Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(88)

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.

“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.”