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Spinogatti said, “Lemme get you the Lake file.”
He left his seat and opened a connecting door to another room, probably Marty’s office, and closed it behind him.
I waited three long minutes for Leo to open the door again, and then I got up and opened it myself. Alvarez was beside me when I found Spinogatti bent over Marty’s desk stubbing out a butt in an ashtray. Looked like a kid caught with his hand in his mother’s handbag.
“Aw damn. Don’t tell Marge.”
I said, “The Lake file would be great, but I’d like to see all of Marty’s current files.”
“We’ve scanned most of them. Margie will send them to you. But hang on a second. Let me see what I can give you now…”
Leo opened a file cabinet.
“These are all from this year. Mostly cheating-husband files. I’ll put them in a box for you.”
I looked around my dad’s office and saw him everywhere but here. There were photos on the walls of famous racehorses, Sea Biscuit, Secretariat, Native Dancer. Marty standing with a snappy-looking bay and the jockey in the winner’s circle. He looked very happy. I opened his closet. A number of three-quarter-length dark-blue coats hung on the rod, and the top shelf held a collection of old cameras: a Leica, a couple of Nikons, the Minolta he’d always loved.
I became aware of Leo herding us back to his own office with a box of files in his arms, saying to me that after the reading of the will, he would hold any personal objects for me that Darla didn’t want.
Darla?
Spinogatti said, “And you’ll want this. Marty kept it in his top drawer.”
Leo handed me a small, framed photo of my mom standing on our patch of lawn, one arm around my sister, the other around me, the two little girls grinning at the camera. Tears came. Marty had taken that picture on Cat’s seventh birthday. It had been a good day.
Ourlastgood day. He’d walked out shortly after.
Misunderstanding the tears that caught me unexpectedly, Leo handed me a tissue and said, “I miss him already, Lindsay. If you need anything else, call me. If I learn anything, I’ll call you. And if you want to go into private investigations, Sergeant Boxer, let me know. We won’t even have to change the name on the files.”
CHAPTER 11
I HELD THE bankers box filled with my father’s case files and Alvarez took the wheel. As we headed back to the Hall, Alvarez said, “Talk to me, Lindsay.”
“Okay. Personally, that was total immersion therapy that almost cracked me open like an egg. I didn’t expect that. But no wallowing on the job. At least not while the sun’s up.”
Alvarez said, “Okay, then. Let’s rough out an action plan.”
“Right. We’ve got three tasks right now. Go through Marty’s files on a hunt for red flags. I’ll talk to his lawyer. We’ll follow the facts.”
“And Goose Cavanaugh?”
“Maybe there’ll be something in the files or the book. We have to find something recent connecting Goose to my dad before we get the Reno police to bring him in.”
“Marty mentioned to Leo that Goose was around.”
My phone rang. It was Conklin.
“Got the car. Baby blue Beemer with some wear on it. Traffic ticket on the windshield from 6:10 this morning. CSI just got here with the truck.”
“Where are you?”
“Jeff Adachi Way, about three car-lengths off Bryant.”
I knew that street well. There was a bail bond office on Bryant, and Jeff Adachi Way was around the corner. It was only a few blocks from where my father had been shot.
“We’re ten minutes out from your location. We’ll meet you there.”
Alvarez stopped for a light on 7th Street and said, “Here’s what I think of Spinogatti. He’s either a sociopath or he had nothing to do with the hit on your dad. He seems authentic; loyal to your father and to you, too.”
