long hair that remained around the perimeter of his head was not much more effective than the beard. He wore a red plaid flannel shirt, the collar of which was folded out over the double-breasted lapels of a gray sharkskin suit. On his feet were green rubber boots with brown leather tops, in deference, I hoped, to the rain. He slid a disk into the computer and leaned forward looking at the screen. His hands moved over the keyboard as if he were playing Mozart.
"Unlock everything?" Sean said.
"Yep."
He ejected the first disk and slipped in another one, his gaze still locked onto the screen. He nodded as if to affirm a truth.
"Take about half an hour," he said.
"Fine."
He paused. We waited. He stared at the screen without moving.
Finally he said, "I don't like people watching me."
"Ahh," I said.
Hawk and I got up and went out and leaned on the wall in the corridor.
"People normally kick you out your own office?" Hawk said.
"Just artists," I said.
Hawk said, "Sean on his way to a costume party, you think?"
"I told you, he's a computer geek," I said. "To him that's dress-for-success."
We loitered in the hall another twenty minutes, while Sean Reilly practiced his black arts. Hawk took the opportunity to brush up on his surveillance skills by watching the receptionist in the design office across the hall.
"Are you objectifying that young woman?" I said.
"Absolutely not," Hawk said. "I thinking about her with her clothes off."
"Oh," I said. "No problem there."
My office door opened, Reilly came out, carrying his ugly briefcase.
"Files are open. Bill's on your desk," he said and walked off down the corridor.
"Nice talking to you," Hawk murmured.
We went back into the office and I sat down at my computer. I put in the hard disk copy I had made and clicked open a folder marked "Addresses." It blossomed before me as if kissed by a summer rain. Susan's address was there, and mine, and Carla Quagliozzi and someone named Lisa Coolidge, who may or may not have been worried about being another notch on Brad's gun, and a number of people whose names meant nothing to me. And Richard Gavin.
"I go see Carla Quagliozzi," I said to Hawk, who was still leaning back in my chair with his feet up and his eyes closed. Hawk could sit motionless, as far as I knew, for days.
"She's the president of Civil Streets. And Richard Gavin shows up and leans on me. I get a list of directors of Civil Streets from the AG's office and Richard is on it. We open up Sterling's address book and there's Richard."
"Say what he does?" Hawk said.
"Apparently he's a lawyer."
"Oh good," Hawk said.
"Yeah, not many of them around," I said.
I went back to the computer. Jeanette Ronan was there and all the other women who were alleging sexual harassment. There was a woman named Buffy, no last name, there were a number of women. I took some notes.
When I finished with the addresses, I closed them and opened a folder titled "Finance." Some of it was simple. There was a list of names under the heading: Monthly Nut. The name Buffy was listed and beside it $5,000/mo.
Cask and Carafe, $600/mo.
Matorian Realty, $1,100/mo.
Import Credit, $575/mo.
DePaul Federal, $4,000/mo.
Foxwood School, $22,000/year.
Then there was a notation, "Galapalooza-see blue disk."
"So why would he bother to lock this information," I said.
"What's a blue disk?" Hawk said.
"No idea," I said.
"Maybe stuff on blue disk was on this disk once," Hawk said. "And he coded it. Then later on he change it onto the blue disk and didn't take the code off."
"Be nice if we had the blue disk," I said.
"Be nice if we had lunch," Hawk said.
"Well, hell," I said. "There's something we can find."
And we did.
chapter twenty-five
SUSAN AND I went up to Essex and had some fried clams at a place called Farnham's. We got the clams, and some onion rings to go, and ate them in the car looking out over the tidal marshes toward Ipswich Bay. It was still raining. And it was cold enough to leave the
"Unlock everything?" Sean said.
"Yep."
He ejected the first disk and slipped in another one, his gaze still locked onto the screen. He nodded as if to affirm a truth.
"Take about half an hour," he said.
"Fine."
He paused. We waited. He stared at the screen without moving.
Finally he said, "I don't like people watching me."
"Ahh," I said.
Hawk and I got up and went out and leaned on the wall in the corridor.
"People normally kick you out your own office?" Hawk said.
"Just artists," I said.
Hawk said, "Sean on his way to a costume party, you think?"
"I told you, he's a computer geek," I said. "To him that's dress-for-success."
We loitered in the hall another twenty minutes, while Sean Reilly practiced his black arts. Hawk took the opportunity to brush up on his surveillance skills by watching the receptionist in the design office across the hall.
"Are you objectifying that young woman?" I said.
"Absolutely not," Hawk said. "I thinking about her with her clothes off."
"Oh," I said. "No problem there."
My office door opened, Reilly came out, carrying his ugly briefcase.
"Files are open. Bill's on your desk," he said and walked off down the corridor.
"Nice talking to you," Hawk murmured.
We went back into the office and I sat down at my computer. I put in the hard disk copy I had made and clicked open a folder marked "Addresses." It blossomed before me as if kissed by a summer rain. Susan's address was there, and mine, and Carla Quagliozzi and someone named Lisa Coolidge, who may or may not have been worried about being another notch on Brad's gun, and a number of people whose names meant nothing to me. And Richard Gavin.
"I go see Carla Quagliozzi," I said to Hawk, who was still leaning back in my chair with his feet up and his eyes closed. Hawk could sit motionless, as far as I knew, for days.
"She's the president of Civil Streets. And Richard Gavin shows up and leans on me. I get a list of directors of Civil Streets from the AG's office and Richard is on it. We open up Sterling's address book and there's Richard."
"Say what he does?" Hawk said.
"Apparently he's a lawyer."
"Oh good," Hawk said.
"Yeah, not many of them around," I said.
I went back to the computer. Jeanette Ronan was there and all the other women who were alleging sexual harassment. There was a woman named Buffy, no last name, there were a number of women. I took some notes.
When I finished with the addresses, I closed them and opened a folder titled "Finance." Some of it was simple. There was a list of names under the heading: Monthly Nut. The name Buffy was listed and beside it $5,000/mo.
Cask and Carafe, $600/mo.
Matorian Realty, $1,100/mo.
Import Credit, $575/mo.
DePaul Federal, $4,000/mo.
Foxwood School, $22,000/year.
Then there was a notation, "Galapalooza-see blue disk."
"So why would he bother to lock this information," I said.
"What's a blue disk?" Hawk said.
"No idea," I said.
"Maybe stuff on blue disk was on this disk once," Hawk said. "And he coded it. Then later on he change it onto the blue disk and didn't take the code off."
"Be nice if we had the blue disk," I said.
"Be nice if we had lunch," Hawk said.
"Well, hell," I said. "There's something we can find."
And we did.
chapter twenty-five
SUSAN AND I went up to Essex and had some fried clams at a place called Farnham's. We got the clams, and some onion rings to go, and ate them in the car looking out over the tidal marshes toward Ipswich Bay. It was still raining. And it was cold enough to leave the
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