“Two, but I have strict instructions that there are to be no visitors.”

“Why don’t you give them a call? My last name is Byrne, as in Liam Byrne, though I’m the son, not the father, seeing as my father is dead. Tell them that the son of Liam Byrne is here to speak with them. That should pique their interest.”

A short, sharp-faced man with a barrel chest and small, shiny black shoes came down the stairs to meet him. Kyle had seen him at the Toth funeral, standing behind the grieving widow, looking like a self-important bulldog.

“Hello?” said the man, eyeing Kyle’s T-shirt and shorts as if they were an insult. “Mr. Byrne? My name’s Ben Malcolm. Can I help you?” It was not a welcoming salutation, Hello, nice to see you, more an accusation, Hello, what the hell are you doing here? It’s always gratifying to get off on the right foot. Kyle instinctively did the calculation. In a fair fight, he could take the man easily, but there was something in this Malcolm’s eyes that told him it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

“I think I saw you at Mr. Toth’s funeral,” said Kyle. “You were there with a very attractive woman, if I recall.”

“My wife.”

“Ahh, good for you. Well done,” said Kyle, even as he noticed the receptionist’s pretty mouth tighten. “I was hoping you could help me. I have some family matters to clear up, and I need to look through my father’s old files to get a grip on things.”

Malcolm stared at Kyle like he had two heads. “Your father was Liam Byrne?”

“He was.”

“And you want to look through his old files?”

“Exactly,” said Kyle.

“To get a grip on things.”

“Your English is very good. The lessons must be working. I’ve got some time now, so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I went up and sort of poked around.”

“I’m sorry,” said Malcolm without sounding very sorry, “but no, you can’t poke around. I wasn’t here when your father passed away, but I’m sure everything of a personal nature went right to Mrs. Byrne upon your father’s death. Is that your mother?”

“Ahh, not exactly.”

“Still, maybe you can get what you’re looking for from her. But we can’t just let you paw through our files. There is confidential matter in each and every one of them. It would be totally improper.”

“I don’t mean to tell anybody about anything. I just want to look.”

“It doesn’t matter what you intend, don’t you see? What you’re asking is impossible. Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”

Kyle thought for a moment. The O’Malley file was what he was after, the key to unlock O’Malley’s information about his father, but there was something dishonest in Malcolm’s gaze, like he was pretending not to care what Kyle was doing there when in fact he cared very much.

“No, nothing specific.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do for you. After Mr. Toth’s death, the firm can’t really continue as it is currently constituted. I’ve already begun a new job and am just helping to close this office down. Any active cases will be given back to the clients, anything inactive will be destroyed.”

“Destroyed? Before I can look at them?”

“That’s right.”

“But there might be something personal in the files that would mean a great deal to me. Emotionally, I mean.”

“I’m sure there isn’t.”

“Can’t I just look around? I’m trying to get a better sense of my dad. I didn’t know him very well.”

“All childhoods are tragic in their way, Mr. Byrne.”

“Is there any other—”

“No,” said Malcolm, cutting him off. “There is no other option. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming. And thank you for leaving, too.” Kyle tensed his neck for a moment, preparing to get physical, and then he noticed the woman behind the desk, watching the whole thing quite closely, more interested than a disinterested observer. Was there something going on between the two? Kyle wouldn’t put it past a pug like Malcolm. So if he decked the little bastard, the receptionist would call the cops, the cops would shove him into handcuffs, and that would be the end of any chance of finding the O’Malley file. On the other hand, it would feel damn good, which was almost reason enough to just haul off and do it.

But he didn’t do it. He didn’t hit the stonewalling Malcolm in the face or barge right past the lawyer on the way up the stairs or even hold his ground and refuse to move until some accommodation was made. Instead Kyle shrugged, said, “Yeah, okay, whatever,” and left, retreated, just walked away.

Walking away had always been his trademark move whenever he faced an obstacle that couldn’t be breached. Walk away, find a bar, pound a beer, move on. And it had worked for him in the past, hadn’t it? So that was it. The first step was barred, Kyle’s old instincts kicked in, and just that quick his little detective play was over. Time to give Skitch a call and get hammered.

And in the lobby the lawyer Malcolm watched with the slightest of smiles as Kyle’s demeanor collapsed into weak ness and he retreated without a fuss. After Kyle had left, Malcolm gave instructions to the girl at the desk, whom he absolutely was screwing on the side. Then he went upstairs to the offices of Byrne & Toth and placed a call.

CHAPTER 12

ROBERT SPANGLER SAT low in his car in the alleyway just south of Locust Street. He had parked within a wide shadow falling upon the cobbled street, so the interior of his car was quite dark. The spot was a bit far from the door he was watching, but this way a glance down the street from that same door would catch the car, yes, but nothing of the man inside, sitting low and waiting. In the shadows. Sometimes it seemed that within every individual moment of his life lay the ghost of the whole.

The call had come sooner than he’d expected. “Bobby dear,” she had said over the phone, in a voice that wrapped around his gut like an anaconda, “I thought you said there wouldn’t be any problems.”

Robert had closed his eyes and felt her disappointment wash over him like a wave of cold seawater. The sensation had become so familiar throughout the course of his life that it was almost comforting, an assurance that the immutable laws of the universe remained safely intact. “What kind of problems?”

“It’s the son of that lawyer, the one you took care of so long ago.” “Byrne? Okay. What about him?”

“He’s been asking questions. I never liked school much, Bobby, did you know that? All those questions just served to infuriate me. I only wanted answers.”

“Where were these questions asked?”

“At the legal offices where you had your meeting with our friend a few nights ago. The son was turned away, thankfully.”

“Better had he been let inside.”