"Will you excuse us?"

Lacone smiled us on our way, and Sternway gestured me to the back of the dais.

While I followed, Sue Rasmussen looked in our direction. When I met her gaze, she treated me to a glare of cold fury.

It shocked me like a douse of cold water. Without transition the inside of my head seemed to shift. Suddenly I didn't have any trouble restraining my bitterness. I didn't need it.

From the rear of the dais, we weren't really out of earshot. However, the tournament had enough volume to cover us if we kept our voices down.

Sternway faced me with his usual lack of expression. Riding a wave of pure intuition, I plunged right in.

"Mr. Sternway, you were in the lobby when I went by, but you told Detective Moy that you didn't see anyone head for the men's room. Are you sure?" Playing at helplessness, I added, "I don't know who else to ask."

The IAMA director kept his face closed.

"I was talking with Mr. Lacone and Ms. Messenger. It never occurred to me to watch who went to the men's room."

Which was essentially what he'd said to Moy.

"But are you sure?" I asked, still playing.

"I would've said that the guy who killed Bernie was pretty easy to spot."

A hint of exasperation tightened Sternway's brows, but I hurried on before he could interrupt.

"Heavyset, a bit shorter than me. Dingy sweats the kind of dingy you get when you don't do much laundry. Light on his feet, hard forehead, fat jowls. Eyes the color of his sweats," and almost that clean.

He was getting tired of me.

"As I told Moy " I cut in, "I heard you." I wasn't playing now.

"But this guy's obviously a fighter. I thought all you martial artists knew each other."

He assessed me for a moment, then stated flatly, "You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that. I just don't have anything else to go on.

You're the king of this little world. I would've thought that being observant was a requirement of the job."

He didn't hesitate.

"Axbrewder, this tournament, any tournament, is filled with people I know and people I don't. I can't be expected to recognize them all."

I didn't hesitate either.

"OK, forget the sweats. How about people you know that aren't here?

Have you met anyone who matches that description?"

Sternway opened his mouth, then caught himself. His gaze wandered briefly, looking for something. Inspiration? A memory?

"Perhaps " he murmured.

"I'm not sure." He massaged his left forearm.

"I'll have to think about it."

When he faced me again, he'd recovered his exasperation.

"I hope you aren't wasting my time with this. Your question doesn't make sense. None of the people I know here fit your description. If I know a man who does, he isn't here. So he " I had no more idea than Sternway did what my question meant, but I didn't worry about it.

Intuition is like that. Making sense was someone else's job usually Ginny's. Before he could finish, I countered like I knew what I was doing, "Or you didn't notice him."

That stopped him. After a moment's consideration, he nodded.

"I'll think about it. That's the best I can offer."

If I hadn't disliked his manner so much, I might've said thanks. But I didn't. Instead I changed the subject.

"So how did you hurt your arm?"

I wanted to catch him off balance, but I must've been dreaming. He was HRH Anson Sternway, Mr. Shorin-Ryu 8th-dan on his own turf, and he didn't so much as blink.

"A stupid accident." He glanced at his forearm.

"I was walking behind the dais" he indicated the floor below us "and tripped on one of the wires." A tangle of leads and power cords for the microphones and laptops sprawled in plain sight.

"When I fell, I hit my arm on the edge where we're standing."

I didn't have any reason to doubt him, so I replied piously, "I hope you didn't tear your blazer."

He showed me the fabric.

"Apparently not."

I might've responded with some empty remark about expensive blazers being worth what they cost, but he distracted me by staring abruptly into my eyes.

"Why do you care?"

I smiled insincerely.

"I don't. I was just curious." Since I couldn't threaten his balance, I tried to keep him on his toes instead.

"Part of my job. I get paid to notice things."

His gaze didn't waver.

"You seem to be good at it."

Well, shit. If that constituted keeping him on his toes, I needed to find some other line of work. Nevertheless I still felt strangely lucid, defended by a sense of intuition that I didn't try to explain.