stood and said to Jack, “Come with me, please.” Her voice was a rich, warm contralto, belying her stern countenance. Jack climbed down from the stool and, taking his coffee, went with her into the living room.
“Let’s get the obvious question out of the way first,” Matthias said to Shoe. “Where were you between three and four p.m. yesterday?”
“I was on Cordova,” Shoe said. “Outside Seropian’s Dry Cleaning.” He told Matthias the address. The detective wrote it in his notebook.
“What were you doing there?” Matthias asked. “Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?”
“I was waiting to speak to a woman named Barbara Reese. She works in the store.” He waited while Matthias wrote in his notebook, then continued when the detective raised his head. “I spoke to her for a few minutes at about 3:45, then came home. I stopped at a men’s shop on 4th on the way. I got here about five-thirty. Mr. Pine was sitting on my front porch.”
“When did you last see or speak to Mr. O’Neill?” Matthias asked.
“Friday evening,” Shoe replied. “We had dinner.”
“What was his mood, his state of mind at the time?” Matthias asked.
“He was fine,” Shoe answered. “A little keyed up perhaps. He’d just tendered his resignation.”
“Why?”
“A difference of opinion with the company owner. Patrick wanted the company to go public. Mr. Hammond did not.”
“What did O’Neill do at Hammond Industries?” Sergeant Matthias asked.
“He was Vice-President of Corporate Development,” Shoe said.
“What does that mean?” Matthias asked.
“Hammond Industries is basically a holding company,” Shoe explained. “It owns other companies.” Matthias nodded. “Patrick’s job was to identify and evaluate possible candidates for acquisition. He negotiated the purchases and often got involved in the restructuring as well.” It was an oversimplification, but it would suffice.
“And how did Mr. Hammond react to O’Neill’s resignation?”
“He was upset,” Shoe said. “Maybe even a little angry. Patrick was his protegé. Mr. Hammond was grooming him to take over the company.”
“Was he angry enough to have O’Neill killed?”
Shoe said, “I don’t really know how angry a person would have to be to have someone killed. But if you’re asking me, do I think William Hammond had Patrick killed, the answer is no, I don’t think he did.”
“How long have you known O’Neill?”
“Ten years.”
“How would you characterize your relationship with him.”
“We were friends,” Shoe said. “Good friends.”
“And his wife? Are you friends with her too?”
“Yes,” Shoe said.
“How long have you known her?”
“A little more than twelve years.”
“Does she gamble or have a substance abuse problem?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Matthias nodded again and scribbled in his notebook. “Was their marriage okay?”
“To the best of my knowledge,” Shoe replied.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to harm O’Neill? Someone to whom he owed money or a business associate who felt cheated?”
“No one that I’m aware of.”
“Did he gamble?”
“No.”
“Drink? Take drugs?”
“He drank in moderation. He didn’t use recreational drugs.”
“How did he get along with the people he worked with?”
“Everyone at the office liked and respected him,” Shoe said.
Detective Constable Worth came back into the kitchen and climbed onto the stool Jack had vacated. She had a big, lethal-looking automatic pistol on her hip. Shoe didn’t know what kind it was. His knowledge of police side arms was thirty years out of date. He had qualified with a Smith & Wesson .38 Police Special revolver. He hadn’t handled a gun since.
“How well do you know Hammond?” Matthias asked.
“Fairly well,” Shoe said. “But, to use your words, I wouldn’t know how to characterize our relationship. I’ve worked for him for twenty-five years—” Shoe realized he’d used the wrong verb tense. “Until yesterday I would have said our relationship was somewhat more than employer-employee, but somewhat less than friends.”
“And as of yesterday?” Matthias asked, scratching in his notebook.
“I ceased to be employed by Hammond Industries.”
“You quit or you were fired?”
“A little of both, I’d say.”
“Did it have anything to do with O’Neill’s death?”
“Indirectly.”
“Could you explain?”
“I violated protocol,” Shoe said. Matthias raised a sandy eyebrow. “I stepped too far across that indistinct line between employee and friend and stuck my nose into something Mr. Hammond believed was none of my business.”
“What did you do at Hammond Industries?” Constable Worth asked in her sweet contralto voice.
“My title is—was—Senior Analyst, Corporate Development.” He’d always felt self-conscious telling people his title.
“Corporate Development,” Matthias repeated. “O’Neill was your boss?”
“Technically,” Shoe replied. “However, I reported directly to Mr. Hammond.”
“How did your responsibilities differ from O’Neill’s?” Matthias asked.
“Patrick handled the financial aspects of acquisitions. He’d look at a company’s books, financial statements, that sort of thing. My job was to try to find out if a company’s claims on paper were a true reflection of how well or poorly the company was doing. I suppose you could say I was a sort of industrial private investigator.”
“Sounds like an interesting job.”
“It got me out of the office,” Shoe said.
“You
