She came to me because her ego couldnt take it, Maggie Mills said. She couldnt stand being fired.
Did you gather she was afraid of her boss?
I didnt gather anything, Maggie Mills said. She didnt speak of it. But I have been in business for a long time, and I can recognize a frightened woman.
You have any reason to think she was suicidal? I said.
The police asked me the same thing, Maggie Mills said. And Ill answer you the same thing I answered them. Im an attorney, not a psychiatrist. I dont know what someone is like when they are suicidal. But it seems odd to me, personally, that she would hire a lawyer and then kill herself.
At least until the bill came.
The death of a young woman should not evoke levity, she said.
One of my failings, I said, is finding levity where it doesnt belong.
What is your interest in the case?
It may be pertinent to another case Im working on, I said.
Do you have any other interest?
She came to me and told me she was scared and I reassured her.
And you are now reconsidering that?
It would have been nice if Id done something useful.
Maggie Mills studied me for a time. So her death is not solely an occasion for levity.
Not solely, I said.
I didnt help her either, Maggie Mills said.
I nodded.
It seems that both of us might have failed her.
Seems possible, I said.
It is my intention to continue to look into the gender discrimination matter, Maggie Mills said.
Even though your client is dead.
The crime didnt die with her, Maggie Mills said. If either of us discovers anything, perhaps we could share it.
Im already employed by Cone Oakes, I said.
This is not a professional matter, Maggie Mills said. This is personal.
Yes, I said. It is. CHAPTER THIRTY It was Marvin Conroys turn. No one at the bank knew where he was. His ferocious-looking secretary knew only
that he wasnt there. She had no idea where he was. On my way out I picked up a copy of the banks annual report and took it with me. I found it difficult to believe that no one at the bank knew where the CEO was, so I went and sat in my car across the street and looked at the report. In the front was a big picture of Nathan Smith and, on the facing page, a big picture of Marvin Conroy. He looked as if someone had advertised for an actor who looked like a chief executive. Square jaw, receding hair, clear eyes that looked right through the camera lens. I put the report aside with Conroys picture up, and waited.
At 2:15 he came out of the bank and walked down First Street, toward the Cambridge Galleria, a big shopping center that backed up onto the old canal. This part of Cambridge wasnt one where a lot of people walked, and I had to let him get pretty far ahead of me to keep from being obvious. But Conroy wasnt looking for a tail. He was a big guy with a good tan and an athletic stride. He was balder than his picture indicated, but he made no attempt to conceal the fact, wearing his hair very short. It looked like he went to a good barber.
He went into the Galleria with me behind him and walked straight to the food court. He stood in line for a meatball sandwich and a large Coke, and when he got it took it to an empty table. It was a standard shopping-center food hall with maybe fifteen fast food outlets surrounding an open area full of small tables. The patrons were mostly adolescent kids, as was the service staff.
Id been hoping wed end up at an elegant club that catered to CEOS. But experienced detectives are flexible. I bought a cup of coffee and went over and sat down at his table with him. He glanced up at me, looked around at the number of empty tables still available, and looked back at me with a frown.
Do I know you? he said.
This is very disappointing, I said. The CEO of a multibranch bank and youre eating in the Galleria food court.
Cut the crap, he said. Who the hell are you?
He had a very cold gaze. There was something cruel about the way his forehead sloped down over his little sharp eyes, something about the aggressive jut of his prominent nose, and the thickness of his wide jaw.
Who are any of us, I said. Whyd you fire Amy Peters?
What?
It was a two-part question. I raised the metaphysical question about human identity, and the more worldly question of why you fired Amy Peters.
What the hell business is it of yours?
Human identity is a concern to us all, I said.
Goddamn it, Im talking about Amy Peters. Why are you asking me about her?
Amy Peters is dead, I said. I want to know why.
A couple of teenaged kids passed by wearing baggy jeans and do-rags. They each had a tray of french fries and a giant Coke. I wondered if there were such a thing as negative nourishment.
Are you a policeman? Conroy said.
I gave him my most coppish deadpan stare.
What was she fired for? I said.
I know nothing of her death, Conroy said. She was fired because she was incompetent.
She was bringing suit against you for gender discrimination.
Of course she was. They all do. You fire somebody and its suddenly un-American.