“Him and another guy, guy named Scanlan, got arrested on assault charges. They beat up a real estate appraiser. Cops caught them in progress, down back of South Station.”
“Why?”
“Appraiser claims he didn’t know them, had no idea why they assaulted him. Refused to press charges.”
Kiley was right about the cranberry muffins.
“So how’d you get involved?” I said.
“Guy called here, asked us to go down and see about them. We represented them maybe two hours.”
“They call you?”
“No. Ann took it.”
“She go down?”
“Yes.”
“What was the appraiser’s name?” I said.
Kiley took a piece of folded notepaper from his shirt pocket and read it.
“Bisbee,” he said. “Thomas Bisbee.”
He handed me the paper.
“Who paid you?”
“That’s bothersome,” Kiley said. “We got no record of anybody paying us.”
“Any record of anybody being billed?”
“No.”
“That is bothersome,” I said. “McGonigle didn’t look like your kind of client any more than DeRosa did.”
“We’re criminal lawyers,” Kiley said. “Some of our clients are criminals.”
“Usually criminals who can pay.”
“True.”
“Was McGonigle someone who could pay?”
“He wasn’t. He was muscle. Just like Scanlan.”
“Who were they working for?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
I got up and went to the serving counter and got more coffee for myself and a fresh cup for Kiley.
“So,” I said when I came back, “what do you want from me?”
“I want to know how deep in she is,” Kiley said.
“You asked her?”
“She won’t talk to me about it. She says it’s a question of professional respect, that she won’t allow me to treat her like a child.”
“And you want me to find out what happened,” I said.
“Goddamn it, she’s my child.”
I nodded. “I have a client,” I said.
“I’m not asking you anything that would interfere with that. I’m asking you while you’re serving your client to keep an eye out. And let me know.”
“Give me the name of the other guy she defended.”
“Chuckie Scanlan.”
“Chuck,” I said.
“You know him?”
“No. Guy named Jack DeRosa claimed a guy named Chuck put him in touch with Mary Smith.”
“Common name,” Kiley said.
I nodded. “Where do I find him?”
“Works in a liquor store on Broadway. Donovan’s.”
“Ann knows this guy, she knew DeRosa, and she is, or was, Marvin Conroy’s girlfriend.”
“Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Kiley said.
“Ann know where Conroy is?” I said.
“She says she doesn’t.”
“We may be going in the same direction,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”
