Living with the Dead

FINN

In Finn's experience, corporate executives fell into two groups: arrogant bastards and smarmy poseurs. There were exceptions, Finn recognized, and Sean Nast seemed to be one. On the elevator ride up to his office, he asked where Finn's precinct was and how long he'd been in homicide, and said he imagined it wasn't an easy job, genuine civility mingled with natural curiosity.

Nast's office was as big as the detective room at the precinct. They were walking in when Finn's cell phone rang. Nast waited with that same politeness, devoid now of unbecoming curiosity, and when Finn said, "I need to answer this," he nodded and crossed the room to give Finn privacy.

It was Madoz. He had some time to spare and offered to help Finn track down Hope Adams, doing a sweep by her office and her hotel. Finn gave him the hotel name, but couldn't recall the room number.

"I've got it somewhere if you need it, but they were pretty good about giving it out. It's under her name. Hope Adams." He must have been louder than he thought, making Nast glance up from his Rolodex. "If you do find her, give me a shout."

When he hung up, Nast was walking around the desk.

"Seems I still have Irving's old cell number. His updated one is on my laptop, which I didn't bring in today. Give me a minute and I'll dig it up. Can I grab you a coffee on my way back?"

"Water, if you have it."

"There's a fridge by my desk. Just grab a bottle and anything else you'd like."

While Nast was gone, Finn conducted a plain-view search of the office. He didn't suspect the young man of anything – not yet.

There was, as expected, a framed MBA. From Yale, also expected. Less expected was the location – on the same wall as the door, partly hidden by palm fronds. Lieutenant Balough, always quick to put that psychology degree to work, would say the partly hidden MBA showed signs of shame, as if Nast had cheated or bought his way through college. Finn saw it more as modesty, maybe borderline ambivalence.

He took note, too, of the name on the degree. Sean Kristof Nast. Kristof – the Nast who'd tried to slip out of testifying on the hit-and-run. His father?

The subject of family made Finn turn his attention to the photos. He counted nine on the desk and the filing cabinet top. Five featured Nast and a younger man – brother? – and an older one – father? – at various ages and in various combinations, with no sign of a mother.

There were only two women in the other pictures. Girls, Finn amended. One appeared in a group shot with Nast and friends. The other got two pictures, one of her and Nast arm-in-arm, making Finn leap to the "girlfriend" conclusion before noticing she had the same oddly bright blue eyes. In the other, she was alone, on horseback, and younger, maybe fourteen. He was examining that one when Nast returned and caught him looking at it.

"Sister?" he asked.

Nast stopped in midstride before giving a soft yes.

As Nast took shelter behind the big desk, there was a rigidity in his shoulders that hadn't been there earlier, and Finn knew he'd been taken aback, maybe even offended.

"She picked a nice spot to go riding, those mountains and all. Oregon, I bet."

A pause, then a curt, "Yes, Oregon. Now, I have Irving's cell number, so let's give that a try."

He dialed, listened, then shook his head. "Straight to voice mail – Irving? It's Sean. Can you give me a call?" A tight smile. "It's not about the Boulder project, I promise."

The smile loosened only a fraction as he hung up. "Well, there. If he calls back, I'll tell him you want to speak to him. Do you have a card?"

They exchanged business cards, Nast writing Irving's cell number on the back of his before handing it to Finn.

"Maybe you'll have more luck. I'm persona non grata with Irving today, after dragging him away from his family. Which reminds me, he mentioned he was taking them up the coast this afternoon. Visiting the in-laws, I think. So you might have trouble getting together. But he's usually in by eight-thirty. If you'd like an introduction tomorrow, have the desk buzz me."

Damon was waiting outside the front doors. "I circled the whole building. There was one spot, around the back, where I made it two feet through the wall before hitting the invisible one. Weird."

Finn nodded, not really listening.

"Was Irving in?" Damon asked.

Finn shook his head.

"Can you take out your cell phone and actually talk to me?"

He gave Damon a play-by-play. "When Nast left that room, something happened. One minute he was Mr. Helpful, the next he couldn't get me out fast enough. I think when I was talking to Madoz, Nast had second thoughts about making the call to Irving in front of me. He did it from the other room and whatever his cousin said made Nast decide he shouldn't be so eager to help."

"So what happened when you tried the number yourself?"

"I haven't."

"Because you know it's fake."

"I'm sure it isn't." Finn rounded the corner.

"So – Hey – " Damon grabbed for Finn's arm, letting out a hiss of frustration when his fingers passed through. "One of these days, I'm going to stop doing that. I was saying, the car is that way."

"I'm not going to the car." Finn backed against the wall. "Hold on while I try the number."

It rang through to voice mail, as he'd thought it would. Sean Nast wouldn't risk giving him a fake. He'd just warn Irving not to answer. Finn left a message and made a note in his pad.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Damon asked as Finn pocketed the notebook.

"I'm backtracking to the front door, now that the guard has seen me leave. You'll cover the rear. If Nast comes out your way, follow – "He stopped, remembering his partner was the Invisible Man. "You cover the front; I'll get the back. You see him? Whistle."