The Company Man

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It took Garvey more than three hours to get to Collins among the desks of the Department. It was much the same as it had always been in his absence, even painfully the same. Same stale scent of coffee. The sting of cheap aftershave and old cigarette smoke. The other police watched him with a medley of expressions, surprise and disdain and frowning sympathy. Garvey waited quietly in one of the chairs witnesses occupied so often, the box of files balanced on his knees. Finally Collins came charging in, riding a wild head of steam and still muttering curses. When Garvey stood he stopped and said, “Holy hell. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you,” said Garvey.

“We don’t need to talk to you,” said Collins. He turned away. “Go talk to someone else.”

“And to show you something.”

“You don’t need to show me anything. Go home, Garvey.”

“Please, sir. Just listen to me.”

“No. No, no. Go home, Garvey. Just go home.”

“You need to see this.”

Collins squinted at him over his shoulder. “Would you bet your career on it?”

“I’d be willing to bet my life,” Garvey said simply.

Collins led him to his office. It was famously messy, covered in little cities of files and papers and paperweights, old clothes and shoes he had had to change in and out of in the depths of a case. They sat and Collins took out a pipe and read over the file as Garvey spoke, just like any other case, like any other day. With each word his lieutenant’s eyes became wider and wider. Eventually he turned off the light as if he didn’t want to see any more and they both sat in the dark.

“You’re sure about this?” said Collins.

“Positive. That’s McNaughton records. Right there. You can see the M.”

“How did you get these?”

“They were given to me,” said Garvey. “I’m not sure how they got them.”

“And you have a witness? That guy in the cabin? Out west?”

“I think so. And Colomb, if we can find them. We can make them testify.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t. Not for sure. But we have to try. We have to try.”

Collins sat there, not moving, pipe ticking up and down in his mouth like the pendulum of a clock. “And Brightly was directly involved.”

“He had to have been. He’s the director of Securities there, he had to have known. Maybe the whole board did, I don’t know.”

“But Brightly. You’re sure.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Collins looked out onto the Murder office. Then he said, “Go home, Garvey.”

“But-”

“I know. I know. We’ll do something. We’ll do something soon. Tomorrow. Just go home for now. Where I can contact you. And we’ll do something. Okay?”

“Do you think we can win it? Make it stick?”

Collins sighed. “We’re already gearing up for this denner war, Garvey. You didn’t give me anything on the murders, and that’s what we’re concerned with. We got enough on our plate right now. But just go back home and come in tomorrow. All right?”

“All right,” said Garvey. He reached for the file.

“I’ll hold on to this,” said Collins sharply.

Garvey stopped. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay, that’s a good idea. That’s only half of it, though.”

“Half?”

“Yeah. I kept the rest. For security. I don’t like traveling with it.”

Collins looked down at the file. The paper flexed as he held it tighter. “Make sure you bring it, then. Tomorrow. Make sure you bring all of it.”

“All right.” Garvey stood and said, “Good night, sir.”

“I doubt that,” said Collins.

Collins sat in his office and watched Garvey walk away quickly. Weaving through the maze of desks as he’d done a thousand times. Then Collins strode out of his office and called for a phone.