Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [story read aloud .txt] 📗

on the internal phone and two minutes later, a young man in shirtsleeves with hair that looked as though it had been sneezed on came hurrying out of a passage and asked us to please follow him. We did, along a beige-carpeted corridor to a large mahogany door that was guarded by a large mahogany desk. The boy with sticky hair dropped behind the desk and picked up the internal phone.

“Mr. Greenway, the detectives are here…”

He hung up, flicked his eyes at us and said, “You can go right ahead, through that door.”

Dehan raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t get up, junior, I’ll get it.”

She opened the door and we went in.

Seth Greenway was seated with his back to a floor-to-ceiling, panoramic view of New York City, giving the unsettling feeling that he might at any moment fall backward into empty space. The office was minimalist, with a round table and twelve chairs to one side, hardwood floors with rough-woven mats and furniture that had that Scandinavian feel which reminded you that comfortable was not the same as cozy.

He looked up from a dozen glossy prints on his desk and stood, smiling at Dehan, holding out his hand as we crossed the room.

“Detectives, forgive me, we are rushed off our feet at the moment with deadlines and the rest of it!” He laughed. “Much like any other time! Please, take a seat.”

He glanced at me to include me in the offer to sit and looked back at Dehan with a quizzical frown. “You are investigating a homicide…”

I said, “This is a cold case, Mr. Greenway. The murder of the former CEO of this company, Jack Connors.”

He flopped back in his big black chair, his mouth sagged a little and he looked back at Dehan with an oddly reproachful expression. “But that was, oh… five years ago.”

I answered, even though he was still looking at Dehan. “There is no statute of limitations on homicide, Mr. Greenway. We take a murder committed five years ago just as seriously as one committed this morning.”

“Of course!” He glanced at me, spread his hands and looked back at Dehan. “How can I help?”

She didn’t answer. I said, “How well did you know Jack Connors, Mr. Greenway?”

He gave a small shrug. “I probably knew him as well as anybody did. He wasn’t really one for sharing his feelings, you know…” He laughed at the thought. “He was very much a man’s man, a man of action. He was all about getting the job done, pulling in the clients, making the next million. He didn’t have time for what he called emotional horseshit.” He held up both hands, laughing, and spoke to Dehan again. “I’m not saying I agree. I am just telling you the kind of man he was.”

I saw a small frown crease her brow. I smiled. “Was he well liked at work? How did his employees feel about him?”

“Oh…” He nodded at me several times, like I had touched on an important point. Then he turned back to Dehan. “Make no mistake. His staff loved him. He was uncompromising, direct to the point of being blunt, sometimes rude, but always fair and a very generous employer. His staff loved him. He never forgot a birthday, if somebody got married the firm would be there to help out, mortgages, insurance, healthcare, deaths in the family… You name it, he was there, rolling up his sleeves, getting personally involved to make sure his staff were taken care of.”

Dehan gave a small snort. I rubbed my hand over my chin and said, “I’m more interested in what he would have called the emotional horseshit: his personal relationships, friends, enemies, jilted lovers, old girlfriends… Who was he close to?” I smiled again. “We are looking for somebody who would want to kill him.”

He held my eye a moment, then made a small, helpless gesture with his hands. “Who was he close to? Me and Helena is the simple answer. And I don’t think either of us really knew him. I am not being awkward, detective, but the truth is Jack never really got close to anybody. Friends, apart from me, I am not sure he had any. He had acquaintances who were more or less close, with a small ‘c’, but I am talking about people on his team, who he saw at work. I am not talking about people he socialized with. What little social life he had was all through his wife. You know she is a successful novelist, so often attends events, launches, galas. You know the sort of thing. He would usually accompany her.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Enemies, jilted lovers, old girlfriends. He must have had them, I suppose, he was certainly a man who was attractive to women, but if he did, he never talked about them.”

I gazed out at the vast sweep of Manhattan behind him, with the Ed Koch bridge just visible, spanning the water. I spoke half to myself: “He never socialized…”

“Well,” he said quickly, “that would be inaccurate. He did socialize, grudgingly, when his wife forced him to.”

“What was your impression of their relationship, Mr. Greenway?”

He held my eye and shook his head. “Make no mistake about that, detective. They adored each other. I have never seen a couple more totally in love.”

Dehan spoke for the first time. “How can you know that if he never spoke about emotional horseshit?”

He laughed out loud and his cheeks actually flushed. “He didn’t need to talk about it. Whenever you saw them together…” He shook his head, searching for a way to express it. “They were both very reserved, neither of them ever made a public display of affection, but you could just see it in the way they looked at each other, smiled at each other, the small touch of the hand. Everybody