guy bent down and talked quietly in my ear. “You’re gonna stop this bullshit and you’re gonna mind your own business. Keep asking questions and someone’s likely to get hurt. And that someone is you.” Then he leaned in even closer until I could feel the hairs of his beard drag lightly along the back of my neck. He spoke quietly the second time. It was almost a whisper. “Matt’s got nothing to hide, so quit looking.”
I tried to gasp a response, but my insides had seized completely and nothing would come out. I looked up at the two of them as they grinned down at me. The big guy turned and walked away while the Ferret stood there. Then he laughed and raised his foot. I cowered almost immediately, preparing for the kick. But all he did was put his shoe against my shoulder and push. I lost my balance and collapsed as he turned and walked away.
14
It took me awhile to calm down. I sat on the floor where they’d left me and waited to feel normal again. I was scared, but they hadn’t really hurt me. The punch to the stomach seemed designed to immobilize me and keep me from screaming. I wondered how they’d found me. How they knew who they were looking for. How it was that everyone under the sun seemed to know who I was.
As I walked the rest of the way to the elevators and rode up the sixty-eight floors to my office, I realized I was puzzled more than I was scared. Matt’s mother and sister could have provided a physical description. One of them might even have seen me get back in my car, so they’d have known what I drive. They could have told Matt. Matt could have told his tough guys.
But would two people just wait outside the entrance to the garage forever until they saw me? These didn’t seem like disciplined professionals to me, not that I knew what I was talking about. They seemed like punks. Guys who would rough someone up, but who weren’t necessarily in the business of roughing people up. I thought of the big guy’s words — Keep asking questions and someone is likely to get hurt. And that someone is you — the phrasing seemed too slick, too clever. There was something odd about it, and it was that oddness that dulled the fear.
When I got back to my office I left a message for Reilly, telling him what had happened and how wrong he’d been. Then I checked my own messages. There was only one. I didn’t recognize the voice.
“Uh, hello, this is Dan Kelly returning your call from yesterday. You said you were looking for information about Matt Bishop. I haven’t seen Matt for a few years, so I’m probably not much help. But I’m happy to tell you what I know.” He left a number and hung up.
When I called back, he answered on the first ring, like he was sitting by the phone. I told him I was looking for people who knew Matt Bishop when he was a kid. He spoke like a guy who’d been kicked in the throat by life a time or two.
“Yeah, I knew Matt back then. We used to do some crazy shit together. What’re you trying to find out? His family’s all still around somewhere. They’d probably have what you’re looking for. ‘Course, his old lady’s crazy. But whose isn’t, know what I mean?” He chuckled. “Yeah, his ma’s fuckin’ nuts, far as I’m concerned.”
Dan Kelly was the kind of guy who would keep talking if I let him. A guy with his brain in neutral and his mouth in drive.
“Actually, I’m really interested in Matt’s relationship with Becky Steele.”
Dead silence. I could hear Dan Kelly breathing, thinking. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and suspicious. “Who is this?”
“I told you—”
“No, I mean who the fuck is this?” Though it was the same question, I understood the subtle distinction. It was a question that declared: any bullshit and this call is over, forever.
“I’m trying to find out where Matt was the night Sharon Steele was murdered.” I hesitated. Then I bluffed. “You know what I mean.”
Then Dan Kelly said, “I think maybe we oughta meet in person.”
***
Dooley’s was a shit hole. Located on Third, just west of Vermont, there was little else it could be. I drove around the block twice until I found street parking in front