A Bullet Apiece Read Online Free PDF Page B

some day. With a sweet secretary, just like I imagined Tom Hanady had.
    I walked back to my desk and propped up my feet. So, Tom Hanady, what is your business? What is it
really
? Tom was the man of the day. And one thing I wanted—and needed if I was to earn my keep—was to get to him before the police did. I decided to try his office in person. If he wasn’t there, then I’d try the Hanady estate. If Officer Frederick was staked out there, I could toy with him a little. Give him some practice giving guff to hard guys.
    Limited Imports was in another industrial court on the north side. From the nondescript façade of the building, it looked like it might sit well on my side of town. But the court was not as down-at-the-heels as mine was. At least it looked like someone picked up the litter more than once every other week.I pulled into the parking lot around 5:00 p.m. As I got out of my car, a swarm of employees was leaving for the day. Some of the men loosened their ties and doffed their suit coats into the back seats of the mostly late-model sedans of the aspirational class. Others, women mostly, yelled at one another over the rooftops of their cars, laughing and sharing their plans for the evening. None paid any attention to me.   If I hustled, I might catch a secretary.
    Inside Hanady’s building, a well-lit foyer led to double glass doors. Gilded in gold, no less. Quite a contrast to my smudged assembly-line glass door. Beyond, I could see a reception desk lit from beneath. As if anyone entering the Italian-tiled foyer wouldn’t notice it. Behind the desk, I noticed a huge oil painting wrapped in a gilded frame. It struck me as odd that the picture was of dark-skinned workers bent with the labor of packing bananas in boxes for transport, rather than an oil of Mr. Hanady himself. I’d sure as hell get my mug done if I occupied this joint.
    Just as I approached the front desk, a woman stood up and switched off her desk lamp. She was slim, just shy of buxom. She wore a smart blue jacket, buttoned at the waist with a matching skirt. Her blond hair was teased up over delicate ears. I started to grow eager for our first encounter, but for some reason she ignored my approach, even though my heels clicked loudly on the terrazzo floor. I like hard-to-get, too.
    â€œExcuse me, Miss?”
    â€œYes?” Suspicion registered in her face. She stood rigidly with her hands touching the desktop.
    I flashed my investigator’s badge. “Ed Darvis. Private Investigator.”
    â€œOh. Is everything all right?” she asked, with no noticeable change in her expression. That was interesting, I thought. Usually a guy like me is upsetting to people, and they start racking their brains for any transgressions from their past. Even in a place as ritzy as this one. Still, I had her attention now.
    â€œNot sure. Perhaps you can help me. It seems Mr. Hanady returned home early today and picked up his daughter Rachel from school.”
    â€œAnd that’s a problem?”
    â€œNot necessarily—if it was, in fact, Mr. Hanady who picked her up. If that’s the case, then everything’s fine. If not….”
    â€œAre you working with the police?”
    â€œYeah,” I bluffed. “You know, we’ll be sharing information.” Which was true, although they rarely shared anything willingly, especially with me. And sometimes they had to beat a few details out of me, too.
    â€œI see.”
    â€œI’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?” I took out a pen and notebook, not unlike the ones Officer Hamilton had used in my office earlier. Seeing these props sometimes puts cagey people at ease. Not that I usually do more than scribble and say “Mm-hmm” as they talk.
    â€œWell, it’s closing time.” She glanced at a slim wristwath. “Perhaps you could try again in the morning?”
    â€œI promise I won’t take long,” flashing her