Thicker Than Water by P.J. Parrish Page B

Louis began.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œYour boss.”
    Something shifted in her expression. Then, suddenly, she teared up. She yanked a Kleenex from the box on her desk.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    â€œNo need to apologize,” Louis said.
    She blew her nose. “What did you want to ask me?”
    He wanted to ask her about finding Duvall’s body, what the scene had looked like, but that was out of the question for the moment. “That elevator,” he said, pointing out the glass doors. “Is it locked after hours?”
    â€œNo, the building is filled with attorneys and they come and go at all hours. The downstairs lobby is always open too.”
    â€œDid Mr. Duvall normally work late?”
    She smiled wanly. “A man doesn’t become a legend working a mere forty hours.”
    â€œBesides Jack Cade, did Mr. Duvall receive any threats recently? Maybe from dissatisfied clients?”
    The secretary shook her head slowly. “The police already asked me that, and that woman defense attorney.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about the relationship between Mr. Duvall and Mr. Bernhardt? How did they meet?”
    â€œIn law school at Tallahassee, I think. But they didn’t become partners until 1968.” She sighed. “It was just Mr. Duvall and me in the beginning. It was very hard in those days, let me tell you. Mr. Duvall did all his own investigative work. He was very good at it, better than Matlock, I think. Some weeks I didn’t get paid. We both ate a lot of baloney sandwiches.” She fell silent again, lost in memories.
    â€œBut business picked up,” Louis prodded.
    She smiled slightly. “Oh yes. Mr. Duvall was very, very good at what he did. Word got out, especially after the Cade case.”
    She teared up again.
    â€œI don’t know what’s going to happen now,” she said softly, staring off at the rooftops. “I mean, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
    She hadn’t said it, but he could see it there in her eyes. She meant she didn’t know what she was going to do.
    â€œMiss Silvestri,” Louis said gently, “are you going to lose your job here?”
    She grabbed another Kleenex. Louis felt like kicking himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was—”
    She waved a hand. “No, it’s all right. Fact is, I’m an old dinosaur here. Lyle will let enough time go by to look decent, then he’ll hire some young thing with big boobs.” She grimaced. “Lyle is big on appearances.”
    He noticed she had switched to calling Bernhardt by his first name. “And Spencer Duvall wasn’t?” Louis asked.
    She smiled slightly as she shook her head. “Not at all. I mean, even after the money started coming in, Mr. Duvall didn’t change. He was born and raised here. He never got the sand out of his shoes.”
    Her eyes drifted to the hallway, toward Lyle Bernhardt’s closed door. “Come with me,” she said.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œYou said you wanted to see Mr. Duvall’s office.”
    He followed her down the hall, passing Lyle Bernhardt’s door. At the end of the corridor, she slipped a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She ushered Louis quickly inside, shutting the door behind them.
    The office was larger than Bernhardt’s, but it couldn’t have looked more different. A massive old cherry desk dominated the room, with a pair of well-worn wing chairs and a small round table facing it. The floor had been left uncarpeted and the rich oak planks were covered with a softly faded Persian carpet. The lamps were brass, the walls a sun-bleached moss green paper. On the wall behind the desk, there was a framed degree from Florida State School of Law. On the wall opposite the desk was a group of old photographs of Fort Myers street scenes and a Victorian beach house. There was a scarred wood glass-front