Rough Trade

and, ever the good host, extracted the coats belonging to the two detectives.
    “One last question,” asked Detective Zellmer, as if it were merely an afterthought instead of the whole point of this carefully choreographed interview. “Do you know anything about a key that was lying on your father’s desk the morning he died?”
    “A key?” inquired Jeff with a look of such convincing innocence that it completely altered my sense of what he was capable of.
    “Yes. A key. It was lying on your father’s desk when the photographer from the death investigation unit came through, but by the time we arrived to bag and tag evidence, it had disappeared.”
    “I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” said Jeff. “I don’t know anything about any key.”
     

CHAPTER 9
     
     
    Once the door had closed behind the detectives I turned to face Jeff.
    “You never told me you went back into your father’s office,” I said, unable to conceal the irritation in my voice.
    “I told you that there were things in that box that I wouldn’t want anybody to see,” countered Jeff, defensively.
    “And you swear that they have absolutely nothing to do with your father, or the team...
    “Absolutely nothing. You have my word.”
    “So where did you find the key?”
    “On the desk, just like the police said. Dad took it off his ring and put it there when he asked me to go down to the safe-deposit box, but I forgot all about it after we started arguing.”
    “So when did you remember it?”
    “Afterwards, when the police showed up. I realized that I’d left it there on his desk. I was sitting in my office and I heard Feiss talking to the cops in the hall, so I ducked in there and grabbed it. You’ve got to believe me, Kate, what’s in there has nothing to do with any of this.”
    I looked at Jeff, his face exhausted and pleading, and decided for the time being not to push it.
    “What did they talk to you about before I showed up?” I asked. “Did they say anything about how your father died?”
    “No. When I asked them they said they’re still waiting for the autopsy results, but I spoke to the funeral director this morning. He said that the body was going to be released sometime this afternoon. The funeral is scheduled for Thursday morning.”
    Chrissy stuck her head in through the door from the kitchen. “Are they gone yet?” she asked.
    “The coast is clear,” I replied, doing my best to make light of it.
    “What is the deal with them anyway?” she asked, stepping into the room, her arms folded across her chest indignantly. “I thought they were supposed to be public servants. I swear, I’ve never been treated so rudely in my life!”
    “Homicide detectives don’t go to charm school,” I pointed out. “Their job is to shake the tree and see what falls out. I don’t think anybody likes it much.”
    “The two of them seemed like they were enjoying themselves,” pointed out Jeff, ruefully.
    “They were just trying to get under your skin,” I said. “It’s all an act. They’d sing their questions like opera if they thought it would get you to open up and tell them what they wanted.”
    “Speaking of getting what you want, how did it go at the bank?” asked Chrissy.
    “They refuse to budge an inch,” I replied. “Gus Wallenberg is determined to be the new owner of the Milwaukee Monarchs. That’s probably been at the back of his mind from the very beginning. The day he okayed the loan I’m sure he figured he was giving Beau the rope to hang himself with. That’s why he insisted that the trust be revoked. He wanted to be sure that the bank was first in line in case the loan went sour.”
    “So now what?” asked Jeff.
    “Now you go down to the funeral home and make arrangements for your father. I’m going to head back to Chicago and start digging through the boxes of Monarchs documents in my office. I’m also going to fax you a letter to sign authorizing the transfer of any files and records from Harald Feiss to Callahan Ross’s Milwaukee office. They’ll make arrangements for someone to go to Feiss’s office and pick them up.”
    “I didn’t realize you had an office in Milwaukee,” said Chrissy.
    “It’s relatively small, less than fifty attorneys, but they’ll make sure we get what we need from Feiss.”
    “And then what?” asked Chrissy.
    “Then we come up with plan B.”
    “You realize we only have six days before Wallenberg calls the loan and puts us under,” said