way. I figured I would try his employer first. I spoke to Warner, who agreed to send me a copy of Mr. Calvaruso’s personnel file.”
She stopped to finish her beer. Put the bottle back on the table two inches off center of Connelly’s glass and watched his face. His right eye twitched but he resisted the urge to move it.
“He just offered to send you the file?”
“I have my ways.” She smiled.
“What? You reach through the phone and punch him in the nose?”
She rolled her eyes but continued, “I suggested it would be better to give it to me informally than to make me get a subpoena.”
Now he arched an eyebrow. “You think you could get a subpoena for that?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He thought I could.”
“So, you decided to pick up the file in person?”
She took a minute. Replayed the voicemail in her head. “No. Not long after I got your message, I got one from Warner, calling from his cell phone. He wanted to … actually, I think he was asking me out. Said he was coming to Pittsburgh for Calvaruso’s funeral and maybe we could get together. Then, there was a knock on his door and I heard, I guess, an altercation.”
“What kind of altercation?”
Sasha looked at him. “I think I heard him getting beaten to death.”
She took her phone out, called her voicemail system, skipped over the eight new messages that had piled up in her box, and retrieved Warner’s message. Then, she hit the button to turn on the speakerphone and laid the phone on the table. She kept the volume low, so they both leaned in and hunched over the phone to hear. They sat there in silence and listened to Warner’s recorded screams.
Just like a black box, she thought, pressing 7 to save the message. She turned off the phone and looked back at Connelly.
He was still leaning forward, tense. Ready to spring into action. “Irwin had his own employee killed?”
Sasha shook her head. “I have no idea. Sounds that way.”
The cell phone rang. They both jumped.
She glanced at the display. It was Naya. She answered, and Naya started to talk immediately. Sasha listened for a long time. She didn’t interrupt. She glanced once at Connelly, then said, “Okay. I’m leaving now.”
She hung up and looked across the table at the federal agent. “Noah Peterson is dead.”
Chapter 16
Jerry Irwin’s house, Potomac, Maryland
The two giants in Irwin’s study stared at the geometric pattern on the rug. They didn’t want to meet his eye. He glared at them from behind the glass and steel desk. He’d been asleep when they’d called to tell him they’d killed Warner by mistake and had failed to retrieve his files.
Now, he was wide awake and irritated. His mind was a wonderful machine, but it needed to be babied, like a classic car or an orchid or some shit. He needed ten hours of sleep to perform at peak efficiency. He could not afford a sleep deficit. Not this week.
“I hired you to take care of problems, not cause them,” he said.
The older one nodded his agreement. Neither spoke. The dead kid had a skull like an overripe melon. They hadn’t even hit him that hard, but they’d learned in their line of work not to make excuses with their clients. Very bad men had little patience for explanations. This angry nerd was not their usual client, but they figured the safest course was to treat him like any other criminal and stay quiet.
Irwin sighed and dialed his partner’s number, still glaring at the men in front of him, who continued to focus on the rug.
“It’s me,” he said. “My goons got overzealous and killed the guy without getting the files out of him. A woman lawyer called the main number today and spoke to him. She was from some firm in Pittsburgh, but my half-retarded receptionist can’t remember her name or the name of the firm.”
“It’s probably the associate, McCandless. Don’t worry,” his partner reassured him, “the company’s lead outside
She stopped to finish her beer. Put the bottle back on the table two inches off center of Connelly’s glass and watched his face. His right eye twitched but he resisted the urge to move it.
“He just offered to send you the file?”
“I have my ways.” She smiled.
“What? You reach through the phone and punch him in the nose?”
She rolled her eyes but continued, “I suggested it would be better to give it to me informally than to make me get a subpoena.”
Now he arched an eyebrow. “You think you could get a subpoena for that?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He thought I could.”
“So, you decided to pick up the file in person?”
She took a minute. Replayed the voicemail in her head. “No. Not long after I got your message, I got one from Warner, calling from his cell phone. He wanted to … actually, I think he was asking me out. Said he was coming to Pittsburgh for Calvaruso’s funeral and maybe we could get together. Then, there was a knock on his door and I heard, I guess, an altercation.”
“What kind of altercation?”
Sasha looked at him. “I think I heard him getting beaten to death.”
She took her phone out, called her voicemail system, skipped over the eight new messages that had piled up in her box, and retrieved Warner’s message. Then, she hit the button to turn on the speakerphone and laid the phone on the table. She kept the volume low, so they both leaned in and hunched over the phone to hear. They sat there in silence and listened to Warner’s recorded screams.
Just like a black box, she thought, pressing 7 to save the message. She turned off the phone and looked back at Connelly.
He was still leaning forward, tense. Ready to spring into action. “Irwin had his own employee killed?”
Sasha shook her head. “I have no idea. Sounds that way.”
The cell phone rang. They both jumped.
She glanced at the display. It was Naya. She answered, and Naya started to talk immediately. Sasha listened for a long time. She didn’t interrupt. She glanced once at Connelly, then said, “Okay. I’m leaving now.”
She hung up and looked across the table at the federal agent. “Noah Peterson is dead.”
Chapter 16
Jerry Irwin’s house, Potomac, Maryland
The two giants in Irwin’s study stared at the geometric pattern on the rug. They didn’t want to meet his eye. He glared at them from behind the glass and steel desk. He’d been asleep when they’d called to tell him they’d killed Warner by mistake and had failed to retrieve his files.
Now, he was wide awake and irritated. His mind was a wonderful machine, but it needed to be babied, like a classic car or an orchid or some shit. He needed ten hours of sleep to perform at peak efficiency. He could not afford a sleep deficit. Not this week.
“I hired you to take care of problems, not cause them,” he said.
The older one nodded his agreement. Neither spoke. The dead kid had a skull like an overripe melon. They hadn’t even hit him that hard, but they’d learned in their line of work not to make excuses with their clients. Very bad men had little patience for explanations. This angry nerd was not their usual client, but they figured the safest course was to treat him like any other criminal and stay quiet.
Irwin sighed and dialed his partner’s number, still glaring at the men in front of him, who continued to focus on the rug.
“It’s me,” he said. “My goons got overzealous and killed the guy without getting the files out of him. A woman lawyer called the main number today and spoke to him. She was from some firm in Pittsburgh, but my half-retarded receptionist can’t remember her name or the name of the firm.”
“It’s probably the associate, McCandless. Don’t worry,” his partner reassured him, “the company’s lead outside
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