Flawless(87)

“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 looked 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.