Free Edison Effect, The: A Professor Bradshaw Mystery (The Edison Effect) by Bernadette Pajer Page B

was worth the price.”
    “Weren’t you taking a chance?”
    “What, on losing a big contract? No, it was a sure thing. I knew no one else would have any luck.”
    “Why were you so sure?”
    “Like I said, I’m the best. They’ve had more than two years to find it, and they haven’t.”
    “You’ve had the same two years.”
    Galloway shrugged, but his smile stayed as confident as ever. Bradshaw wondered if Galloway’s real business, at least in regards to finding Daulton’s box, was selling hope. He made money as long as treasure-seekers believed he could find it.
    “Can you provide me with the names of the other divers Mr. Maddock hired?”
    “I can, but you’ll be wasting your money hiring them.” Galloway went to a desk and his pen scratched noisily for a few minutes.
    “Mr. Galloway, could you add the names of all those who hired you over the past two years to search for Daulton’s invention?”
    Galloway’s eyes narrowed. “What do you need my client list for?”
    A ship’s horn sounded from a slip nearby, and seagulls cried as if in protest.
    “I won’t harass your clients, Mr. Galloway. Not unless one of them has committed murder.”
    Galloway’s hand froze halfway to his coffee mug. “Is this about the electrician at the Bon?”
    “Why would you think so?”
    “It’s front page news. The paper said you were investigating and that you blamed Edison’s new holiday lights for Doyle’s death. Now you’re here asking about my clients, and Vernon Doyle was a client. If you’re not here because of Doyle, it seems a strange coincidence.”
    “What was your relationship with Vernon Doyle?”
    “He was a customer. He paid for a few dives. He was hoping to find the lost invention. But I don’t see how the names of my other clients would help you.”
    “When you say he paid, do you mean he went diving?”
    “No, he was afraid to dive.” He said this without scorn, but Bradshaw felt an insult nonetheless. And what would Galloway make of his own terror of any sort of depth or height? Or small spaces?
    “Doyle paid for me to dive and search. He believed he knew something about the invention and that he was entitled to it. Is that true?”
    “I’ve been hearing similar reports from others. I haven’t yet untangled fact from tall tales.”
    “Huh. Now it’s your turn. What happened to Doyle that didn’t get into the papers? And what has it got to do with Galloway Diving?”
    “I’m afraid I can only ask questions at this stage of an investigation, not answer them. How well did you know Vernon Doyle?”
    Galloway shrugged. “Had a drink with him now and again, but his wife doesn’t know. She’s not fond of drink.”
    “When did he last hire you?”
    “Oh, this fall. October?”
    “Can you check your log book?”
    “We can find the dates on the chart.”
    He strode across the room, still oblivious to being barefoot. Surely the wood floor was like ice. He stood before a chart of the bay near West Seattle with the wavy lines indicating various depths. Numbered flags were pinned near the Maryland Street dock where the ferry from Seattle landed daily. Bradshaw made note of the dates and number of dives, while Galloway cocked his head and studied the map. Bradshaw could only imagine what Galloway knew of those waters and what lay deep below. There were fish of all sorts in the bay, and seals and killer whales. What else lay below? Giant octopuses, ghosts? Whatever Galloway was paid, it was not enough.
    “So, what do you think? We looking in the right area?”
    Bradshaw shook off the nightmare images of the deep and studied the chart. He found the Marion Street dock and followed a dotted line from it to the landing in West Seattle. “Yes, I suppose. The general vicinity.”
    “Passengers on board that day say there was a commotion a few minutes before docking.” He looked at Bradshaw for confirmation.
    Bradshaw shrugged. “I really couldn’t say.” He’d been preoccupied, trying to