Free Behind Closed Doors by Michael Donovan

lawyers’ first floor offices and was suddenly rolling down towards me like the runaway boulder in Indiana Jones . I flattened myself against the wall to let him pass. It was either that or learn about the personal injury business from the sharp end. If Bob noticed me he made no sign. After six years he was still keeping up the pretence that he didn’t have a flock of private investigators in his attic.
    When we’d first moved in it was his partner Gerry who’d come up to request that we relocate our nameplate and bell push to the opposite wall of the lobby where it wouldn’t clash with their own brasswork. Nameplates are stacked together for the practical reason that a visitor can see them all in one go. Also, the bell wiring was set up that way. Gerry showed neighbourliness by offering to stand the cost of us moving our plate. I talked it over with Shaughnessy and we rejected the offer. The matter was sorted amicably when Rook and Lye moved their own name-plate to the opposite wall where I never thought it looked quite right. Bob Rook hadn’t spoken to me or Shaughnessy in the six years since. When we met on the stairs Bob’s trick was to boost his twenty stones to planetoid mode and roar past in a cloud of incandescent gas. If we wanted to live, we got out of the way. If we got out of the way we never needed to talk.
    I let Bob roar past and burst onto the street. When the building stopped shaking I continued up the stairs.
    Shaughnessy was behind his desk chewing a stick of celery, and Lucy was packing to leave. She asked about Rebecca. When I hinted that I’d picked up a couple of things she hung around to get the story.
    I made her wait while I poured a coffee. The filter machine’s light was on but the hot-plate was dead. I’d mentioned this only a week ago but Lucy had countered by asking for money. Always the same solution. I poured a cold cup and shovelled in sugar, took it through to Shaughnessy’s office along with a monster baguette from Connie’s. Shaughnessy took a look at my lunch and gave me a smirk. I ignored him. Who needs sermons from a guy waving celery?
    Lucy perched her backside on Shaughnessy’s desk and I crashed in one of the leather and chrome easy chairs that he’d brought in to let clients know which partner had the class. I put my feet up on the other chair to confirm it.
    â€˜How’s the building trade?’ I asked. Shaughnessy and Harry Green had been watching a contract foreman whose company was seeing too many thefts from the building sites he worked.
    â€˜Booming.’ Shaughnessy said. He watched me push my face into Connie’s special and waited until I came up for air.
    â€˜Need extra eyes?’ I asked.
    â€˜None,’ he said. ‘It’s a wrap.’
    I sat up and made the best surprised sounds I could with a mouth full of coleslaw.
    â€˜You’ve already got the guy?’
    Shaughnessy’s mouth slanted in what passed for a smile.
    â€˜We watched our man lock up the site yesterday. Locking up included stashing about five grand’s worth of electrical gear in the back of a Transit and cutting the locks on the store shed so it would look like a break-in.’
    â€˜The ubiquitous inside job,’ I said. ‘You get his fence?’
    â€˜First thing this morning.’ Shaughnessy dipped his celery in a tub of hummus, chewed slowly and took a swig of bottled water. ‘The guy offloaded the stuff at a dodgy DIY place in Ilford,’ he said. ‘We snapped the whole deal. Site to store-counter.’
    â€˜Any material proof?’
    Shaughnessy leaned back and strained his muscles. He tossed something onto his desk. The object landed with a crash that sent Lucy yelping like a scalded puppy, which was what he’d intended. Shaughnessy’s a sucker for the dramatic gesture. The gesture probably raised some blood pressure downstairs too. Lucy swore and looked at the thing as if it