The Cold Moon

read. What happened to them?”
    “That’s how we found them.”
    Don’t say anything about them being burned up, Sachs had told him. Play it close to the chest, you mean, Pulaski offered, then decided he shouldn’t be using those words with a woman. He’d blushed. His twin brother wouldn’t have. They shared every gene except the one that made you shy.
    “They seem to show a lot of money.”
    Kessler looked at them again. “Not so much, just a few million.”
    Not so much.
    “Getting back to the depression. How did you know he was depressed? If he didn’t talk about it.”
    “Just moping around. Irritated a lot. Distracted. Something was definitely eating at him.”
    “Did he ever say anything about the St. James Tavern?”
    “The . . . ?”
    “A bar in Manhattan.”
    “No. I know he’d leave work early from time to time. Meet friends for drinks, I think. But he never said who.”
    “Was he ever investigated?”
    “For what?”
    “Anything illegal.”
    “No. I would’ve heard.”
    “Did Mr. Creeley have any problems with his clients?”
    “No. We had a great relationship with all of them. Their average return was three, four times the S and P Five Hundred. Who wouldn’t be happy?”
    S and P . . . Pulaski didn’t get this one. He wrote it down anyway. Then the word “happy.”
    “Could you send me a client list?”
    Kessler hesitated. “Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t contact them.” He lowered his head slightly and stared into the rookie’s eyes.
    Pulaski looked right back. He asked, “Why?”
    “Awkward. Bad for business. Like I said before.”
    “Well, sir, when you think about it, there’s nothing embarrassing about the police asking a few questions after someone’s death, is there? It is pretty much our job.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “And all your clients know what happened to Mr. Creeley, don’t they?”
    “Yes.”
    “So us following up—your clients’d expect us to.”
    “Some might, others wouldn’t.”
    “In any case, you have done something to control the situation, haven’t you? Hired a PR firm or maybe met with your clients yourself to reassure them?”
    Kessler hesitated. Then he said, “I’ll have a list put together and sent to you.”
    Yes! Pulaski thought, three-pointer! And forced himself not to smile.
    Amelia Sachs had said to save the big question till the end. “What’ll happen to Mr. Creeley’s half of the company?”
    Which contained the tiny suggestion that Kessler had murdered his partner to take over the business. But Kessler either didn’t catch this or didn’t take any offense if he did. “I’ll buy it out. Our partnership agreement provides for that. Suzanne—his wife—she’ll get fair market value of his share. It’ll be a good chunk of change.”
    Pulaski wrote that down. He gestured at the photo of the pipelines, visible though the glass door. “Your clients’re big companies like this one?”
    “Mostly we work for individuals, executives and board members.” Kessler added a packet of sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “You ever involved in business, Officer?”
    “Me?” Pulaski grinned. “Nope. I mean, worked summers for an uncle one time. But he went belly up. Well, not him. His printshop.”
    “It’s exciting to create a business and grow it into something big.” Kessler sipped the coffee, stirred it again and then leaned forward. “It’s pretty clear you think there’s something more to his death than just a suicide.”
    “We like to cover all bases.” Pulaski had no clue what he meant by that; it just came out. He thought back to the questions. The well was dry. “I think that’ll be it, sir. Appreciate your help.”
    Kessler finished his coffee. “If I can think of anything else I’ll give you a call. You have a card?”
    Pulaski handed one to the businessman, who asked, “That woman detective I talked to. What was her name again?”
    “Detective Sachs.”
    “Right. If I can’t get through to you, should I call her? Is she still working on the case?”
    “Yessir.”
    As Pulaski dictated, Kessler wrote Sachs’s name and mobile number on the back of the card. Pulaski also gave him the phone number at Rhyme’s.
    Kessler nodded. “Better get back to work.”
    Pulaski thanked him again, finished his coffee and left. One last look at the biggest of the pipeline photographs. That was really something. He wouldn’t mind getting a little one to hang up in his rec room. But he supposed a