"Apart from the depression, did you notice anything out of the ordinary about him lately?"
"I did, actually. He was drinking more than usual. And he'd taken up gambling. Went to Vegas or Atlantic City a couple times. Never used to do that."
"Could you identify this?" Pulaski handed the businessman a copy of the images lifted from the ash that Amelia Sachs had recovered at Creeley's house in Westchester. "It's a financial spreadsheet or balance sheet," the patrolman said.
"Understand that." A little condescending now but it seemed unintentional.
"They were in Mr. Creeley's possession. Do they mean anything to you?"
"Nope. They're hard to read. What happened to them?"
"That's how we found them."
Don't say anything about them being burned up, Sachs had told him. Play it close to the chest, you mean, Pulaski offered, then decided he shouldn't be using those words with a woman. He'd blushed. His twin brother wouldn't have. They shared every gene except the one that made you shy.
"They seem to show a lot of money."
Kessler looked at them again. "Not so much, just a few million."
Not so much.
"Getting back to the depression. How did you know he was depressed? If he didn't talk about it."
"Just moping around. Irritated a lot. Distracted. Something was definitely eating at him."
"Did he ever say anything about the St. James Tavern?"
"The . . . ?"
"A bar in Manhattan."
"No. I know he'd leave work early from time to time. Meet friends for drinks, I think. But he never said who."
"Was he ever investigated?"
"For what?"
"Anything illegal."
"No. I would've heard."
"Did Mr. Creeley have any problems with his clients?"
"No. We had a great relationship with all of them. Their average return was three, four times the S and P Five Hundred. Who wouldn't be happy?"
S and P . . . Pulaski didn't get this one. He wrote it down anyway. Then the word "happy."
"Could you send me a client list?"
Kessler hesitated. "Frankly, I'd rather you didn't contact them." He lowered his head slightly and stared into the rookie's eyes.
Pulaski looked right back. He asked, "Why?"
"Awkward. Bad for business. Like I said before."
"Well, sir, when you think about it, there's nothing embarrassing about the police asking a few questions after someone's death, is there? It is pretty much our job."
"I suppose so."