"Michael Sutton's career," he began, "is going downhill. He was dismissed from one role after another during the past year because of his problem with alcohol."
"I suspected so."
"And as far as any sort of marriage and wife who died . . ."
"Nothing?" I asked.
"A complete fabrication, I'm afraid. If anything, he has a reputation for being something of a rake. His affairs with members of the casts and crews of his shows are infamous and have often been detrimental to the productions."
"What does all this mean?" I asked.
"Well, his lawyer would certainly have a difficult time presenting him as a reliable and responsible individual whose parental rights were abused. But there would still be the negative effects of a trial to contend with.
"No, I think our best course of action is to direct ourselves to this act of blackmail, for that is exactly what it is. I want you to meet with him again," Mr. Updike said. "By yourself," he added.
"Why?" I asked. "I can't stand the thought of it."
"I understand, but I want him to repeat his demands."
"But it's still his word against mine, isn't it, Mr. Updike?"
"No. I and one of my associates, a man I use as a private investigator, will be present, too. Unbeknownst to Mr. Sutton, of course," he said. "I intend to record what he says to you. Do you think you can do it?" he asked.
I hesitated. What if Michael saw through me and found out what we were up to? He would surely go ahead and make more trouble. I gazed at my father's portrait again. The wry smile was still there, but his expression was more pensive, even tense.
"Yes, Mr. Updike," I said, filling my voice with determination. "I can do it. How do we proceed?"
Mr. Updike said he would get back to me with the details after he had spoken to his associate. Needless to say, I was on pins and needles the rest of the day and all night. Fortunately, Jimmy was distracted with some mechanical problems at the hotel and didn't notice my nervousness.
Late the next morning Mr. Updike called.
"Arrange to meet him in the hotel restaurant again. We will be sitting in the booth behind you. I'll come to your office this afternoon and go over the things I want you to say in order to draw out his blackmail," Mr. Updike explained.
"I'd rather come to your office, Mr. Updike," I said quickly. He was silent a moment.
"You haven't told Jimmy about any of this?" he asked perceptively.
"No, I was hoping I could end it without involving him. He has a temper, and . . ."
"I understand," Mr. Updike said. We arranged to meet at two o'clock.
At Mr. Updike's office I met his associate, Mr. Simons, a stout, tall man in his late thirties. Mr. Updike explained that Mr. Simons had once been a policeman, but an injury had caused him to go on disability. He did his investigative work to supplement his income. He had a slight limp, but other than that he looked strong enough and big enough to be a nightclub bouncer.
After I went over the things Mr. Updike wanted me to say, Mr. Simons showed me the battery-operated tape recorder they would use to record Michael's threats.
"Don't worry about looking nervous to him," Mr. Simons said. "He'll probably think you're that way because of the situation. Just forget about us, if you can, and let the man do himself in. That's usually what happens in cases such as these," he assured me. He spoke with a quiet confidence that gave me reassurance.
When I returned to the hotel I phoned Michael and made arrangements to meet him in the restaurant at one o'clock. "Will you bring the money?" he demanded.
"I'll see you at one, Michael," I said, and I hung up the phone quickly.
I arrived at the hotel a few minutes early. I saw Mr. Updike and Mr. Simons in the lobby. Mr. Updike nodded reassuringly. A few moments later Michael appeared. He looked more dapper and better dressed. He wore a light blue sports jacket and slacks with new loafers.
"How do I look?" he asked me instead of saying hello. "I bought this new outfit this morning in the hotel clothing store."
"You look very nice, Michael."
He smiled and gazed at me licentiously.