Read Online The Knowland Retribution by Richard Greener - Free Book Online

Sometimes I get the feeling I’m the only person they ever leveled with. And you know the people I’m talking about. If you think this is
my kind of work, the first thing you better do is tell me is what the work is.”
    â€œFair enough,” Maloney said. Now he reached to cover much of Nathan Stein’s short forearm with a thick, rosy hand, anchoring that bird-faced bundle of nerves, hoping, no doubt, to keep him seated during whatever was to come. Then Tom spoke, uninterrupted, for forty-five minutes. When he was done he looked at the others, his suddenly forceful expression telling them, “If you have anything to say, say it now.” Neither uttered a sound. Nathan Stein’s face had gone from deranged to pathetic. He seemed to have aged and weakened during the speech, as though—forced to hear them all—the endless, disturbing details had worn him down. His narrow chest heaved silently. Wesley’s big, shrewd eyes had stayed with Maloney throughout. Now they returned to the glories of nature.
    The rain had ended twenty minutes before, and the air was a good deal cooler. A breeze blew in off the water and the small boats had returned to the open sea. The sunlight was now a richer yellow, anticipating the reddening sun and the advent of the evening sky. Walter rose, walked around the table, and then, slowly, toward the grill and the tub. He stretched, took a deep breath, turned quickly, returned to the table, and resumed his seat. Tom had concluded by stating, and repeating forcefully, that they had no way to know what might happen. They had, he insisted again, done their due diligence. Dr. Roy had given them a green light, and now their lives were in danger because of “a terrible, a grossly unfortunate misunderstanding” that they sought desperately to correct. To do so they had to find someone only Walter could locate. When Tom used the word “locate,” the look in his eyes told Walter the depth of their research.
    Walter looked at them all, more kindly now, and tilted his head. The gesture conceded that possibilities might exist. Then he said, “This will take much more of my time than I’m used to giving. We’re talking about weeks, possibly months. That’s a long time to devote to a single client.”
    â€œMoney is not a factor,” said Maloney.
    â€œThere’s more to it than money,” Walter replied. “It’s also about how I prefer to work.”
    Tom’s eyes sparkled almost merrily, giving his angelic face a surprisingly racy cast. “We know you take eight or ten clients a year and rarely spend more than a few weeks on any one of them—sometimes a few days. We know of one client who didn’t come to you till a full month after his wife disappeared. You handled that in twenty-four hours, which was more than he expected, and much more than he hoped. We’re not expecting miracles, Walter. But we have a problem and we need fast action.”
    Walter shook his head, preparing another objection.
    Maloney went on, “Please let me finish. You didn’t file a tax return last year. It looks like you haven’t filed one since you were twenty-five. You’re independent. You’re a free man. Not easy to find. We heard someone call you a phantom. You’ve been in this line of work for a long time and you’ve done especially well in the last ten years. You took good care of your mother before she passed. We like that. It shows character. You have an ex-wife in Chicago who’s never remarried, although she could have. You’re very generous to her. You have a daughter in Kansas City with a less-than-successful husband and you’re helping them. You have trusts for three grandchildren. There has never been a mortgage on this house. You rent a desirable apartment on the Near North Side of Chicago. You don’t owe anyone anything and you spend as you wish. But you are by no means a wealthy