie isn’t really the issue, if you want the truth,” he said. “I just don’t want to be treated like a schmuck.”
    “Understandable.”
    “Frankenfelder’s important, but less so than Madame Francine de le Croix, the accomplished palm reader and chop shop operator,” said Henry. “Word is, Sebbie wouldn’t take a piss without checking with Francine first. I’ve tried to get to her, and Frankenfelder, but they know who I am. I agree with your logic. I don’t think he’d want to cut himself off completely from his local support system. That’s not part of his ego profile. He’d need a way to connect. Outside of a daughter who used to live with him and might still, those two are his closest people. Tells you what sort of crud we’re dealing with here.”
    “I thought you missed him,” I said.
    “You’re right. I miss the encouraging chats with my publisher. The book’s dead in the water unless I can corroborate a bunch of stuff only Sebbie can do.”
    “Okay,” I said, standing up and walking away. “Thanks.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s it.”
    I went back to the parking lot, walked past the Subaru and across the street to another bench at a sheltered bus stop. From there I could see Henry get into his own car, a ratty, sway-backed Ford Taurus, and drive away. I waited another half hour, then started the Outback with a remote control I’d installed the day before, waited a few minutes, then walked over, got in and drove home.
    Francine the palm reader. A professional prognosticator. I’d done some work in futurism myself. Surely we could build something on that common ground.

C HAPTER 6
    “I wish you’d check in more often,” said Evelyn when I called her on the disposable. “All this worry is interfering with my concentration.”
    “Sorry. You’re right. These spatial distortions seem to affect my sense of time as well. Be no surprise to Einstein.”
    “How are you doing otherwise?” she asked.
    “As a person?”
    “No. As a giraffe.”
    “I can move about fairly well, even with the limp,” I said. “I’m okay, then I’m not. I sleep. I eat. My emotional range is circumscribed. I don’t seem to experience fear. Anger is always there, though I feel no urge to express it. Grief as well. I feel it profoundly, yet it seems to be operating in an isolation chamber, with no influence on day-to-day operations. Strange, really.”
    She had the good manners not to ask what those day-to-day operations were.
    “We need another psych eval,” she said.
    “I’m sure we do. But I can’t manage it right now. Too much going on.”
    “Okay, that’s fine. But I need to talk to you about the agency. You told me you’d like to know what it’s worth. Bruce has a potential buyer. The comptroller Damien Brandt’s father, Elliot. He’s a billionaire investor out of Westport. Bruce has known him for a long time and likes him. The father wants to keep the staff intact and just carry on as they’ve been doing since Florencia died.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “If a competing agency took over, they’d swallow up the operation and pare down the staff to realize economies, which would likely involve Damien. They’d also want an earn-out provision, which could erode the sale price over time. Brandt is willing to pay full boat up front and be done with it.”
    “Buying his kid’s job.”
    “Essentially. There are worse ways to support your kids. He’d also buy the building, and more importantly, keep the name. I thought you’d like that part.”
    “You think sentiment should be part of the equation?” I