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.”
There was a knock at the door before Craig had a chance to point out that for lots of people there was no such thing as rich enough. He excused himself and rose.
Eagan was outside. “We’ve got another dead man,” he said.
*
There was so much confusion on the street that Kieran found herself surprisingly impressed by Marty Salinger’s ability to keep her protected while officers spilled onto the sidewalk, sirens wailed and a half dozen witnesses talked at once.
“He was thrown out of the car.”
“No, man, it looked like he just kind of fell out of the car.”
“It had tinted windows.”
“It was like they wanted him found at this exact location.” In a matter of moments, chaos became order. The scene was blocked off with crime-scene tape, and officers smoothly separated the witnesses who needed to give statements from everyone who’d been drawn by the scent of blood.
Marty moved toward the group of witnesses, flashed his badge at the cops and explained that Kieran worked upstairs, was under his protection and had recognized the victim.
“You know this man?” an officer asked her.
“I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him,” she clarified. “He’s been in Finnegan’s on Broadway, the pub my family owns.” She hesitated. “He was there with the man who was killed in that shoot-out yesterday.”