The Diehard by Jon A. Jackson Page B

anything of that kind for her.
    Of course, this report was five years old, Mulheisen reminded himself.
    There was also an investigation of the beneficiary, Arthur Clippert. This was more interesting to Mulheisen.
    A successful man rarely has significant gaps in his personal history, and that history is more readily accessible than the average man's. It was easy to establish and describe Clippert's career and life. He was born in St. Ignace, Michigan, a town just across the Straits of Mackinac. His father was a doctor, now deceased. His mother, also deceased, had a private fortune and was a devoted supporter of the Detroit Symphony and the Metropolitan Opera.
    Arthur Clippert graduated at the head of his high-school class and accepted a Regent's scholarship to the University of Michigan (supplemented, evidently, by a football scholarship). He was an All-American football player for three years, and All Big-Ten in hockey, baseball and track. He turned down offers to play professional football and baseball from both of the Detroit teams, as well as the Chicago teams.
    He graduated among the leaders of his law-school class and immediately entered the Air Force, where he served three years and was discharged as a captain (reserve). He went immediately into a law firm in Detroit that was headed by a former governor of Michigan and included a member who became a federal judge. After three years he left this firm and entered an even more prestigious one. Within another three years he had left that firm andopened his own. He was a member of the board of several corporations, including the ill-fated Fidelity Funding. This last association was the only questionable thing in his career.
    “Mister Clean,” Mulheisen said to himself. He leafed through the voluminous, meticulous report. He noted the name of the investigator: Larry Edwards, of Standard Enquiry.
    “Nice work, Larry,” he said. Then, out of curiosity, he called Standard Enquiry. Mr. Edwards was no longer with Standard Enquiry. After a bit of querulous negotiation with a secretary, he was informed that Mr. Edwards had gone to work for the Detroit Police Department.
    Edwards was a member of the Big Four. He had risen rapidly to that position. Mulheisen had heard of him. He was called “Wonny” Edwards. Mulheisen didn't know why they called him that. He got him on the telephone, at home.
    “I liked your report on Clippert,” he told him, after explaining why he had called. “Do you remember anything about the man, personally?”
    “Let's see,” Edwards mused. “Rich guy, wasn't he? Insuring his wife for a bundle?”
    “For a million,” Mulheisen said. “A tall guy, ex-All-American football player, a lawyer.”
    “Oh, yeah. The Flying Clipper. Weird.”
    “How's that?”
    “Well, I did a lot of scouting around before I went to see him. You know, talk to neighbors, old acquaintances, teachers. Everybody tells me what a wonderful guy the Flying Clipper is. So I'm actually looking forward to meeting the guy. After all, he's a famous athlete. I saw him on television when he ran a kickoff back ninety yards against Oregon.
    “So I try to make an appointment. Couldn't get one. Always out of town, out of the country. Well, he's a busy man, and anyway I had other things to do, but then the company started pressing me to wind up the investigation. So I really went after him, and finally I caught him at his summer place, up north. He insists that he can't see me in Detroit. Too busy. But if I want to drive up, it would be all right. What the hell, I got mileage and overtime.”
    “Where was this?” Mulheisen asked.
    “An old and very fancy resort area, Jasper Lake. It's about a hundred seventy-five miles straight up the center of the state. Anyway, I get there and it's a real mansion. Only he's modernized the back so he can walk right out to an Olympic-size swimming pool. And what do you think? He's lying on a chaise longue, stark naked.”
    “You mean you interviewed