The God Game. Jeffrey Round

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СКАЧАТЬ that they contacted him by phone or email.

      This one apparently wasn’t put off by such concerns. The door opened on a big man with a bulky torso, bristling with energy. On seeing Dan, he entered without waiting to be asked and offered a large, furry hand. “Peter Hansen.”

      The name sounded vaguely familiar.

      “Dan Sharp.”

      Hansen’s gaze went around the office, gauging and appraising: old furniture, raw brick, original art, classic texts on the bookshelf. A man in a hurry. Better to make your assessment first and then decide what you want.

      “You come recommended,” he said, seemingly satisfied. “Yeah, you’re the one I want.”

      It wasn’t much of a compliment, but Dan could tell a man like Peter Hansen wouldn’t have come had the recommendation been half-hearted.

      He named a client Dan had worked for several years previously. The case hadn’t been unusual or noteworthy, but Dan’s results were both quick and decisive. That, more often than not, was why people kept coming to him.

      Hansen placed a valise on Dan’s desk, snapped it open, and slid a black-and-white photograph under Dan’s gaze.

      “My husband,” he said in a tone that suggested a deep ambivalence.

      Dan looked down at a thin, handsome face whose expression hovered somewhere between uncertain and fearful. A man trying to escape notice.

      “Name?”

      “Tony Moran.”

      “How long has he been missing?”

      Peter regarded him warily. “How did you know he was missing?”

      Dan looked him up and down. “You don’t look like the kind of man who would pay someone to sort out his domestic affairs if you thought you could do it yourself.”

      “Fair enough. Tony’s been missing since the weekend. Friday, probably. I was away for the evening. He wasn’t home when I got back in the early hours on Saturday.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      “I don’t want sympathy. I want you to find him.”

      Dan overlooked Peter’s abruptness. “Do you suspect foul play? Kidnapping? Anything dire?”

      Peter shook his head. “Not at this point.”

      “Where do you think he might be?”

      “He’s got a fear of flying and he doesn’t drive, so chances are he’s right here in the city. I’ve cut off his credit cards.”

      “Any obvious reasons for disappearing? An affair, perhaps?”

      “No.” Peter paused. “Maybe. We had an argument. Over money.”

      “Did you hit him?”

      Hansen made a face. “No.”

      Dan pushed the photo back and looked at Peter. “Well, then that pretty much covers it. My guess is he’ll come home when he cools off and runs out of places to stay.”

      “I’m not so sure,” Peter added. “He’s a gambler. He lost a lot of my money and doesn’t want to have to confront me over it.”

      Nor would I, Dan thought. “How long have you been married?”

      “Three years.”

      “I still say he’ll be back when he’s ready.”

      Peter stabbed Dan’s desktop with an angry finger. “I came here to hire you.”

      “And do you want your husband back or just the money?”

      Peter bristled. “Just find him. Please. Before he causes me any more embarrassment.”

      “Have you been on my website? Do you know my terms?”

      Peter nodded. “I have. I do.”

      “Okay. I’ll take a look around. If I agree to take on the case, I’ll draw up a contract and we can set up a time to go over it together in the next couple of days.”

      Peter shook his head. “No contract. I don’t want anything on paper.”

      Before Dan could protest, Hansen put up his hand. “I’m in politics, Dan. My boss is a high-profile minister at Queen’s Park and there’s an election coming up. I can’t have a whiff of this hitting the street. I want no paper trails. I need your absolute discretion.”

      He reached into his case, drew out an envelope and placed it on the desk.

      “Here’s your retainer. I don’t want a receipt. All I care about is results. Everything you need to know about Tony is in here.” He glanced down at the caterer’s quote on Dan’s desk. His eyebrows went up. “Thinking of getting married?”

      Dan nodded.

      “My advice? Don’t do it. They’re always more trouble than they’re worth.”

      He turned and strode to the door. Then, with one hand on the knob, he looked back at Dan. “If you need more money, let me know.”

      The door opened and closed. The whirlwind subsided.

      Dan waited till Hansen’s footsteps receded, then slit open the envelope. He thumbed through a pile of thousand-dollar bills, ten in total, wrapped in a sheet containing Tony Moran’s particulars. His eyes ran down the page. Tony was a high school graduate, with a further couple years at a business college. A few of his past jobs were noted, including a stint as assistant manager of a Wendy’s franchise. Not a big achiever, then.

      Dan glanced at the picture again. Despite Tony’s good looks, there was something skin-deep about them suggesting he might attract a certain type of partner quickly, but not stay the term. His polo-shirt-and-sweater combo smacked of conservative taste, but with a narcissistic undertone. Then again, he had a low-rent sort of sex appeal. The sort of man a Peter Hansen might look on as material for moulding, someone to impress with a helping hand out of the gutter. Pygmalions were a dime a dozen.

      Three local addresses were listed at the bottom of the sheet. Dan suspected they would turn out to be gambling dens. He picked up the bills again. It was a lot of money, far more than what he normally asked for as a retainer. It seemed Peter Hansen was serious about wanting his husband returned. Maybe Nick would have his chi-chi caterer after all.

      Dan turned to his laptop and did a search on Hansen. A series of links appeared, including an article about his marriage to Tony Moran on a downtown Toronto rooftop three years earlier. It looked to have been an impressive affair. The premier and several prominent ministers had attended, which might explain why a major paper had covered a gay wedding. They weren’t a bad-looking couple, Dan thought. Not mismatched the way a wealthy older man might seem with a cute but brainless younger man. But where Peter’s face showed force and determination, a tenacious grit, Tony’s showed something softer, more malleable. Dan knew which one of them he’d rather be friends СКАЧАТЬ