Chapter 8
When Goren woke up the next morning, his leg felt better. He lifted the sheets to look down. A lot less swelling. He tried pulling the sheets farther over himself, but they seemed to be stuck. He looked over. Eames was asleep next to him. Goren experienced a moment of what felt like contentment, but then his superego took over. It must be tiring, he thought, putting in a full day, and then having to deal with me. And then there was this Barrett guy, who was taking up way more of her time than he should. He reached over and touched her cheek briefly. Eames stirred. He pulled his hand back. He looked at the clock. He probably should wake her. As it was, she probably wouldn't have time to go all the way home and still make it in.
Eames awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. She opened her eyes and wondered if the Maxwell House people were filming in her kitchen, and then she realized she was still dressed, and in Bobby's room.
"Wow, " she said, almost sheepishly, as she wandered into the kitchen, "I was clearly more tired than I thought. Sorry, Goren. I don't usually treat my friends' houses like the YMCA Campground."
Goren got up from the dining table, where he'd had his leg propped up on a second chair. He handed her a cup of coffee.
"There's, uh, no need to apologize after I basically arm-twisted you into providing nursing care."
"In that case, I thank you for your hospitality. I'm going to pop out to the car. I have a presentable spare shirt in my gym bag."
"I, uh, left you a towel on the sink."
As Eames showered and dressed, she was still a little chagrined. A competent woman of the new millennium exercised more control over where she woke up in the morning. Of course, this was Bobby, whom she trusted more than anyone else. She was actually surprised by how right this felt, seeing him last thing at night, first thing in the morning. This feeling was reinforced by the plate of eggs and toast he handed her when she walked into the kitchen..
As she headed out to her car, she said,
"Off the leg today."
"And you keep an eye out for Barrett." They nodded agreement.
True to his word, Bobby spent the next couple of days in a seated position, which wasn't hard, since he had so much material to go through. He started with the rest of Walcott's diary.
April 21, 1945. Buchenwald, Germany
I had not thought it possible to be more horrified than I was the day of the invasion. That was bloody and fast. What I have seen in these last days was cruelty beyond my imaginings. We liberated what looked like a prisoner of war camp from the outside. It turned out to be a camp where Jewish prisoners were held. The worst part was what the camp was for – killing.
Goren read through more entries like this, his stomach turning as Walcott detailed what he saw.
In July of 1945, with victory declared, Walcott had been transferred to the Occupying Forces in Berlin. He was in the Communications Office, and the tone of his entries improved, although Goren noted that it never again became lighthearted.
August 12, 1945
These last three weeks, I've mostly been writing directives about our economic programs: how to obtain rations, what kinds of activities are permitted. Our translator then puts them into German. I like the work. I'm finding that I like trying to figure out what consumers are going to do.
September 15th, 1945
I've been asked to give some classes on life in the US to a group of Germans. They are mostly families – husbands, wives, teenaged children. They all speak some English, and they seem well-educated. I don't know why they are so interested in life in the US.
September 28, 1945
I struck up a conversation with a young woman in my class. She is about twenty, and she takes the class with her parents, a middle aged couple. She says that they are going to the US, because her father will work there. I find the whole thing very peculiar. Why are we having German citizens come to the US to work? The US has been clear that we are going to try to rebuild Europe, so why don't they stay here?
Goren spent much of Wednesday poring over the diary, and tried not to think about Eames in the office with the leering Barrett. He purposely refrained from calling her, telling himself that she didn't need him bothering her. If he could make it through today without calling, he probably wouldn't feel as intense a need to call her the rest of the week.
Thursday morning, he started in on the material he had received from Aubrey at Walcott's old firm. Clearly, Walcott hadn't taken the matter of buying stocks in those firms lightly, and he had wanted to do a lot of research before committing his company's money to such new fields. He had started researching the plastics firms and the jet fuel manufacturers in 1961. One firm, Technautics, seem to have filed promising patents in both areas. There were copies of the patents, technical specifications, and annual reports. Goren stared at the glossy pictures of the CEOs and scientists, middle aged white men in square black glasses and white button down shirts. They reminded him a bit of his grandfather.
Goren looked over the balance sheets. They looked okay to him, but that wasn't really his area. Maybe this was a task for Josh. Walcott hadn't marked or circled anything on the balance sheets. He had written questions in the margins of the patents, and there were notes all over the sections of the annual reports that dealt with marketing.
Goren looked at the clock. 11:00 a.m. His theory that it would be easier to refrain from calling Eames turned out to be completely false. At noon, he couldn't hold back any longer. Eames answered after several rings.
"You almost missed me. I was heading out for tuna salad."
"So, ah, how are things?"
"Bobby are you that bored? I thought your case was keeping you occupied."
Goren decided to go with boredom.
"Yeah, but one case can't stay interesting all day."
"Bobby, I've seen you pull 40 hour shifts when you sink your teeth into something."
Boredom was not holding up as a plausible reason for calling. Goren changed the subject.
"So, any sign of the Property guy?"
Aha, thought Eames, Goren was concerned about the Barrett issue.
"He's been up here every day this week. Barrett has also been disappearing without signing himself out anywhere.
"So you're keeping an eye on him?"
"Yeah, but don't worry, I don't think he knows."
Goren was worried that Barrett might get the wrong idea from Eames' surveillance of hm, but he didn't really think it was a good idea to bring that up just now. They said good-bye with a promise to get together the next night.
Goren continued going through Walcott's papers. He was almost ready to move on to the business correspondence. The thought of Barrett ate at him. Could it hurt to switch gears for a little while?
Eames had said that Barrett had worked Narcotics. Goren still had a few friends there. He made a call to his friend, Roman Gandy. The reaction he got to Barrett's name was expected, but every answer opened up more questions.
"Jesus! Barrett's in your house? He has more juice than I thought."
"What's his story?"
"So everyone heard he was dirty. The details got hushed up, so we didn't really know how dirty. Popular theories were that he was shaking down low level street guys, reselling seizures, or both. What we did know for sure was that they caught him because one of those low level street guys got hurt, and he was involved indirectly somehow."
"So why is he still with us?"
"Like I said, he's got juice. He used to brag about knowing one of the top brass better than his own mother knew him. We all thought it was just talk at the time, but later, what with all that happened, it seemed like the real deal. So watch your back."
"What was his territory, by the way?"
"Washington Square Park, The Village, that area."
Goren thanked Gandy and hung up. This was worse than Goren had imagined.
