Widow's Walk Part 27

"B and E?" Hawk said.

"Might as well," I said. "Practice makes perfect."

Hawk handed me the flat bar, and in we went. There was no air-conditioning. The building was hot. The furniture was still in place. But no one was using it. We walked down the corridor to the back office where Felton Shawcross had sat. The corridor was dim. There were no lights on. There was a bank of file cabinets across the right wall of Shawcross's office. I opened a drawer. It was empty. I opened them all. They were empty. Hawk looked in Shawcross's desk. It was empty. He picked up the phone.

"Dial tone," he said.

I tried a light switch. The lights went on.

"Didn't bother to cancel anything," I said.

We went methodically down the row of offices that lined each side of the long corridor. All of them were empty. All of the files were empty. The only things in the desk drawers were a few Bic pens, some blank paper, some rubber bands, paper clips, staples, and pads of yellow stick 'em paper to draw smiley faces on.

"Didn't leave no paper trail," Hawk said. "Maybe they skipping out on the utility bills."

"Probably it," I said.

We had worked our way down the corridor and were standing in the reception area. There was no place else to look.

"On the wall in the men's room it say for a good time call 555-1212," Hawk said.

"Probably a clue," I said.

A mailman in blue shorts came in carrying a packet of mail held together by a wide rubber band. He looked around.

"You guys moving out?" he said.

"Just rehabbing," I said. "Closed for a couple of weeks."

"You oughta notify us, fill out a form, have us hold your mail until you're back in business."

"What a very good idea," I said. "My man here will be down to the post office later today to fill out the doc.u.ments."

"It's just a form," the mailman said. "What do I do with this mail?"

"I'll take it," I said.

He handed me the mail and left.

"My man be down to the post office?" Hawk said.

"I'm cleaning up my act," I said. "There was a time I would have said my boy."

"I love a liberal," Hawk said.

I took the mail over to the reception desk and went through it with Hawk looking over my shoulder. We went through it twice. Each of us. To make sure we hadn't missed anything. There was nothing to miss. People like this didn't do business by mail. When we were through I left the mail in a neat pile on the reception desk.

"The more we look, the more there's nothing there," Hawk said.

I sat back in the receptionist chair and leaned back against the spring.

"We keep getting there just afterwards," I said.

"Getting where?" Hawk said.

"I don't know," I said.

"Least they didn't shoot n.o.body and leave them for us."

"No."

"Maybe there ain't no one left to shoot," Hawk said.

I was rocked back, looking at the Celotex ceiling tiles, my hands laced over my chest.

"Ann Kiley," I said.

"Ann Kiley?"

"She was DeRosa's lawyer."

"S."

"She's got no business representing a stiff like DeRosa."

"Nice choice of words," Hawk said.

I shrugged.

"If DeRosa was killed so we wouldn't find out anything from him, what are the chances that his lawyer would know what that is?"

"The chances are good," Hawk said. "And even if they aren't, the people who killed DeRosa might think they were."

I came forward in the spring-back chair, letting my feet hit the ground. I pointed my finger at Hawk and dropped my thumb like the hammer on a gun.

"Let's go see her," I said. "Right now."

"So we won't be afterwards again?"

"So that," I said.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.

Ann Kiley had the second biggest corner office on the twenty-fifth floor of a high-rise on Broad Street. Her father had the biggest, the one that looked out to sea. Ann had what the real estate ads would call cityscape views.

I introduced Hawk when we came in, and they eyed each other, evaluating potential.

"So where's Harbaugh's office?" I said when we were seated.

Ann pointed toward the ceiling.

"Big firm in the sky," she said.

"So this place is really Kiley and Kiley."

"Yes. But the name was familiar, so we decided to leave it."

I could tell, as she spoke, that she was aware of Hawk. Silent, as he often was, there was still a lot of Hawk.

"Did you know that Jack DeRosa was murdered?" I said.

"Yes."

"What do you think?"

"About DeRosa's death?"

"Yes."

"No one should be murdered," she said.

"Are you in danger?"

Hawk stood and walked to the window and looked out.

"Danger? Why would I be in danger?"

"Because I'm pretty sure DeRosa was killed to shut him up, and if he talked with you, they might feel they had to shut you up, too."

"That's absurd," Ann Kiley said. "I was Jack's attorney. Nothing more."

I looked at Hawk. She saw me look and turned and looked at him, too. Hawk smiled.

"You f.u.c.k around with this," Hawk said, "and they gonna kill you, too."

She was tough, but it rocked her. Hawk saying it made it somehow more forceful. I have often wondered how he got that effect, and have concluded that it is because he doesn't care. Doesn't care if she believes him. Doesn't care if they kill her, too. She was too contained to show it much, but there was a faint look of strain around her eyes and in the way her mouth compressed.

"I have no idea," she said, "what either of you is talking about."

There was a short knock on her office door, and it opened immediately and Bobby Kiley walked in. He closed the door behind him.

"I'd like to sit in," he said to his daughter.

"I don't think I need any help," Ann Kiley said.

"I'll sit in anyway," Kiley said. "How are you, Spenser?"

"Fine, Bobby. Nice to see you."

He walked over to Hawk and put out a hand.

"Bobby Kiley," he said.

"Hawk."

Kiley nodded and walked back to sit in a chair beside me. He was a handsome guy with white hair and one of those slightly hollow-cheeked Irish faces.

"What's up?" he said.

"Bobby," Ann said, "why are you here?"

"I know this guy." He nodded at me. "I know somebody killed a guy we represent."

"I can handle this myself," Ann said.

Kiley shrugged and stayed where he was.

"You know Nathan Smith?" I said.

"Know of him," Kiley said. "Know he was murdered."

"I was hired by Cone Oakes to investigate his death," I said.

Kiley nodded. Ann Kiley sat perfectly still. She looked like she was insulted by her father's intervention. But she also didn't look strained around the mouth and eyes anymore.

"Rita," Kiley said.

"Yep."

"h.e.l.l of a lawyer," Kiley said.

"And when I started looking into the matter," I said, "people started to die. A woman at Smith's bank committed suicide. Smith's broker was killed in a hit-and-run. A kid named Kevin McGonigle tried to kill me."

"Heard about that," Kiley said. "You got him first."

"Then Jack DeRosa got shot and his girlfriend with him."

"Our client," Kiley said.

"Ann represented him."

"And?"