Detective

secretary behind a desk.
    “Hold my calls, Mildred,” Murphy said, and led me into his inner office and closed the door.
    While Murphy’s outer office had been furnished for business, with files, typewriters, and supply cabinets, his inner office was furnished to impress and entertain. Aside from the desk, on which there was not a single scrap of paper, only a phone and an intercom, the office boasted a couch, coffee table, three comfortable chairs, a bar, a stereo, and a TV complete with VCR.
    “Sit down,” Murphy said, gesturing to the couch. “Would you care for a drink.”
    “Little early for me,” I said, sitting on the couch. “But you go right ahead.”
    “I don’t want one either,” Murphy said. He sat in one of the chairs. “Now, you say you have an appointment with Mr. Albrect?”
    “That’s right.” I looked at my watch. “In five minutes, in fact.”
    “And you came up here from Miami to meet with him?”
    “That’s right.”
    Murphy took a deep breath. “I’m afraid Mr. Albrect is not going to be able to see you.”
    “Oh? Why not?”
    “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Albrect is dead.”
    “What!” I exclaimed. “You’re kidding! I just spoke to him a couple of days ago. From Miami. Are you sure?”
    “Yes. I’m afraid so.”
    “Oh, that’s terrible. I can’t believe it. He didn’t have any health problems, so far as I know. Maybe a little overweight. What was it, his heart?”
    “No.”
    “Well, what was it?”
    “He had an accident.”
    “An automobile accident?”
    “No.”
    “Well what then?”
    Murphy shook his head. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. The police found his body late last night in a parking lot. He’d been murdered. Shot to death.”
    I stared at him in what I hoped would pass for shock. My mouth was open, but I held my breath for a second or two, then let it out in a whoosh. I closed my mouth, opened it again, and began breathing in short, shallow breaths. In a small, shaky voice I said, “I think I’ll have that drink now.”
    I was afraid I was overdoing it, but Murphy immediately jumped up and poured me a brandy. I took a big swallow, coughed, choked, and came close to spitting it out. I swallowed, exhaled, shook my head, and took another smaller sip, hoping like hell my wife wouldn’t catch it on my breath when I got home.
    Murphy watched me solicitously. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “Yeah, yeah, sure,” I said. I forced a small, nervous chuckle. “Then I guess our meeting is off,” I said in the manner of one making a feeble attempt at a joke to try to cover the embarrassment of an awkward situation.
    Murphy picked right up on it, good salesman he. “That is probably a shrewd deduction,” he said with a grin.
    We shook our heads and chuckled for a bit.
    “Well,” I said, “what the hell am I going to do now?”
    “Don’t worry,” Murphy assured me. “This is, of course, a bit of a shock, but we’ve already begun transferring all of Marty’s accounts to other executives.”
    Ah! Marty. Score one for the Post.
    “Now,” Murphy continued, “seeing as how you’ve come all the way from Miami, this will be given a top priority. In fact, I shall insist on handling it myself.”
    He made the pronouncement in the manner of one bestowing a great favor, and I couldn’t help wondering, what with there being so many executive vice presidents and all, just what Murphy’s place on the hierarchical ladder actually was—had he outranked Albrect, or had Albrect’s demise kicked him up a rung?
    “I’m not sure you can,” I told him. “Albrect and I had a special understanding.”
    “Our customers always have a special understanding, Mr. Armstrong. Now, if you’ll just tell me what your understanding was, I’m sure I’ll be able to help you.”
    I looked at him skeptically “You’re familiar with our account?”
    “The Whitney Corporation? Yes, of course. I’ve never handled it personally—it was Marty’s account—but I’m certainly familiar with it.”
    I still looked skeptical. “All right, then,” I said. “You say you’re familiar with the account? Then tell me, what is our usual order?”
    Murphy went to his desk and pressed the intercom. “Mildred,” he said, “please bring me the Whitney account.”
    She was fast, I’ll give her that. Either the account was cross-filed in his office, or he’d sent her for it the moment he learned I was in the building, but, in any case,