it be Kevin? Is he the person they’re calling a Schilling lawyer? Then why are they showing me?
“Andy…” It’s Laurie’s voice attempting to cut through the confused mess that is my mind. “They’re saying that you were shot and killed in your office this afternoon.”
And then it hits me, with a searing pain that feels like it explodes my insides. “Let’s go,” I say, and run toward my car. Laurie is with me every step of the way, and within five minutes we are approaching my office.
We have to park two blocks away because the place is such a mob scene. Laurie knows one of the officers protecting the perimeter, and he lets us through the barricades. Pete Stanton is standing next to a patrol car, in front of the fruit stand below my office.
“Pete…” is all I can manage.
“It’s the writer, Andy. Adam. He took two shots in the face and one in the chest. Died instantly.”
I can’t adequately describe the pain I feel, but I know I’ve felt it before. Sam Willis had a young assistant named Barry Leiter who was murdered because he was helping me investigate a case. Like then, I find my legs giving out from under me, and I have to lean against the car for support.
“Why?” I say, but I know why. Adam was blown apart by bullets that were meant for me.
“We just arrested Quintana, Andy. I don’t know if we can make it stick, but he ordered it done. No question about it.”
“I want to see him,” I say, and push off from the car. It’s only then that I realize that Laurie has her arm around me, and she keeps that arm around me all the way up the stairs. She is supporting me, and she is sobbing.
There are officers and forensics people everywhere, finishing up their work. They seem to part as we approach, mainly because Pete is with us telling them to. Suddenly, there just inside the office door, we see a body covered by a sheet. I am getting goddamn sick of seeing people I care about covered by sheets.
I’m not sure how long we’re at the office, probably a couple of hours. Pete has a lot of questions he has to ask me, but he doesn’t make me go down to the station to answer them. Sam Willis shows up, having heard the news on television, and he lets us use his office. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Sam cry.
There is little I can tell Pete that he doesn’t already know. He’s aware of the incident where Marcus threw Ugly out the window, and he was there the night Marcus stopped Ugly and his friend from breaking into my house and roughing me up.
Pete tells me that Ugly and his friend are still in custody and have been since that night. “That probably cost Adam his life,” I say. “Whoever Quintana sent didn’t know me by sight… they thought Adam was me.”
Pete shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. They probably came in shooting and didn’t even wait to look. Maybe Adam never knew what was coming.”
For the record, and for Pete’s tape recorder, I take him through the reason Adam came here in the first place. I also describe Adam’s gradual evolution into being helpful on the Schilling case, but I refuse to provide details, citing attorney-client privilege.
Pete tries to probe, to find out as much as he can, explaining that the murder has to be investigated fully. Though he strongly believes that it was a case of mistaken identity and that I was the target, the investigation cannot prejudge that. It has to start with the assumption that Adam was the target and look for reasons why. I understand that, and I’m fine with Pete doing an inventory of the office where Adam was working and taking whatever he needs.
“Just remember that his notes about the Schilling case are privileged, so I’d appreciate it if only you’d look at them first to see if they’re relevant. And I’ll need them back as soon as you can.”
Pete’s fine with that and tells me that I can go. As we reach the street, Willie Miller screeches to a halt in his car and jumps out. He sees me, and his eyes just about bug out of his head. “Man, they said you…”
Without another word he hugs me. I can count the number of male hugs I’ve liked on very few fingers, and I don’t like