The Final Detail: A Myron Bolitar Novel by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online Page B

said.
    “Yes,” Win said.
    “You knew about it?”
    “Of course.”
    “How much?”
    “The district attorney said two hundred thousand dollars. I have no reason to quibble with that estimate.”
    “And you just let him?”
    “Pardon?”
    “You just let Clu withdraw two hundred grand?”
    “It’s his money.”
    “But that much cash?”
    “It was none of my business,” Win said.
    “You know Clu, Win. It could have been for drugs or gambling or—”
    “Probably was,” Win agreed. “But I am his financial adviser. I instruct him on investment strategies. Period. I am not his conscience or his mommy or his baby-sitter—or even his agent.”
    Ouch. But no time for that now. Once again Myron suppressed the guilt and mulled over the possibilities. “Clu okayed us receiving his financial statements, right?”
    Win nodded. MB SportsReps insisted that all clients use Win’s services and meet with him in person at least quarterly to go over their accounts. This was for their sake more than Myron’s. Too many athletes get taken advantage of because of ignorance. But most of Myron’s clients had copies of their statements sent to Myron so that he too could help keep track of the ins and outs, set up some automatic bill paying, that kind of thing.
    “So a withdrawal that big would have come up on our screen,” Myron said.
    “Yes.”
    “Esperanza would have known about it.”
    “Yes again.”
    Myron frowned. “So that gives the DA another motive for the murder. She knew about the cash.”
    “Indeed.”
    Myron looked at Win. “So what did Clu do with the money?”
    Win shrugged.
    “Maybe Bonnie knows?”
    “Doubtful,” Win said. “They’ve separated.”
    “Big deal. They’re always fighting, but she always takes him back.”
    “Perhaps. But this time she made the separation legal.”
    That surprised Myron. Bonnie had never gone that far before. Their turmoil cycle had always been consistent: Clu does something stupid, a big fight ensues, Bonnie throws him out for a couple of nights, maybe a week, Clu begs forgiveness, Bonnie takes him back, Clu behaves for a little while, Clu does something stupid, the cycle starts anew. “She got a lawyer and filed papers?”
    “According to Clu.”
    “He told you that?”
    “Yes, Myron. That’s what ‘According to Clu’ means.”
    “When did he tell you all this?”
    “Last week. When he took out the cash. He said that she had already begun divorce proceedings.”
    “How did he feel about it?”
    “Badly. He craved yet another reconciliation.”
    “Did he say anything else when he withdrew the cash?”
    “Nothing.”
    “And you have no idea—”
    “None.”
    The conference room door flew open. Hester Crimstein came in, red-faced and fuming. “You dumb bastards. I told you to stay away.”
    “Don’t put this on us,” Myron said. “This is your screwup.”
    “What?”
    “Getting her bail should have been a slam dunk.”
    “If you weren’t in the courtroom, it would have been. You played right into the DA’s hands. He wants to show the judge that the defendant has the resources to run away, and boom, he points to a famous ex-jock and one of the country’s richest playboys sitting right in the front row.”
    She started stomping about as though the industrial gray carpet contained small brushfires. “This judge is a liberal schmuck,” she said. “That’s why I started with all that hardworking Hispanic crap. She hates rich people, probably because she is one. Having the
Preppy Handbook
here”—she gestured with her head at Win—“sit in the front row was like waving a Confederate flag at a black judge.”
    “You should drop the case,” Myron said.
    Her head jerked toward him. “Are you out of your mind?”
    “Your fame is playing against you. The judge may not like rich people, but she doesn’t much like celebrities either. You’re the wrong attorney for this case.”
    “Bullshit. I’ve had three cases before this judge. I’m