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said.
    Zel took a business card out of his shirt pocket and put it on my desk. Chester Jackson had offices at International Place. I picked up the card and put it in my shirt pocket.
    “Chester married?” I said.
    Zel shrugged.
    “Maybe to a younger woman?” I said.
    Zel smiled faintly and shrugged again.
    “I’ll stop by,” I said.
    Zel nodded.
    “Adiós,” he said. “Come on, Boo.”
    They walked out. At the door Boo turned and looked at me hard.
    “I ain’t forgetting you,” he said.
    “Few people do,” I said.

Chapter 8

    THE SECRETARY HAD a British accent. She ushered me in to see Mr. Jackson as though it was an audience. We were high up. There was the usual spectacular view of the harbor. And in front of the view, on a credenza, was a big photograph of Beth. Chet stood up and came around his desk when I came in.
    “Chet Jackson,” he said, and put out his hand.
    He had a big chin and short black hair with a lot of gray showing. The hair was receding from his forehead. His face was unlined. He smelled of very good cologne. His grip was strong. He had on a blue suit with a blue-and-white striped tie against a gleaming white shirt. There was a white handkerchief in his breast pocket.
    I sat. He sat.
    “Coffee?” he said. “Tea? water? Something stronger?”
    “No, thanks.”
    Chet nodded decisively.
    “Okay,” he said. “What can you tell me about Gary Eisenhower?”
    “He’s blackmailing a number of women,” I said. “They asked me to find him and make him stop.”
    “Have you found him?”
    “No.”
    “But you’ve been looking for him at Pinnacle Fitness,” Chet said.
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Thought I might find him there,” I said.
    “What made you think that?”
    “Probably,” I said, “same thing that made you go there.”
    “What makes you think I went there?”
    “I’m a trained investigator,” I said. “One day I ask about Eisenhower there, next day Zel and Boo come around.”
    “Who are these women who employed you?”
    I shook my head.
    “I am a man of considerable leverage,” Chet said.
    “How nice for you,” I said.
    “And I don’t like flippant,” Chet said.
    “What a shame,” I said.
    Chet swiveled in his chair and with his back to me looked out his window at his view. After a suitable pause he swiveled back and looked hard at me.
    “I want to know who you represent,” he said. “And I want to know what led you to Pinnacle.”
    “I’ll be damned,” I said. “That’s pretty much what I want to learn from you.”
    We sat silently then, looking at each other. Then Chet smiled at me.
    “You’re not scared of me, are you?” he said.
    “I’m trying to be,” I said.
    Chet leaned back in his chair a little and laughed. “Goddamn it,” he said. “I like your style.”
    “That’s grand,” I said.
    We sat again.
    I looked around the office.
    “What do you do for a living?” I said.
    “I make money,” Chet said.
    “How?” I said.
    “Little of this,” Chet said. “Little of that.”
    “Folks that employ people like Zel and Boo,” I said, “and make their money by doing a little of this, a little of that, most of those folks have offices in the back of billiard parlors.”
    “I played football at Harvard,” Chet said.
    “Wow,” I said.
    Chet was rubbing his chin with the palm of his left hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to take a chance on you.”
    He nodded at the picture of Beth on the credenza.
    “That’s my wife,” he said. “Beth. I think she’s been involved with Eisenhower.”
    “Uh-huh,” I said.
    “Can you confirm or deny that?” Chet said.
    “Nope.”
    “Is she one of your clients?”
    I shook my head.
    “You wouldn’t tell me if she was,” Chet said. “Would you?”
    I shook my head.
    “Can you tell me anything?”
    “I figured Gary had a plan ahead of time,” I said. “All the women I represent have a common pattern. Young, older husbands of significant wealth. And all of them belonged to