Shallow Graves

‘How,’ and I say ‘Fucking shit you ever learn about anything?’ and tell her 911. And then I go to work on Mau, with Larry trying to help.“
    “Go to work on her?“
    “CPR. Took a course on it once.“
    “What did you do?“
    “Tried to breathe for her, work the chest, you know.“
    “Anything?“
    “No. I never done CPR outside that class, but she was gone. They say, sometimes you can bring them back, but I’m working on her, and I’m starting to see these bruises—more like little cuts around her neck—“ Puriefoy stopped and shook his head. “Enough about that shit, okay?“
    “Did you hear anything else?“
    “No, man. Sinead was on the phone, screaming at whoever she got. Larry and I were working on Mau.“
    I stopped and thought it through. Pretty consistent with Fagan’s version, as far as she went.
    Puriefoy said, “Look, man, can I get back to work now?“
    “Yeah. Just one more question.“
    “What?“
    “The guy who came to warn you off.“
    “The cheech?“
    “He have a toothpick in his mouth?“
    Puriefoy didn’t answer right away. “The fuck did you know that?“
    “Ethnic stereotype.“

- 15 -

    The Berry/Ryder advertising agency was located on lower Newbury Street. The bay window in the reception area provided a panorama of the Ritz Carlton Hotel and a pie slice of Public Garden. I was watching a giddy Hispanic couple walk hand-in-hand toward the Swan Pond when the stunning receptionist told me that Larry Shinkawa could see me now.
    I was guided by her to an office that just missed a view of the Garden. The furnishing was stark, a lot of chrome and white interspersed with black surfaces in lacquer or leather. A portable cassette player took up most of the windowsill. The desk consisted of a thick Plexiglas sheet laid over double filing cabinets, a snake lamp with a long neck clamped to one end of it.
    Shinkawa introduced himself by coming around the desk. He was about five seven in a tailored pin-striped shirt, flowered tie, and the slacks to an Armani suit. The hair was longish and combed sideways over the head, thick but graying in streaks. He had laughing eyes behind red-rimmed aviators and a pug nose over a yearbook smile. The smile was cranked up high, like he’d been eagerly anticipating my visit all morning.
    I said, “I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Shinkawa.“
    “Call me Larry, please. Or Larry Shin, if you’ll be here long enough.“
    I must have looked at him oddly.
    “You see, Mr. Cuddy—“
    “John, please.“
    “Thanks. You see, John, when I got here, there was already a guy named Larry—Larry Ryder, one of the founders of the agency. So people had to call me Larry Shinkawa, which got shortened over time to just Larry Shin. Sit, please.“
    He returned to his desk. I took one of two chrome chairs with black leather slings as seat and back.
    Shinkawa said, “What’s this about?“
    “I’m investigating Mau Tim Dani’s death for an insurance company. Erica Lindqvist didn’t tell you that?“
    The smile distorted for just a second, then broke into a wider grin. “Shouldn’t try to fool you, huh? Sure, Erica called, said a private eye might be by to see me.“
    In other words, trust me now because I’m finished lying.
    Shinkawa toned back down to a smile. “I thought I’d just play along.“
    “Sort of take things as they come?“
    He acted like I found him engaging. “The only way. You ever hear of karoshi, John?“
    “No.“
    “It’s Japanese for ‘dying from overwork.’ A real problem in the old country. Guys in their forties, like me, dropping like flies. The ones who get enough money or corporate bennies to join a tennis club are in the worst shape. They got high blood pressure, stress enough to make the tennis court a minefield for their hearts. Me, I take things in stride, don’t let life get me down.“
    I cut in before hearing that he bent with the breeze. “It would help if you could tell me about Mau Tim as you knew her.“
    “Professionally or personally?“
    “Start with professionally.“
    “George—George Yulin—introduced us, I think. At one of their parties at the Cactus Club, a good way for a modeling agency to get its new girls seen by ad people. Well, I had this great concept for a furrier here. We’re a small agency, John, so we can put together some of the strongest print ads around for clients that haven’t got the bucks or the volume to benefit from television product. I