Barry Friedman - Dead End Read Online Free

papers in that cabinet. I
don’t have a key.”
    Fiala said, “Mind if we look for it?”
    Nancy shrugged. “Mr. Bost said you could see
anything that would be helpful. I guess it’s all right. Certainly he won’t be
needing—.” She didn’t finish the sentence and dabbed her eyes with a tissue as
she walked back to her office.
    The key lay in the first place Fiala looked: the
desk drawer, in the middle of a pile of paper clips. The files held copies of
Horner’s will, a trust deed of which he and his wife were grantors, several
brokerage statements and a folder of letters. Maharos flipped through the
letters, using the end of his ball- point pen to turn them. Several were
handwritten, most were typed. He handed the folder to Fiala. “Let’s take these.
We’ll look at them later.”
    A loose-leaf calendar lay on the desk, opened to
yesterday’s date. The page opposite the date was noted, “Lawton.”
    Maharos leafed through several of the preceding pages.
The handwritten notes on each were, for the most part illegible. Many appeared
to be doodles. He called to Nancy through the open door. “I’d like to take this
calendar and go over it in my office”
    An empty white plastic bag lined the wastebasket
next to Horner’s desk. Fiala looked under the bag, found nothing else in the
basket. He said, “Good cleaning service they got here.”
    The single desk drawer held, in addition to the
assortment of paper clips, a few blank labels and a checkbook. The stubs were made
out to people whose names meant nothing to Maharos, but he told Nancy he would
take the book along for further examination. Fiala wrote out a receipt for the
items they removed.
    Maharos asked Nancy to come into Horner’s office.
He leaned back in the chair behind Horner’s desk, beckoned her to sit in one of
the chairs opposite. Fiala sat in one of the other chairs, the notebook on his
knee.
    Maharos asked, “How long have you been working
here, Nancy?”
    “A little over three years.”
    “Have you been Mr. Horner’s secretary all that
time?”
    “No.” She gestured with her chin to the two girls
who were typing in the adjacent area. “I’d been in the steno pool for about six
months. Then, when Mary—Mr. Horner’s secretary at the time—left, I took over.”
    “What time did you last see Mr. Horner?”
    “At about five-fifteen yesterday afternoon. He
was sitting right here at his desk reading a file when I popped my head in and
said goodnight.”
    “Do you know what file he’d been reading?”
    “I’m not sure, but I think Mr. Lawton’s file.”
    “The arbitration?”
    She nodded.
    “Did he expect someone to come in after you
left?”
    “No. He had no appointments scheduled.”
    “Would he have scheduled someone without your
knowledge?”
    “I doubt it. He never made appointments
himself—at least without notifying me.”
    Maharos said, “Was it usual for him to stay after
you left?”
    She nodded. “Mr. Horner was a hard worker, often
the last one to leave.”
    Fiala said, “Where did he usually park?”
    Nancy pointed to the parking lot, visible through
the window. “That’s the parking lot for the building. He always left his car
there.”
    Maharos walked to the window and looked out. More
than thirty cars were in the marked spaces. “Did he have a special space?”
    Nancy Taylor walked to the window and pointed to
a place at the far left. “That’s the space reserved for his car—when someone
else didn’t grab it.”
    “Did that happen often?”
    She smiled. “I can’t tell you how many times he’d
walk in here steaming. He’d yell like Papa Bear, ‘Who’s in my space?’”
    “What about yesterday?”
    She thought for a moment. Shrugged. “I’m afraid I
don’t know.”
    Maharos nodded to Fiala, watched as he made a
note to question the other building occupants. Find out if anyone saw Horner
leave. Check if he’d been alone.
    Maharos said, “Was anyone else in the office when
you left?”
    She