For Lena Ashley's memorial service I wore a somber black suit with an expression to match. Since both were appropriate to the surroundings, Bobbi hadn't yet noticed anything off about me. It also helped that she was distracted by the proceedings, busy making sure everything ran smoothly. I was glad, wanting the freedom to think through the previous night's disasters without having to answer a lot of questions on why I was so quiet.

The chapel of the funeral home she'd chosen was a nice one, real fancy. Dark-stained oak was everywhere, elaborately carved, and in some spots covered with gilt, particularly the speaker's podium. Deep red curtains cloaked the walls behind it, and long stained-glass windows depicting lilies and roses protected us from viewing the outside world. As there was no body, a gold-framed picture of Lena stood at the front where the casket would have been. It was the same photo Escott had gotten from Lieutenant Blair. The easel was draped in black ribbon and flowers; dozens of wreaths and bouquets in vases stood around it on tables and on the floor. The afternoon editions had squeezed in a story about the services and John Q. Public had generously responded. Candles burned on either side, and the organist filled the room with a series of well-practiced hymns.

I'd told Bobbi not to worry about attendance and was proved right; the place was packed. Reporters, curiosity seekers, and cops filled all the pews, so latecomers had to stand. Since I was reluctant to get my picture in the papers again, my seat in the chapel was in a screened-off alcove usually reserved for the deceased's family. I had a good view through the loose weave of the curtains, but no one could see in unless they were crass enough to come around and look inside. Of course several members of the press had done just that, only to find it empty. There was a decided advantage about being able to vanish at a second's notice.

Physically, I was recovered from the impromptu floor show Coker and his clown circus had given me in Lady Crymsyn's lobby. I'd made a stop at the Stockyards just before dawn for another long drink, then home for a day's worth of healing oblivion in my basement sanctuary. Though unaware of the passage of time, it still helped put the horrors at a distance. When I awoke, the tremors no longer troubled me. It was just too bad I couldn't as easily rid my mind of the image of that one dead man and his burned-down cigarette.

Gordy and I got ourselves away from the barbershop, returning to the pool hall, but Gris was gone by then. The bartender informed us that Coker had come by. Gris seemed surprised, apparently expecting someone else, but went along with him, suitcase in hand and no questions asked.

"That's all she wrote," said Gordy as we drove off.

"We can't assume Shivvey killed him."

"No, but I wouldn't take any odds against. I know who runs that Florida betting shop he was supposed to go to. Give 'em a call in a day or so. If Gris doesn't show..." he gave a small shrug.

"Drag the river?"

"If you wanna go to all that trouble."

An idea popped into my head. An ugly one. "Take a right here, I need to check on someone."

He made the turn, following my directions without comment, perhaps having come to the same conclusion. My heart clogged itself midway up my throat for the whole time until he braked in front of Rita Robillard's hotel. He cut the motor and waited while I bolted inside.

Thankfully, Rita was exactly as I'd left her hours before. At the sound of her healthy breathing my heart crept back to its normal spot. She was in a deep, sodden sleep and quite unharmed. I wondered how long that might last. Coker had made a lot of threats against her earlier. After what he'd done to his own men I knew she shouldn't be left alone. Gordy could help there.

On my way out, I noticed a small alteration in the general disorder of her living room. The man's tie that had been carelessly discarded on the couch was gone. I looked around, hoping that it'd just fallen on the floor, but nothing doing. As it seemed unlikely anyone else would have business here, it must have been Coker who had come calling to check up on her. He didn't exactly need his own key, since Rita kept one over the outer door. For some reason he'd chosen not to wake her up, chosen not to kill her.

Aside from Rita there was only one thing here besides a discarded tie he might be interested in-providing that he knew about it. I went to the radio, pulled the backing away enough to see in. The little records book was gone.

Huh. So that's how it was.

Gordy had about the same reaction when I told him.

"Think he's gonna use it against Nevis?" I asked.

"It could come in handy to a smart operator. I know I wouldn't want something like that floating loose. The Treasury boys could get real happy over that kind of evidence."

I wondered if Coker also knew about the fifty-two grand. Probably not, or he'd never have left it lying there for Rita to accidentally find as I had. "We gotta find where he lives."

"I already know."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I make a point to spot troublemakers, keep tabs on 'em. Started back when he was still working for Welsh Lennet. But Shivvey ain't gonna be home, not until he's sure of being clear of the heat for what he did back there."

"How about an anonymous call to the cops? Those four in the barbershop-"

"Can wait. Shivvey thinks you're dead. Use it. Give him some slack, then yank the noose."

He made sense, but only so far as I was concerned. A picture of that man with the cigarette floated back into my brain again. I could almost smell the scorched meat and stink of urine. Too bad I couldn't hypnotize myself into losing this particular memory. "Rita needs to get scarce. He could change his mind and come back for her."

"Shivvey would notice. Might make him jumpy. You don't want jumpy."

"Then someone's gotta keep an eye on her. I can't during the day."

"You," he said, fixing me with a frown, "have done enough. There a phone in that hotel?"

"Just left of the entry."

He grunted and heaved out. It was a minor mystery to me whether Gordy carried a book with all his phone numbers in it or if they were all in his head. The latter, I concluded, since he didn't like anything on paper. I waited and watched the street signals change themselves until he returned some ten minutes later.

"All set," he said. "There's a couple guys coming over to play baby-sitter. She won't know about them. I got a 'nother couple going over to his hotel just in case he turns up there. If he does, they scrag him and leave."

"Just like that?" Sometimes his cold-bloodedness got to me. I should have been used to it by now.

"Just like that, but it won't happen. He's got what he wants from her. He's pulled a hole in after him. Not much we can do until he comes up for air."

"I'd rather not kill him, Gordy."

"Then what?"

"I just want to beat him until I get bored." And let him live with the broken bones. Every time it rained he'd remember me.

"We'll see what happens. But if you find him first, I get the leftovers. I can't have a disrespecter running loose. Bad for business."

Coker had used that last phrase himself when referring to Gordy getting involved in matters. Too bad for him he'd forgotten about it.

Another determined-looking man in a dark suit approached my alcove and peered in. I vanished with time to spare. He went away, disappointed like others before him.

Coker didn't show for the service, but Gordy came, sitting well in the back. On the front row sat Tony Upshaw, resplendent in a perfectly tailored masterpiece of solemnity. Next to him was Rita Robillard, in a black dress dusted with matching sequins, the veil on her hat covering her face.

Bobbi, also in black, but without the sequins, was seated in front next to the organist. She caught some signal from the funeral director and stood. A flashbulb went off, the photographer garnering disapproving looks from some. He was too busy changing bulbs to notice. The organist launched into "Rock of Ages," and Bobbi rendered a moving solo of it. Halfway through, Rita pulled out a handkerchief. Upshaw put an arm around her. Neither of them seemed to be acting.

The hymn finished, Bobbi resumed her seat, and a middle-aged minister with thinning blond hair approached the podium. He asked everyone to stand and say the Lord's Prayer with him, then we all sat, and he delivered a eulogy about a woman he'd never met. It struck me-not for the first time, for I'd attended a few funerals over the years- how at best hard or at worst cynical it must be to say something nice about a complete stranger. A murdered stranger at that. This one made a game effort, taking a theme about universal tragedy and how any death diminishes us all. It seemed to work; Rita was audibly crying. The photographer burned up another flashbulb to get that image, kneeling right in front of her.

Instead of a mere dirty look, he got something he couldn't help but notice. Rita lashed out with a velvet purse the size of a satchel and smacked him right on the bean. He tipped backwards, landing square on his ass, holding his camera high to keep it safe. Didn't work. Rita was out of her seat and caught the thing with the kind of kick that would have got her a first string spot at Notre Dame. There followed an expensive-sounding crash and clatter of breakage. The man recovered and came up cursing, but stopped short when he saw Upshaw and a couple other guys standing next to Rita glowering down at him. With a sick, pasted-on smile of apology, he backed off, palms out, and hastily gathered what was left of his equipment.

"Goddamn vultures," Rita snarled. In the shocked silence it carried throughout the room. This sparked a round of suppressed laughter, most of it from the photographer's cronies.

Somewhat wide of eye, the minister cleared his throat and everyone settled and resumed the face and form of proper mourning. The small army of reporters bent over their notepads, scribbling greedily. The sermon continued, we all recited Psalm 23, said amen, sang "Amazing Grace" with Bobbi leading, and that was the end of it. A general milling-around process began as some left to file stories and others walked up for a better look at Lena's photograph.

Bobbi got surrounded by a knot of men-nothing startling about that-but they were all reporters hoping for an interview. She managed to graciously ignore them and went over to Rita, who was now hanging on to Tony Upshaw's arm, using him as a shield against her own assault. They exchanged quiet words, then Bobbi detached Rita and led her over toward the alcove. Reporters followed, but I was already out the door in the back. I waited until Bobbi and Rita came through, then shut it fast. A few diehards banged loud protest, calling questions, but I jammed my foot against the base, effectively holding them at bay.

"You?" said Rita, looking at me with no small surprise. "I thought it was the funeral director wanting to talk to me."

"Jack just wanted to keep out the vultures," said Bobbi. "I've got things to see to, so..." She whisked off down a long, plain hallway, her heels clacking on the brown tiles.

Rita recovered fast enough. "What's this about? Who's she? And why are you-oh, never mind. I don't give a damn anymore." She dug into her purse and pulled out a fresh handkerchief, then soundly blew her nose.

"I'm sorry about your friend," I said.

"Yeah, me, too. It was a nice service even if she couldn't be here to see. What are you doing here? Why you hiding out?"

"She was found in my club, so it seemed the right thing to do, but I didn't want a bunch of newsmen all over me again."

She rolled her eyes. "You're telling me."

"If I'd known one of them was gonna try blinding you, I'd have had you seated in the family area."

"Don't worry. I enjoyed kicking the hell outta that asshole. Just wish I'd hit him instead of the camera."

"Trust me, you hurt him more with that than you could ever imagine."

"So what is this? You fishing for another date or something?" She lifted her veil back over her hat.

If I'd never met Bobbi, I'd have been sorely tempted. Rita looked good tonight. Better than last night. Despite the recent fracas, she seemed calmer somehow. For one thing, she hadn't been drinking. Maybe some of the stuff I'd planted in her head was having a good effect on her.

"I just have a couple more questions," I said.

This time she didn't launch into an argument. She just nodded with her new calmness, and a moment later I captured her full attention. It seemed best to put her under. I didn't know how long we had before Upshaw might come looking for her, and wanted to hurry things. I also didn't care to explain to her conscious mind how I'd acquired certain pieces of information.

"Does Shivvey know about that little records book you have hidden in the radio?" I asked.

"Sure he does," she said, without any hesitation. "I showed it to him when I found it in Lena's things."

"Why did you do that?"

"I didn't know what it was at first. We figured it out, though."

"Did he tell you to continue making entries?"

"Yeah. Said it'd be good insurance."

"Insurance? Against Booth Nevis?"

"Yeah. If he should decide he didn't need me working anymore, then I could use it to make him change his mind. That's what Shivvey said we could do with it."

"Very neat. You get to boss Nevis around, and Shivvey doesn't even come into the picture."

"I never bossed nobody. Don't have to."

Not yet, anyway. Shivvey could call the shots through Rita, and she'd be the one to take the fall if Nevis objected. If Nevis played along, then doubtless Shivvey would get a generous cut of whatever Rita got. That had changed, though. With Nevis in the clink, Shivvey could give the book to the cops and keep him there. "What about those extra numbers that Lena had in one of the columns? All those twenties and fifties?"

Rita, her eyes not focused on much of anything, shook her head. "I donno."

"What about Shivvey? Did he think she was skimming cash?"

"Skimming?"

"Did Shivvey ever ask you to look for money? For Lena's money?"

"Yeah... I looked. Shivvey helped me. Din' find squat."

And both of them had missed the treasure trove in the bookcase. But back then the glue on the end papers had been fresh, and Lena had been very, very careful about concealing her work. Five years of drying had made a world of difference.

"Do you think Nevis found out Lena was stealing from him?"

"Stealing?"

"Suppose Nevis caught her stealing and decided to punish her."

Rita didn't like that idea. She began to blink and shake her head, a sleeper trying to wake herself. "No, he loved her. He loved Lena."

My idea for a motive did seem thin and extreme, but if Nevis was in love, then thought himself betrayed, emotions would win out over common sense. I'd seen worse things happen for less. Hell, the night before I'd barely survived such an extreme.

Awareness came back to her eyes, rather quickly. Awareness and agitation. "What were you saying? You think Booth woulda-no. Oh, no."

"Rita, you have to listen..."

She pushed away a few steps, and put her back to me. "No, he'd-no, you don't know anything."

I followed. "Rita, look at me and listen a minute."

She made a small moan of frustration and began to turn. Then the alcove door opened, and Tony Upshaw came through. He gave us each a look, his gaze settling on Rita.

"You okay, doll?"

She snuffled into her handkerchief. "I wanna go home."

"Sure thing. He bothering you?"

"No, let's just get outta here."

He gave me another look, one that conveyed his certainty that I was the cause of her distress, and sauntered past to take her arm. He managed to just brush me on the return. It was meant as a challenge. I chose not to take it. Rita had told me all I really needed for the time being. No telling how much she would recall of my questioning, and no way to make sure of it now.

"Rita," I said before they made the door. They paused; she glanced back. "Stay clear of Nevis and Shivvey. It's important."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Things are happening. You don't want to be in the middle of them."

Upshaw frowned at me, very aware of what I wasn't saying. How much did he know?

"You got that?" I said.

"Yeah, sure I got that," she mumbled in a thick voice. Upshaw guided her out, beating a path through the still-present reporters.

I took Bobbi's hall route toward the front and found her standing in the entry next to Gordy. His massive presence was enough to prevent further interview attempts.

"How did it look to you?" she asked, referring to the service. She had her hat on and purse in hand, ready to leave.

"Just great. You sang like an angel."

"But that camera guy-"

"Just a bit of color, don't worry about it. The rest was very tasteful."

She gave a huge sigh of relief.

"Still think you needed a couple hundred chrysanthemums, big orange and brown ones," said Gordy.

She gave him a narrow look, lips pursed tight together.

"Okay, white then, but really big, the size of bowling balls."

She started to respond, then shook her head, giving up. She motioned at the hall I'd just emerged from. "How'd it go with that gal?"

"Well enough. I heard pretty much what I expected. Thanks for helping."

"Fine, you can tell me all about it later. I've got to get back to my job." She bestowed a quick peck on my cheek, then seemed to tow Gordy out. No mean feat considering his size. He raised one hand to indicate he was in a situation beyond his control, and away they went.

A plainclothes cop noted down their departure. He was obvious enough that he might as well have worn a uniform. He made more notes as others filed by. He already had my name. I had a mind to ask after Lieutenant Blair, but a tall, thin mourner in dark glasses and hat tilted low pushed his way through the press, in a hurry to get out.

There was no mistaking that angular jaw, hollow cheeks, and consumptive-looking frame.

I shot after him, a dog chasing a fresh bone. He was moving fast on those long legs, heading for his car. I caught up with him just as he started to get in.

Booth Nevis halted in mid-motion and stared at me over the car door. I assumed it was a stare; he kept the glasses on. "What are you doing here?" he wanted to know.

"Paying my respects, same as you."

He nodded once. "Well, all right then."

"We need to talk."

"Not now."

"We need to talk about Shivvey's next move."

He tilted his head slightly, considering. There was no telling how much he knew about what was going on, but he must have had some clue since he didn't ask for clarification. "Get in."

I got in. "Let's go to Lady Crymsyn. I heard your place was-"

"Yeah, I heard, too."

He took the specs off for the drive, replacing them once he'd parked in front of my club. I unlocked and ushered him in, this time accepting without annoyance that the bar light would be on.

In the wee hours last night I'd returned and cleaned everything. The odd stain originally confined to one tile had flooded to the grout with my additional contribution. No amount of scrubbing would remove it, but at least all other trace of my blood was gone. Only the soapy smell of the cleaner I'd used remained. The broken shelves I'd wrapped in newspaper and packed into the back alley trash cans, well out of sight and speculation. The work sheet on Malone's clipboard had a note instructing him to buy replacements. I gave no explanation on the fate of the originals.

"You believe in ghosts?" I asked Nevis.

"Huh?"

"Forget it. This way."

"Just a minute. Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Where she was."

Not knowing what to say to that, I kept shut. No spook's hand flicked the light toggles; I did it myself and made a follow-me gesture, taking Nevis through to the main room. He'd not been in the place that I knew of since I signed the lease, but was apparently in no frame of mind to admire the new scenery. He trudged along like a man going to the scaffold.

We went down to the basement. The cement mixer had apparently not arrived today; most of the floor toward the back was in the same rough state as when the men had been tearing down the brick dividers. I led him to the nook, which was quite gone. Scars in old cement and mortar showed where the false wall had been built up, but all else had been swept clean.

"Where?" he asked.

I pointed, glad the cops had taken away the eyebolt that had anchored Lena's bonds.

Nevis put his hands in his pockets and brooded a while in the harsh glare of the unshielded bulbs. He then gave the rest of the shadows a look-see, walking over to the yet unfilled-in trench at the foot of the far wall before turning heel.

"Okay, that's enough." There was no expression on what I could see of his face. The sunglasses hid what was important.

We went up to my office.

The window blinds were taken down, leaving yawning black holes punched into the stark white walls. I'd have to get some pictures or something in to ease the monotony.

Leon's crew-according to the report he'd left on the clipboard next to Malone's report-were still waiting for a portable cement mixer. Among other chores, they'd occupied their time today by painting my office, and the air was hardly breathable. Even if I didn't need it, Nevis was addicted to the stuff, so I opened things wide to let out the fumes. Besides, the dark background turned the glass panes into mirrors, with myself quite absent from their view. No need to complicate things.

The street below hosted only an occasional passing car. I expected Gordy to be coming by after he'd dropped off Bobbi, which wouldn't take long.

"What about Shivvey?" asked Nevis, settling into the spare chair. He didn't look like the cautious man on guard as he'd been the last time I'd seen him. His bony shoulders drooped, his hands hung loose over the chair arms. His posture was not so much tired as don't-give-a-damn exhaustion.

"When did the cops get done with you?"

He took his time answering. "Couple hours ago. And they're not done with me yet. They were all over that place."

"I saw them. They'd have been there anyway." Headlights turned onto the road half a block down. A green Ford. It parked in a dark patch between the streetlights. Right in front of a hydrant. Because of the distance I only just discerned the driver's general outline, but no details. Couldn't tell if he had company in the back or not. I stepped away from the window and told Nevis. "Think it's Shivvey?"

He gave a resigned snort. "Not his car. That's a cop keeping tabs on me. Why don't they just hang out neon signs?"

"Same reason why they ran you into a door. They want you off-balance so you spill for them."

One corner of his mouth curled, and he ruefully took off the glasses, folding them into the breast pocket of his coat. He had a spectacular shiner framing his left eye, not unlike Malone's.

"I spilled," he said, "but we had a problem. I wasn't giving them what they wanted to hear."

"As in confessing to Lena Ashley's murder?"

He nodded, flapping one long hand dismissively. "I'm here to talk about Shivvey."

"You heard from him today?"

"No, and I should have. Rita told me about the funeral and said she hadn't seen him since last night. Shivvey's up to something. I can see that now, or he'd have been by to spring me yesterday. I don't know how far he'll go, though. Maybe he wants a bigger piece of pie, maybe he wants the whole bakery. Until I learn different, I'll figure he's going for the bakery."

Wise of him.

"What's your angle in this?" he asked.

"Your boy did some unnecessary pushing around of me last night, which I did not appreciate. Thinks I've got eyes for Rita-which I don't. I'd like the chance to straighten him out on a few facts."

Nevis snorted again, amusement this time. "Hard to tell where he is with her. Some guys who chase her he doesn't care about, like Upshaw; others he gets his nose out of joint. You must be one of the lucky ones."

"So I gathered. Where would he be hiding himself?"

"He's got a hotel room someplace."

"A friend of mine checked on that today. Came up empty." The phone had been ringing just as I'd wakened. Gordy had sounded disappointed about his lack of progress. I was just glad to learn Rita was still safe. Two of the men sitting by her at the service were on the Nightcrawler payroll. "You know any other place Shivvey might run to if he didn't want to be found?"

"If I did, he wouldn't be there."

"Come on, you gotta know some bolt-hole he'd creep into."

Nevis grimaced, rubbing his good eye, which was very bloodshot. "Listen, I've been getting shit like this from goddamned cops for longer than I can remember. I've had no sleep since the night before last and no food except for about fifty cups of coffee they gave me to keep me jumping. Why the hell should I start answering your questions?"

I decided to risk giving him another migraine. "Nevis..." I focused on him carefully, taking things slow. In the next minute I got to know the lines and planes of his face in rare detail and watched them gradually ease and soften as all thought, all worry seeped from his conscious mind. That was reassuring. I didn't care to have another incident with him collapsing on me.

"Tell me everything you know about Lena Ashley," I said.

"She's dead," he murmured in a lost, hollow voice.

"Yes. I want to know why you walled her up."

"Wha... no."

"Talk to me, Nevis. Why did you kill her?"

Tension crept back into his body, starting with his shoulders bunching up, then his head bowing. "No."

"You have to tell me. You'll feel better once you do. Why did you kill her?"

Violent shake of his head. "No!"

Jeez, he was jolting himself out of it. I was either losing my touch or his headache was going to reappear to screw things up again. "All right, take it easy, Nevis."

But he didn't take it easy and surged awkwardly up from his chair, lurching a few uneven steps across the office. His eyes were unfocused; if he wanted to hit something, he couldn't see it. I waited, then sniffed the paint-laden air for any whiff of illness coming from him. Just ordinary sweat this time, but tinged with the acid bite of anger.

I said his name a few times. His breathing slowed as I gave him soothing, calming words, but his expression remained tense even after he resumed his seat. I frowned and thought glum thoughts, the kind that come to me when I have to admit I'd tripped up somewhere.

"Okay, Nevis, you're not going to get upset anymore. Just answer me straight. Did you know about Lena skimming money from the bets she placed for you?"

The answer took its own sweet time coming, but he finally shrugged. "Yes, but I could afford it."

"Weren't you angry with her for stealing from you?"

"At first. But it didn't mean anything. I could afford it."

I felt a keen sympathy with the cops. This wasn't what I wanted to hear. "Did you kill Lena?"

"No! I want... want..." He was fighting me again, his anger giving him strength. If I pressed too hard, he'd be useless. Even if it wasn't what I wanted, I had what I needed and told him to relax, then waited until he woke from his hypnotic haze. He gradually wilted like a balloon losing air, until he leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. From the sounds he was making-long shuddering sighs-it was from raw grief, not physical pain. It hurt to watch him, so I stared out the window. The green Ford was still there. The driver had gotten out. He had his back against the curbside face of the car, and sent a plume of cigarette smoke into the still night air. Just filling the time until Nevis emerged.

"I didn't want this," he stated. That hollow note was back in his voice. He looked hollow, gouged from the inside out with a dull chisel. "I was hoping she'd just taken the cash and run away, that when it got spent, she'd come back. I didn't want her dead. My God, dead like that."

"What happened the last time you saw her?"

"Nothing. It was just another night at the club. She'd done her usual run to the bookies and brought in the cash winnings, same as always. We had a drink, and she went to sit out front while I did the counting. She kept back a twenty, and I pretended not to notice. Same as always."

"You sure you didn't mind her stealing?"

"In a five-grand bet who cares if I'm short a couple bucks? I sure as hell didn't. I spend more than that in tips."

"Who else knew she was stealing?"

"No one."

Which isolated him as a man with a motive. But unless he was hiding a spectacular force of will or cockeyed insanity, he'd given me the truth about his innocence.

"Who'd she see that last night? Who spoke to her?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Same people as always, Rita was there."

"What about Tony Upshaw?"

"Yeah."

"And Shivvey?"

"Him, too. I'd just hired him on a week earlier."

"You knew he was after Lena for himself?"

"Didn't matter. She was with me, and he never went near her. He started going sweet on Rita about then."

A practical man, Mr. Coker. Never mooch on the boss's territory. If he'd had an inkling of Lena's skimming game, that would give him a reason to get rough with her. I found it easier to believe in Coker's greed as a motive than her rejecting his advances. Except that he couldn't have known about the money cache until after her disappearance, when Rita showed him the record book. I didn't see how any of them could have lied to me, so I'd very obviously tripped up. Or maybe missed a step.

The only other man even remotely involved was Tony Upshaw, and if five years ago as a wet-eared kid he'd had the balls to wall a young woman up alive, I was a monkey's uncle and then some. He'd be the type to boast about it. I'd talk to him, just to be thorough. There was a slim chance he'd known about the skimming, in which case things would almost make sense again. I wanted sense, even if it meant adding bananas to my limited diet.

And if Tony was also innocent, then me and the cops were clean out of luck. Lena could have been the victim of some sadist none of us knew about. Unthinkable, but not impossible. If so, then we'd never find him.

"I want the man who killed her," said Nevis. He'd fully woken out of his trance, was thinking again for himself. "I'm going to take him apart."

The way he spoke gave me to understand that he would be literal with his intent and do it with his bare hands. I hitched a hip on my desk corner.

"You've got no idea who it might have been?"

"I've got no ideas left. I need sleep."

"Go get some, then, but watch your back."

"From Shivvey? Of course."

"I mean it, Nevis. You see the papers today?"

"What about them?"

An afternoon edition was on my table under a stack of the day's mail. I fished it out. The story about the barbershop shoot-out had made it above the fold. The names of the victims were being withheld by the cops pending further investigation.

Nevis had a green cast to his already-present pallor. "What is this?"

"You can expect more heat from the law. Since you were in custody, they can't pin this on you, but those four were all bouncers at the Ace."

"You saying Shivvey did this?"

"I'm pretty certain of it. He wanted to cover his tracks."

"Y-you fill me in. What the hell is going on?"

He got a highly edited version of events. "... so Shivvey and his boys left me for dead. He didn't want witnesses blabbing, that's why I figure he scragged them. Gris is gone, too, probably."

He shook his head. "No, this is going too far and too fast. I can see Shivvey trying to take over the Ace, but this?"

"Well, you know him better than me. What's he capable of?"

Nevis closed his sagging jaw. Something new in his weary eyes: fear. He wasn't used to it. "No, none of this happened like you're saying. You don't look like he got anywhere near rough. What kind of bull are you trying to feed me?"

I fixed on his gaze again. "It's no bull, Nevis, you can believe me. Think things over. But watch your back while you do. Don't go anywhere he might know about."

Release.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I gotta get out of here."

On that we were in agreement. If he was sickening for another headache, I didn't want him around. Gordy would be along soon, and I'd prefer not to risk more hypnosis on Nevis. "Okay, come on."

He levered up, walking stiff and slow as I herded him out. We were in the hall when I heard something, a couple of somethings, making loud, sharp clunks behind me in the office. I started to turn, but hesitated, then a leftover instinct from my Army days made me give Nevis a violent push forward and throw myself down next to him. He squawked a ripe protest at the treatment, but the two near-simultaneous bangs close behind us utterly drowned him out.

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