"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 company like Penn Energy hardly had a gift shop, like Disney World.
Chapter 12
A heavyset woman walked into the small coffee shop. Black coat, short hair, jeans. That's how she'd described herself. Amelia Sach
s waved from a booth in the back.
This was Gerte, the other bartender at the St. James. She was on her way to work and had agreed to meet Sachs before her shift.
There was a no-smoking sign on the wall but the woman continued to strangle a live cigarette between her ruddy index and middle fingers. Nobody on the staff here said anything about it; professional courtesy in the restaurant world, Sachs guessed.
The woman's dark eyes narrowed as she read the detective's ID.
"Sonja said you had some questions. But she didn't say what." Her voice was low and rough.
Sachs sensed that Sonja had probably told her everything. But the detective played along and gave the woman the relevant details--the ones that she could share, at least--and then showed her the picture of Ben Creeley. "He committed suicide." No surprise in Gerte's eyes. "And we're looking into his death."