Shallow Graves

3 2

    POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

    Cover art by Punz Wolff

    Printed in the U.S.A.

- 1 -

    A funny feeling, coming as a visitor to an office that once was yours.
    Harry Mullen cradled the telephone in its console and stood up. “Jeez, John Cuddy, it’s been what... years, right?“
    “Right, Harry.”
    I let go of his hand and fought the urge to wipe mine dry. “You’re looking real good, John.“
    I wish I could have said the same for him. In a word, Harry looked harried. Sloping shoulders over a donut of fat at the beltline, troughs under bloodshot eyes in a fleshy face. His teeth were yellowed from nicotine, like the keys of a neglected piano. Maybe two years younger than I was, he could have been mistaken for ten years older.
    “I’ve been running, Harry.“
    “Running? You mean like jogging?“
    “Right.“
    “What’re you weighing these days?“
    “About one ninety.“
    “On six three?“
    “Not quite.“
    Mullen shook his head. “Next thing, you’ll be telling me you did the marathon.“
    “As a matter of fact“
    “You’re kidding?“
    “Just this last one.“
    “Jeez.“ Harry shook his head some more and sank back into my old swivel chair, the one with the frozen right front wheel. Moving forward, he scraped rather than skidded to my old desk and opened the red file folder on my old blotter. I noticed the laminate on the desk was starting to lift at the corner nearest the window. Mullen kept his telephone to the right and a triptych photo frame to the left. The frame held studio shots of his wife and two kids, one of them a boy of about eight who goofed his pose with no front teeth. I remembered keeping a vacation candid of Beth in the same place until she died. Then I moved it to the center.
    The back of the visitor’s chair was too steep, and I realized how uncomfortable people must have been when they had business with Head of Claims Investigation/Boston for Empire Insurance. From where Harry was sitting, he could just see the Prudential Insurance Tower , now mostly abandoned by that company. From where I was sitting, I could just see the Burger King on Boylston Street .
    Mullen spoke without seeming to read from the file. “You know Phil’s gone?“
    “No, I didn’t.“
    “Yeah. Early retirement, last—no, month before last.“
    “He earned it.“
    “Yeah. Head of Claims wears you down.“
    Phil had been Head of Claims/Boston in my time. One day Phil asked me to sign off on a jewelry theft west of the city that nobody on my staff had investigated. When I refused, two heavy hitters from Home Office shuttled up from New York to pressure me. One of them was Brad Winningham, the Head of Claims Investigation for the entire company. Winningham had that classic preppy look and manner, the kind of guy who tended to use four syllables where one would do. When I still refused to sign off on the jewelry theft, I got a command invitation to see the Head of Region/Boston, who gave me a heartfelt handshake and a letter qualifying me for unemployment. The letter looked better than a lawsuit, and the government checks gave me the chance to go out on my own. The company at least had the decency to promote Harry into my old job. And my old office.
    Mullen futzed with some of the documents in the file, his fingers trembling a little, making the papers crinkle till he noticed that I noticed and stopped. “So, John, you hear from any of the other guys?“
    “From here, you mean?“
    “Yeah.“
    “No. I made pretty much a clean break, Harry.“
    Mullen pursed his lips. “Meaning, how come I asked you to come in?“
    “Crossed my mind.“
    “It’s got nothing to do with anything while you were with the company, John.“
    “Good.“
    “In fact, it’s a new claim entirely, and we’d like you to look into it for us. Your usual hourly or daily.“
    I shifted in my chair. “You want an outside private investigator looking into one of your claims?“
    “You got it.“
    “Since when did Empire start using outside help?“
    Harry grimaced. “Since they cut me down to five field agents.“
    “Five? From twenty-three?“
    “And one of them’s a gal just off maternity leave.“
    “What happened?“
    “Long story. Some hotshots out of Home Office—New Yorkers, think they’re fucking gods—they get this brainstorm, they’re going to change our computer system, company-wide. Great idea on paper, since we’ve always had kind of a