“What is it?” Beatrice looked down as Max handed her a key.

Max pressed her lips together and looked pained. “It’s nothing. Don’t go looking for answers, Beatrice. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

“I’m already involved.” She motioned to Doris. “What did you find in my aunt’s deposit box? Diamonds? Gold? More love letters from Bill Thompson?”

“Shh! You don’t want them to hear you.” She pulled Beatrice out of the room and down the hall to a vacant ICU room. They froze in a shadow as a nurse walked by. When the hall was empty, Max said under her breath, “Bill is just a small-time crook. This thing is bigger than him.”

“Did you know what he’s been doing?” Beatrice hissed. “Did you sleep with him too?”

“I found out, okay? It’s not like the old bastard’s a criminal mastermind. I found out, and I’ve been trying to find a way out of this mess ever since.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was smart enough to cover his tracks. He put everything in my name, including the damn deposit inquiries. The son of a bitch had me doing his research for him, sniffing out dead boxes and calling it an audit. It all points to me. If I go to the cops—shit, even if I go to my brother—they’re going to think I’m in on it.”

“Tony would believe you, wouldn’t he?”

“I haven’t always been an angel, Bea.” Max threw up her hands. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I got into some trouble. All of this would just confirm what everyone already thinks about me.”

Beatrice could hear the tears in Max’s voice but couldn’t see her eyes in the dark room.

“I believe you, Max. I really do. I heard Bill with Suzanne Peplinski the other night. He has her on the hook too.” Beatrice dropped her voice and added, “Right along with Doris.”

“Doris was different,” Max whispered. “She had her key.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t try. It’ll only make things worse. Listen, I have to go. Just keep the key somewhere safe. Don’t let anyone find it.”

“But where will you go?”

“It doesn’t matter. When I think it’s safe, I’ll come find you.”

Max kissed the top of Beatrice’s head before rushing out the door.

CHAPTER 43

Friday, August 21, 1998

Iris couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she swore she could hear someone else breathing. Someone had been in the mechanical chase on the fifteenth floor. Someone had whispered her name. She rolled over and tried to convince herself she’d imagined the whole thing. It had been sweltering hot, and her hangover had warped her mind. Besides, she’d been terrified that some homeless man was going to slice her up with a broken bottle, but it was just Ramone doing his job. The breathing sound was just the wind whistling out of the rooftop duct. The whisper was nothing, and there was no such thing as ghosts.

A paisley blouse and pencil skirt drifted through her mind. Beatrice. The files she’d taken from the abandoned suitcase were still sitting in her field bag, but they would have to wait. The clock read 2:00 a.m. She needed sleep. Iris flipped onto her stomach and swore she could hear someone else breathing. Before she knew it, daylight was bleeding in through her windows.

Iris pulled into the back of the abandoned bank at 7:00 a.m. and downed her coffee and smoke. It was as though she’d never left. She sleepwalked over to the button. Brad was standing inside the loading dock, punctual as always.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

Iris glared at him through the bags under her eyes. He was dressed and pressed as usual. He must get up at 4:00 a.m. every day to do his ironing.

“Good morning,” she grumbled. “I finished. It took me half the night, but I’m done with the schematics.”

“Great! I’ll let you give me a guided tour.” Brad watched her pull herself out of the car and added, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we need the base drawings drafted by Monday.”

Her jaw dropped. He shrugged a weak apology. Iris should have expected it by now, but the thought of working the weekend again still made her want to scream. She waved her middle finger in the air at him while his back was turned.

A loud banging rattled the garage door. Iris dropped her hand as Brad spun around and jogged over to the manual override button next to the dock. The door rolled open, and there stood a nerdy little man holding a humungous box.

“Where do you want this thing?” the guy yelped under the crushing weight.

“Hey, let me give you a hand with that.” Brad trotted over. “Iris, where do you want to set up?”

“Hmm?” Her brain was gummed up with sleepy pudding.

“Is there a vacant office where we can put the workstation?”

“Oh, the third floor. Follow me.”

Iris led them to the elevator and up to the third floor. Finding her way was second nature. The building was becoming a regular home away from home. She led her entourage to the old HR office, past Suzanne’s desk, and into Linda’s office. Fragments of the shattered bookcase were still strewn on the floor.

“Here, I’ll just clear this stuff out of the way while you set up,” she said before anyone could comment on the wreckage.

She shoved what was left of the bookcase against the wall. Besides a few deep scratches, the desk was clear. She gave the top of it a quick wipe with her shirtsleeve for good measure. As she was running her hand across the wood, she remembered it was already clean. She recoiled. They were going to set up her computer in the office where some lunatic liked to do his dusting. Not some lunatic, she corrected herself, Ramone. He was the one up on the fifteenth floor last night. He wiped off the desk. Probably. She had to stop drinking and get some sleep. It was getting hard to separate her memories from her delusions.

The two men had already dragged the computer inside.

“Thanks, Arnie.” Brad set the box on the floor. “Why don’t you get Iris set up here while she and I finish our walk-through?”

The scrawny guy agreed and began meticulously removing the tape from the top of the box, being careful not to tear the cardboard.

Iris spent the rest of the morning touring the building with Brad and his red pen. When they reached the stripped structure on the twelfth floor, she asked, “Did you know this was all here?”

“I did a quick walk-through about a month ago but didn’t spend much time on the upper floors. Too hot and dark. They cut the power up here years ago.”

“I wondered about that. Why are there still lights on the lower floors?”

“You know, I asked about that when we started. Usually when they mothball a building they shut it all down. They don’t usually have live-in security either.”

“So what did you find out?”

“Not much. Cleveland Real Estate Holdings Corp. bought the building around the time the bank assets were sold and the offices were vacated. They used to own several other buildings around town, but now it’s just this one.”

A flare gun went off in her head. She had seen or heard the name somewhere before. Brad walked on ahead of her. As she trotted after him, a yellow slip of paper on a bulletin board came to mind. Joseph Rothstein, she thought. She’d seen the name in his office.

Brad snapped a few measurements, not fully trusting Iris’s notes, and kept talking. “Maybe they saw redevelopment potential from the start. Maybe they have a poor insurance rating and couldn’t pull a policy without full-time security. You know, there were a lot of insurance fraud cases involving arson back in the 1980s in Cleveland. Who knows?”

Brad packed in the tape measure and headed back toward the stair tower, with Iris trailing behind. As they climbed the last two flights up to the fifteenth-floor inferno, she remembered she hadn’t technically managed to complete the survey. She’d faked the layout at home from what she could remember, and now Brad was dragging her back up to verify it all. Shit.