“But you’re a dame,” the voice responded.
“There’s no fooling you, huh?” Ava said. “I’m going to open this door. Can you put the gun down?”
Several seconds passed before she got a response. “I’ve lowered it to the floor, but I’m not letting it go.”
Ava didn’t even give him a second to spare, to rethink his answer. She pushed the door open with her right hand, givingPawlowski astay-putgesture with her left. When she stepped inside, she saw a man sitting behind a desk. The desk was cluttered with a few boxes, loose sheets of papers, and several old scraps of fabric. The man sitting behind the desk was a bit on the older side, maybe knocking on the door of sixty. He had thin, wiry black hair and a gaunt face. His hollow-looking eyes stared directly at Ava’s face. She also noticed that his right arm was hanging down below the desk, out of sight.
“What’s your name, sir?” Ava asked. She held her own gun low as well, making sure he knew she did not see him as a threat—yet.
“How about you tell me why the police are here?” he argued. “Actually, why don’t you tell me why the police saw fit to break into my work? I assume you busted past the lock on the loading door?”
“We did. And we’re here because we’re trying to put the pieces together concerning a death that is going to be ruled a suicide unless we can find differently.”
“So you’ve come to a closed-down textile mill? Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Isaac O’Hare.”
“That’s fortunate,” Ava said. “As it turns out, you’re exactly the man I need to speak to.”
“Is that so?” He grinned and sat forward just a bit. Ava tensed up, ready to bring her gun up if necessary. She still sensed no immediate threat from O’Hare, but she sensed something sightly unhinged about him. “And why is that?”
“Because your name was on a small list we found in the office of the recently departed. What was your relationship with Alfred Perkins?”
“Perkins? What has he d—”
But he stopped, likely understanding fully what was meant. He considered this for a moment and then surprised Ava by letting out a small laugh. “He’s the one you’re looking into? Well, let me save you the trouble. I find it very likely that Alfred Perkins killed himself.”
“And why do you say that?”
“Because he had people like me mad at him.” he sat forward again, moving quickly this time, and Ava brought her gun up a bit. O’Hare noticed this and did his best to relax. “Take this very mill, for example. That man lost eighty-five percent of the money I had tied into it. It was just…all gone.Sure, he blamed it on the crash, but I know why the crash happened in the first place. Men like him, looking out for themselves and not giving a damn about the people out here that make a living by the sweat of their brows. So because of people like him, I’m out of a job and a building very soon. Not to mention the sixteen people I had working here. They now don’t have jobs, either.”
Ava used her free hand to reach into her pocket, removing the piece of fabric the coroner had given them. “This scrap of fabric was on Perkins. I seem to recall you once selling fabrics just like these to jazz singers. If you can—”
O’Hare moved so quickly that Ava almost fired by impulse alone. He stood to his feet and pointed his gun at her. It was so sudden and unexpected that Ava didn’t understand the inherent danger of the moment until she sensed Pawlowski stepping into the doorway behind her.
“That seems a little unnecessary,” Pawlowski said. “Put the gun down, Mr. O’Hare.”
“You’re here to question me about…what? Aboutmurderingsomeone?”
“Yes,” Ava said. “And I’m starting to believe we were on to something, given how easily you pulled that gun on me just now.Drop it, O’Hare. It’s two on one and so far, we can maybe sweep this under the rug if you’ll just cooperate.”
“Cooperate,” he said, chuckling again. “You bring a piece of fabric in here, accusing me of having some sort of link with Perkins? What the hell am I supposed to think?”
“Mr. O’Hare, you’re clearly getting worked up. I really need you to put that gun down before you do something you’ll regret.”
This time he laughed uproariously, and Ava was now certain that he was not in his right mind. “Well, I’ve attempted to shoot myself with it. Put it in my mouth and everything, but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t….”
Ava felt Pawlowski coming in closer, felt her inching toward O’Hare. She came beside Ava and then continued forward. She’d placed her hands down by her hips, making a show of holstering her gun. She then raised her hands and lowered her voice, speaking as sweetly as a princess—a tone Ava had not yet heard from her.
“Mr. O’Hare, you aren’t the first person we’ve spoken to during this case that has lost everything because of the financial ruin this city is going through. But if you would just lower than gun, put in on your desk, and just give us five minutes of your time, it would be a huge help.”
It was a masterful performance. Ava watched the hostility drain right out of O’Hare’s face. Watching Pawlowski at work, she couldn’t help but wonder if she, Ava, had been so worried about trying to appear strong-willed and tough in a male-dominated profession that she’d overlooked the many benefits the soft, sweet side of a woman could offer.
O’Hare didn’t lower his gun all the way, but he did lower it to where the barrel was angled towards the floor.
“That’s good, Mr. O’ Hare,” Pawlowski said. “That’s really—”