Without a word, Jeremy buzzed his window down and pulled into the garage. He tapped the button for a ticket, waited for the arm to go up, and rolled through.
“You can pull into one of those spaces there,” Kira directed. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“Those are reserved.”
“So?”
“So they belong to someone.”
She felt a flash of annoyance. “It’s not like this is a hospital! Don’t be such a Boy Scout.”
He lifted an eyebrow at that and pulled into a space.
Kira shoved her door open before he could get out and come around. She was in a bitchy mood, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been up all night, tossing and turning, too fired up to sleep, and not just because Jeremy had rejected her. The constant thrum of rain outside the window had grated on her nerves throughout the night.
She grabbed her bag off the floor, and Jeremy closed the door. Because of their prime parking space, they were on level one, and she walked briskly toward the doors leading to the courthouse, her heels clacking against the pavement. Today she wore her typical courtroom attire of black slacks and a white silk blouse with a pearl-gray tank underneath. It was more conservative than her normal fashion tastes, but she was mindful of making a good impression on people in legal circles. She never knew where her next client might come from.
“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing here,” Jeremy said as he pulled open the heavy glass door.
“The envelope you found at Ollie’s office.”
“The one addressed to Lorraine?”
“I’ve got a hunch about it,” Kira said. “I think she’s the ‘LH’ I’ve been looking for.”
Kira skirted around a huddle of lawyers and made her way to a stairwell.
“Lorraine works in the basement.” Kira’s words echoed off the cinder-block walls as they descended the stairs. “She’s a clerk here.”
“This is a federal court building,” Jeremy said behind her. “What’s that got to do with your murder case?”
“I don’t know yet, but I plan to find out.”
At the bottom, Jeremy reached around her to open the door and insisted on stepping through first. Despite her foul mood, he was vigilant as ever, and she felt guilty for being such a grouch earlier.
The basement offices were already buzzing with people. Clerks and interns and paralegals streamed through the corridor, each on a mission to track down some obscure document for some VIP who probably worked in one of the city’s soaring skyscrapers. With the exception of the occasional tattoo-covered messenger in spandex, most people down here adhered to a business dress code.
She passed a plexiglass window and stopped at a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Try to look like you belong,” she told Jeremy.
That wouldn’t work, but she hoped to find Lorraine before anyone questioned their presence here. She passed through half a dozen cubicles and reached a small office. The placard beside the door said LORRAINE HARTMAN, PUBLIC RECORDS.
Lorraine was at her desk, facing her computer. She wore a cheerful yellow blouse and fake pearls, and as she glanced up, her face brightened.
“Kira, hi. How are you?” Her brow furrowed, and she pressed her hand against her chest. “I heard about Ollie. My stars, hon. That’s just awful.”
“It is.”
“I wanted to get to the funeral, but I was sitting my grandkids Saturday. Did you go?”
“I did. It was really nice,” Kira said, then realized that sounded awkward. “Well attended,” she added.
Kira stepped into the little office and hoped Jeremy would linger outside, but the look on Lorraine’s face told Kira she’d noticed him.
“This is my friend Jeremy. He’s working with me today.”
They traded nods, and Lorraine gave Kira a puzzled smile.
“Sorry to just drop by, but I have something for you.” Kira reached into her messenger bag and pulled out the envelope. “Ollie wanted you to have these.” She handed Lorraine the envelope and watched the anguished look on her face as she read her name in Ollie’s distinctive scrawl. She opened the envelope and pulled out the baseball tickets.
“Oh, Lord.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he did that.” A tear slid down her cheek. She swiveled in her chair and reached for the tissue box behind her. “He didn’t need to do that.” She dabbed her eyes. “He was always such a sweetie.”
“He was.”
She looked from Kira to Jeremy. “Sorry. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Kira gave her a sympathetic smile. “Neither can I.”
“He asked me for a favor last week. Some paperwork he wanted. I told him I didn’t mind getting it for him, and he sure didn’t need to get me Astros tickets.”
It was Ollie’s way. You gotta scratch backs to get shit done in this business.
“The paperwork he requested, did he ever pick it up?” Kira asked.
Lorraine dabbed her nose with the tissue. “No. Why, do you want it?”
“I do, actually. I’ve taken over some of his cases.”
Lorraine glanced at Jeremy and looked self-conscious about her tears. “Sorry.” She swiveled in her chair again. “Where did I put it? I swear, this place is such a clutter. Oh—here.” She dug a blue folder out from beneath a tall stack of files. She opened the folder, then closed it. “This is it,” she said, handing it over.
Kira tucked it into her bag. “Thank you. It’s a big help.”
“Not at all. Sorry I’m a mess.”
“I understand. We can catch up later. I’d love to take you to lunch soon,” Kira said, wanting to ramp up her networking effort.
Lorraine smiled through her tears. “I’d like that.”
Burning with curiosity, Kira led Jeremy back through the cubicles and left the office. When she was back in the crowded corridor, she ducked into an alcove beside a water fountain and opened the file. Her heart lurched when she spotted the name Craig Collins at the top of the page.
Jeremy’s shadow fell over her, dimming her light as he shielded her from people.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m not sure yet.” She skimmed the top page. As she flipped through the papers, her pulse picked up until she could hardly breathe.
“Holy hell,” she murmured.
“What, Kira?”
“Two years ago, Ava Quinn’s brother filed for bankruptcy.”
His eyebrows went up.
“He had creditors, too,” she said. “Some of them are listed here. I wonder if he had any unlisted ones.”
“You’re thinking of Andre Markov.”
“Right.” She looked up. “I mean, Markov’s dirty. Not the kind of guy you want listed in your court documents, especially if what you owe him for is something illegal, such as drugs or whatever. But Craig Collins might have owed him money.”
“You’re saying Craig killed his own sister and cleaned out her safe?”
“Craig had an alibi. He got a DUI on the night of the murder.” She shook her head. “But maybe he hired it out. Or maybe Markov did it, and it was some kind of trade.”
“A trade like . . . ‘I’ll help you murder my sister and steal her cash, and then we’re square’?”
“Exactly.” Kira’s heart pounded as all the pieces fell into place. “It makes sense, right? Her brother probably knew she was having marital problems. She might have mentioned she was hiring a fancy divorce lawyer, and he spotted an opportunity to intercept that big fat retainer.”
“It was cash?”