McKenna crossed his arms and eyed Fiske sternly. “Okay, has anybody else had access to your office? Cleaning crew, secretary, delivery people, window washers?”
“No, nobody. Nobody else has a key, except for the landlord.”
Hawkins said, “You’ve been gone, what, two days or so?”
“That’s right.”
McKenna was looking at the door. “But there’s no signs of forced entry.”
Hawkins said, “That doesn’t mean anything. Person who knew what they were doing could pick that lock and you’d never even know it.”
“Who knew you kept the gun here?” McKenna asked.
“Nobody.”
“Maybe one of your clients took it so he’d have a piece of ordnance to knock over a bank with,” McKenna said.
“I don’t interview clients in my office, McKenna. They’re usually in prison by the time I get the call.”
“Well, it looks like we have a little problem here. Your brother was killed by a nine-millimeter slug. You have a nine-millimeter Sig registered to you. You admit it was actually in your possession as of a few days ago. Now that pistol is missing. You have no alibi for the time of your brother’s death and you’re a half million bucks richer because of his death.”
Hawkins glanced over at Fiske. “A life insurance policy Mike took out,” Fiske explained. “It was for Mom and Dad.”
“At least that’s your story, right?” McKenna added.
Fiske edged closer to McKenna. “If you think you have enough to charge me, then do it. If not, get the hell out of my office.”
McKenna wasn’t fazed. “I believe Officer Hawkins has your consent to search your entire office for the gun, not just the drawer you said it was in. Now, friend or not, I would expect him to carry out his sworn duty.”
Fiske backed off and looked over at Hawkins. “Go ahead, Billy. I’m going down to the corner café for something to drink. You want anything?” Hawkins shook his head.
“I could use a cup of coffee,” McKenna said, following Fiske out. “It’ll give us a chance to have a little talk.”
* * *
Sara pulled her car into the driveway. She took a deep breath. The Buick was there. As she got out of the car, the smell of cut grass hit her. It was comforting, taking her back to high school football games, lazy summers in the peace of the Carolinas. When she knocked on the door, it was jerked open so quickly she almost fell off the stoop. Ed Fiske must have watched her drive up. Before he could slam the door in her face, she held the photo out to him.
There were four people in the photo: Ed and Gladys Fiske and their two sons. They all wore broad smiles.
Ed looked questioningly at Sara.
“Michael had it in his office. I wanted you to have it.”
“And why’s that?” His tone was still cold, but at least he wasn’t screaming obscenities at her.
“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”
Ed took the photo from her. “I got nothing to say to you.”
“But I have a lot to say to you. I promised someone something, and I like to keep my promises.”
“Who? Johnny? Well, you can tell him that it’s no good sending you over to try to mend things.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. He told me not to come.”
He looked surprised. “So why are you here?”
“That promise. What you saw the other night wasn’t John’s fault. It was mine.”
“It takes two to tango and you ain’t telling me no different.”
“May I come in?”
“I don’t see why.”
“I’d really like to talk to you about your sons. I think you need to know some things. Some information that might make things a little clearer. It won’t take all that long and I promise you, after I’m done, I won’t ever bother you again. Please?”
After a long moment, Ed finally moved aside and let her pass. He closed the door noisily behind them.
The living room was much the way it had been the first time she had seen it. The man liked things tidy. She imagined his garage full of tools kept in the same manner. Ed motioned to the sofa and Sara sat down. He went into the dining room and carefully placed the photo among the others there. “You want something to drink?” he asked grudgingly.