I said, “We’re way past that, Mr. Bisbee. You’re a material witness to a case of multiple homicide. You could be arrested.”
I was careful not to say that I would arrest him, as I had been careful not to say I was a police detective. But misunderstanding was possible.
“God, Jesus!” he said.
“So why didn’t you press charges?”
“If I tell you, would I still be arrested?”
“No,” I said.
I wasn’t exactly lying. His arrest was not contingent on him telling me anything.
“It was the woman lawyer,” he said.
“Ann Kiley?”
“Yes. She said she represented the two men who attacked me, and that she also represented Marvin.”
“Marvin Conroy?”
“Yes. And Marvin wanted me to drop the charges.”
“And why did you care what Marvin wanted?”
He looked at me as if I had blasphemed. “He… Marvin is very dangerous.”
“What was your relationship?” I said.
“With Marvin?”
“Yes.”
Across the way three laborers were moving the cement chute. Two more guys watching. Good ratio, I thought.
“I appraised some property for him.”
“And?”
“He didn’t like the appraisal.”
“Why not?”
“He wanted me to inflate the appraisal.”
“So he could get a bigger loan?”
“Something like that.”
“So why’d you get beat up, to make you change your appraisal?”
“No. To keep me from telling anybody. Marvin was up to something. Probably flipping real estate, maybe covering some real shaky loans. I don’t know. But I told him that I was suspicious and the next day he sent me a message.”
“The message being?”
“To keep my mouth shut.”
Bisbee had thin hands. He was holding onto the clipboard with both of them so tightly that the knuckles were white.
“Which you did?”
“Yes… There was another name you mentioned. Soldiers Field Development.”
“Yeah?”
“That was the company that was developing the property.”
“That Conroy wanted you to appraise?”
“Yes.”
“You know anything about Nathan Smith?”
“No.”
“Any other names mean anything to you?”
“No.”
Bisbee’s shoulders were hunched and he was sitting stiffly on the stone wall as if it were cold. Which it wasn’t. He hung on to his clipboard.
I took a card out of my wallet and tucked it into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt.
“Anyone threatens you,” I said, “call me. I’ll take care of it.”
Bisbee nodded without looking at the card, or at me. Across the field the driver of the cement truck was hosing down the cement chute. Five men were watching. Bad ratio.
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
