corner office were on. “Where are you now?”
“As a matter of fact, I?m in my office. You can see it from Charlie?s window. The river corner.”
“Do you have a minute or two now?” I asked.
Another silence.
“I was planning to go over to the funeral home,” he said. “But I can take a few minutes.”
“I?ll be right over,” I said. I gave the phone back to Seaborn.
“He hung up,” Seaborn said, with surprise.
“I?m sure he found out what he wanted to know”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted to know who you were talking to.”
Seaborn looked over at the warehouse his face caved in.
“What do we do now?” he said, almost to himself.
“Go home, Mr. Seaborn,” I said. “You can?t do anything here, so go on home.”
He stared at the big, bare desktop for a second and then said, “Yes, I suppose so.”
We left the bank together. Seaborn went to his car; I returned to the pier.
Baker was sitting on the edge of the concrete dock sipping coffee from a Thermos.
“No luck, eh?” I said.
He shook his head. “I?ll make one more attempt before dark,” Baker said.
“1 appreciate your effort, Mr. Baker,” I said, then to Stick, “Did you find out what I wanted to
know?”
“Nothing to it. A silver-plated S&W .38, two-inch barrel, black handles.”
“I?m going upstairs,” I said. “You got the number?”
“Yep.”
“Give me fifteen minutes”
“You got it.”
As I turned to leave, he said, “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Love your style,” he said with a grin.
69
THANK YOU, MA BELL
Number Three Warehouse was a three-story brick building dating back to the late 1700s with nothing
between it and the river but the narrow cobblestone walkway behind it leading from the park. A small
sign over the wreath told me the company was closed because of Harry Raines? death. The door was
