“So I heard you found an address etched into a table,” he said. When she nodded, he shook his head. “The cops sent men to watch, but nothing happened. They’ve called the store manager to tell him to be especially vigilant. The thieves might have planned to hold it up last night, before one of their own was killed. Or maybe they got wind the police were onto them—who knows? So, does Jimmy know you have his phone?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. He must know by now that he lost it at the pub, though, so I figured we’d have it back there by this morning and he’d never know.”
“Found in plain sight?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course. It was on the floor,” she said, waving a hand in the air.
He was thoughtful a moment. “Do you think your bosses will mind if you call in late?”
She shook her head. “I’ll tell them I’m with the FBI. Plus I worked on a Sunday.”
“Why did you work on a Sunday?”
“Dr. Miro does a lot of work for battered women. She took on a case pro bono, and the woman wanted to open up more, so I went out to Rikers to see her.”
Kieran made a point of pouring coffee as she spoke. She didn’t like lying to him. She still didn’t want to tell him about Tanya Lee Hampton and what she had heard. It was just too dangerous—not for her, but for Tanya.
She still felt uncomfortable lying to him, though.
As uncomfortable as hiding the fact that Danny had stolen a diamond for Julie.
She paused, remembering that Gary had been in the bar the night before.
She set a cup of coffee in front of him and asked, “You haven’t said anything about your night. I guess it’s all in the line of duty? You’re shot at, so you shoot back.”
“No,” he said, looking at her steadily. “Most of the time we’re just sitting around and watching people. Or asking questions. Following leads and clues, and hoping that people will talk to us.”
“So we’ve both been marked for death,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “I think they were after a woman who is helping us. Anyway, the guy is dead. And I’m pretty sure you’d recognize him.”
He went on to explain, taking care not to throw suspicion on Jimmy, since he was a friend of hers, even though the guy’s disappearing act looked like a pretty clear admission of guilt to him.
“And you think he was one of them—one of the thieves?”
Craig nodded. “I’m going to grab a shower before we head in and let my tech guy see that phone. Then I’ll get you to work.”
“I’ll call the office,” she said.
Craig showered and dressed at the speed of light. In ten minutes they were out of her apartment and on the way to his office.
“Come on, we’re going to go see Wally,” he told her, leading the way.
Wally worked in a room filled with cubicles, computers and mysterious high-tech devices. He stood quickly, smiling at Kieran. Craig quickly introduced the two of them.
“Kieran found this phone on the floor at Finnegan’s last night,” Craig said, not batting an eye. “Can you pull the call records for me? And will that take long?”
“I have the phone in my hand. No time at all,” Wally said. He kept smiling at Kieran. She smiled back. “Love Finnegan’s.”
“Thanks.”
“Love the motto, too. ‘Any decent person would lend a hand.’”
“Thank you,” she said again.
“We have to return the phone this morning,” Craig told Wally. “Whoever lost it will probably come back looking for it.”
“No problem,” Wally assured him.
The phone held a chip. The chip held an address book as well as a listing of every incoming and outgoing call.
Wally gave Craig the list. “There’s a number you should note,” he said.
“Which one?”
Wally pointed. “That one,” he said. “I recognized it from all the paperwork coming through. It’s the number for Clean Cut Office Services.”
* * *
The noose seemed to be tightening around Jimmy’s neck.
Craig got Kieran to work, where Marty met them, ready to take on the responsibility of watching her through the day.
He doubted that anyone would be stupid enough to attack her there, but since the shooting attack in the pharmacy, nothing seemed impossible. Still, cops and attorneys were coming and going at Fuller and Miro all the time, and a lot of them carried guns and knew how to use them. It would take a pretty desperate killer to go after her there.
Eagan had seen to it that a search warrant was already being executed on Clean Cut Office Services.
Bailey Headley had described Sylvia Mannerly so well that the sketch artist’s rendering could have been taken with a camera.
Just as he was about to head uptown to join Mike at the cleaning company, Craig received a call from Eagan.
“We’ve found Jimmy McManus,” Eagan said.
“Dead or alive?” Craig asked.
“Alive, and about to be released from the hospital. He was the victim of an attack that left him for dead, but luckily for him, the bullet only grazed his head. There was a lot of blood, though, probably why his attacker most likely thought he was dead. It was either a real mugging or meant to look like one. His wallet was stolen, and he wore a Rolex and that’s gone, too, along with his phone, a couple of gold chains and a gold ring.”
“How did they find him?”
“His name popped up when we screened city hospitals and morgues.”
“Who’s with him now?”
“The cops are there. You know, even though he knew the guy who shot at you, we don’t have any evidence against him.”
Craig knew that, and he knew Kieran would be happy if McManus turned out to be pure as the driven snow.
“Are the cops bringing him into the office?” Craig asked.
“They are. Head back here now. Leave Mike in charge of the search at the cleaning service.”
“I’m turning around as we speak,” Craig promised.
* * *
Work seemed to stretch on forever. There was a meeting in which both she and Jake were thanked for being exceptional employees and helping to keep the ethical standing of the company at an extreme high.
She met with Madison Taylor, the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, who had taken up shoplifting. As they talked, Kieran felt that, just as she’d expected, the girl had been making a play for her parents’ attention, a play that had failed because they hadn’t even bothered to come home from a European vacation when she’d been arrested. They’d simply hired a battery of attorneys and sent her to Doctors Fuller and Miro.
As caught up as she was in matters of life and death, Kieran forgot for a moment that she was practicing therapy and yearned to smack the girl. To Dr. Miro’s credit, she’d refused to write a prescription for anxiety drugs and sent the girl straight in to see Kieran, who managed not to strangle her and instead tried to make her understand that she couldn’t control other people, only her own reaction to them.
It was a philosophy she tried to live by herself, though not always successfully.
The day continued to drag on. She saw a few more people, but continually found herself looking out the window and wishing she was out on the street.
She didn’t even bother suggesting going out for lunch; she knew Marty would never have agreed to it.
She wished that Craig would call. He didn’t. She refrained from calling him herself.
At four thirty she gave up on getting anything else done and went out to the lobby. Today Marty was sipping coffee and reading a current-affairs magazine; she could tell by the pile on the table in front of him that he’d already gone through all the entertainment and gossip magazines.
He lo
oked up at her, and she said, “Hey, I’m done for the day. Want to head out when you’re done with your coffee?”
He stood immediately. “I’m ready now.”
“It’s okay—I’m not in any hurry,” she told him.
As she spoke, they heard the squeal of tires from down on the street, followed by angry shouting.
“The traffic in this city is crazy,” Marty said, shrugging.
But the commotion coming up from the street said something more was going on.
“What the hell—heck?” Marty murmured, then pulled his gun and headed downstairs.
Kieran followed him.
“You should have stayed in the office,” Marty told her, dismayed to realize that she had joined him in the elevator.
His gun in his hand, he shoved her behind him when they reached the first floor and the doors opened. She stayed close as they headed for the street door.
A policeman in uniform was already there, ordering people back. She could hear sirens.
As the crowd followed the cop’s orders and moved back, she saw the body of a man lying on the sidewalk. His throat had been slit, evident from the widening circle of blood under him and the crimson stain soaking his shirt.
Kieran gasped. “Oh, my God, I know him!” she said before she could stop herself.
He was the dark-haired man who’d been at Finnegan’s with Jimmy.
* * *
McManus looked like hell, Craig had to admit.
He was also damned lucky. The side of his head was bandaged where the bullet had scraped along his temple just two inches from his eye. He sat in the conference room looking at Craig like a very old lost lamb.
“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice husky. “You say that David Thoreau was really Dean Thiessen? And that he tried to kill you?” He shook his head incredulously. “He and his partner—tall dark-haired guy—just sat down and started talking to me one day at Finnegan’s. They were nice guys, friendly, thought the pub was a great place, so old-school New York. We kept talking—they found out I do some investing, and they told me they were looking to put their money in something that couldn’t crash. Something that might go down, like everything does sometimes, but wouldn’t crash. Like gold. If you own gold and hold on to it, the value will always go back up, even if it slips. Or diamonds. Quality diamonds. Well, I know a lot of jewelers. A lot of them come to Finnegan’s. Years ago, before old man Finnegan died and the kids took over, a lot of the established jewelers had some kind of monthly meeting there, and a lot of jewelers from all over the city still go there. I’m an old-timer, too, and a lot of them are still my friends. I get a big buyer for them and they cut me in. I don’t really need to work, but I like to keep my hand in.”
“So you introduced the two men to some of your jeweler friends, and then they turned around and learned everything they could from the owners and managers before robbing and killing them?” Craig said.
Jimmy winced and seemed to fold in on himself. “And Bobby,” he said with a whisper. “It was them, right? Those guys beat up Bobby and nearly killed him, didn’t they? And now they’re after me.”
“So,” Craig said, “how did Sylvia Mannerly fit in?”
“Who?” Jimmy asked, looking puzzled.
“Jimmy, your phone was found,” Craig said, but he didn’t mention how or when. “It wasn’t stolen in the mugging.”
Jimmy shook his head. “Son of a bitch, huh? Well, at least the muggers didn’t get everything,” he said bitterly. He frowned, looking at Craig. “So you have my phone, huh?”
“We don’t have your phone. Kieran found it on the floor in Finnegan’s. You called a woman named Sylvia Mannerly.”
Jimmy looked completely puzzled. “No, I didn’t.”
“Clean Cut Office Services,” Craig said.
“Oh!” Jimmy said. “Yeah, of course I’ve called there. They clean my place.”
“You have an office?”
“My apartment is my office,” Jimmy said.
“You knew that the victim at the last robbery worked for the company, and you never mentioned that to anyone?”
“People were killed in a computer warehouse robbery last year,” Jimmy said, looking at Craig in confusion. “I own one of their computers. I didn’t go to the police.”
“Jimmy, a man who was almost certainly involved in a series of robberies and murders is dead. Who’s to say that you weren’t involved, too, and that’s why you were also supposed to die?”
“Sweet Jesus in heaven!” Jimmy said with horror. “Me, involved?” He was suddenly furious. “Have you checked my financials? I don’t need to steal diamonds.”
There was a knock at the door before Craig had a chance to point out that for lots of people there was no such thing as rich enough. He excused himself and rose.
Eagan was outside. “We’ve got another dead man,” he said.
* * *
There was so much confusion on the street that Kieran found herself surprisingly impressed by Marty Salinger’s ability to keep her protected while officers spilled onto the sidewalk, sirens wailed and a half dozen witnesses talked at once.
“He was thrown out of the car.”
“No, man, it looked like he just kind of fell out of the car.”
“It had tinted windows.”
“It was like they wanted him found at this exact location.” In a matter of moments, chaos became order. The scene was blocked off with crime-scene tape, and officers smoothly separated the witnesses who needed to give statements from everyone who’d been drawn by the scent of blood.
Marty moved toward the group of witnesses, flashed his badge at the cops and explained that Kieran worked upstairs, was under his protection and had recognized the victim.
“You know this man?” an officer asked her.
“I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him,” she clarified. “He’s been in Finnegan’s on Broadway, the pub my family owns.” She hesitated. “He was there with the man who was killed in that shoot-out yesterday.”
The next thing she knew, she and Marty were sitting in the back of a police car, waiting for Detective Mayo.
“Great,” she muttered. “I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
“You were honest,” Marty said, smiling approvingly.
She leaned back, feeling a chill. The man had been thrown from a car in front of her office. The police were now looking for that car, of course, but not one of the witnesses she’d heard knew anything about the car except that it was dark and had tinted windows.
Naturally, with a body bleeding out on the sidewalk, no one was looking at a license plate.
He’d been dropped there as a warning to her. She was absolutely certain of it.
So both men who had been with Jimmy McManus were dead, and something on Jimmy’s phone had been a red flag to Craig.
“Not possible,” she murmured aloud.
“What’s not possible?”
“Jimmy is a really old customer,” she said. “He’s friendly, sure, always talking to strangers, but I can’t believe that he’s involved with this.”
The car door opened, and Kieran jumped.
It was Craig.
Relief rushed through her. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she reminded herself that Marty was there and managed to control herself.
“Get out,” Craig said. “I’m taking you home.”
“I would have done that, but the police want to talk to her some more,” Marty said, then turned to Kieran and explained, “We work in tandem with the police. We don’t take over cases—we offer our expertise, our manpower and all the resources of our agency to—”
“Marty, come on, get out of the car. You did the right thing, but now it’s time to get Kieran out of here. The police can talk t
o her later.”
“Oh, okay,” Marty said, obviously relieved.
As she got out of the car, Kieran couldn’t help but look toward the dead man again, though at least by now a screen had been put up to shield the body.
“Let’s go,” Craig said.
She could see Detective Mayo standing behind the body. He looked at the two of them and nodded.
“We’ve got Jimmy McManus,” Craig said as he led her away. “He was attacked.”
“Jimmy was attacked?” she asked. “Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Craig told her. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” she asked.
“I told you, I’m taking you home.”
She shook her head. “Craig, take me to Finnegan’s.”
“Don’t be crazy. Finnegan’s is much too connected to everything that’s going on. Bobby and Jimmy have both been attacked, and two men who frequented the place are dead. You need to be in your apartment, locks double-bolted, safe and secure.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “Craig, nothing has ever happened in Finnegan’s itself. I need to be with my brothers.”
He pulled her away from Marty, who started to follow, then saw Craig’s look and backed off. Craig set his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “You’re the one in the most danger,” he told her. “I’m certain of it.”
“Right. Tell that to Bobby and Jimmy. And the dead men.”
“Kieran, you’ve got to go to your apartment. Marty will stay and watch you.”
“Craig, please, he can watch over me at Finnegan’s, and when you’re finished for the night, you can join us there.”
He looked so torn that she almost relented. God knew she did want to preserve her own life.
But her brothers were part of her life, and she knew that the three of them would be together at Finnegan’s, which meant she needed to be there with them.
Craig saw the determination in her eyes and sighed. “Marty!” he called.
“Yes, sir.”
“Marty, I’m begging you, stop the ‘sir’ stuff. Finnegan’s. Follow me there. And when you get there, watch over her—like a hawk.”
“Yes, sir!” Marty said.