It must've been his private line he answered it himself. I could hear him beaming as he said, "Lacone here. I don't recognize your caller

ID.".

"Axbrewder, Mr. Lacone. I picked up a cell phone this morning so we could keep in touch."

"Brew." His tone shifted to a warmer channel.

"How's it going? Did Anson take care of everything for you? Are those chops safely tucked away?"

I leaned into the blast from the AC, still trying to cool down.

"Everything's fine so far." I hadn't asked him to call me Brew. He must've picked it up from Sternway. Or Deborah.

"Mr. Stern-way gave me this number and your skeleton key. The chops have been delivered to Essential Shotokan. I've had a tour of the building, and paid a visit to Sifu Hong. Tomorrow I'll drop in on Master Soon and Sake Gravel."

"Good, good." He'd tuned his enthusiasm to an all-approval station.

"Sounds like you've made a real start."

Before I could express an opinion about that, he went on, "How does it look so far, Brew? We agreed on a week for a full report, but naturally I'm curious about your preliminary reactions. How much worrying should I do right now?"

I could've told him, but I wanted to deflect him a bit, maybe disturb his balance some.

"One question first, Mr. Lacone," I countered.

"This skeleton key how many other copies are there?"

"Two, I believe," he replied without hesitation.

"We keep one handy in case we need to send out someone for emergency repairs. And of course it's available for the police, the fire department, the paramedics, that sort of thing. The other is in our office strongbox. Just as a precaution."

"And you're sure you have your copies? They haven't been misplaced or borrowed?" I meant stolen.

"I'll check."

The phone picked up a clicking sound like an intercom switch. Then I heard Lacone ask, "Cassie, do you have the keys for Martial America?"

A woman's voice somewhere in the background answered. It seemed to quaver a little.

"I have one of them here, Mr. Lacone. The other is in the strongbox."

"Good, good." I guess he liked saying that. Without prompting, he continued, "Has anyone used them recently?"

"Not since we made the copy you gave to Mr. Sternway."

"Thank you, Cassie." The clicking sound came again.

"Cassandra Hightower," Lacone explained to me.

"My personal assistant. She hasn't made a mistake since the Roosevelt administration." He chuckled.

"That's Teddy Roosevelt." Then he added, "She'll give you any help you need if I'm not available."

I nodded at the windshield, trying not to get lost.

"Glad to hear it." Maybe I could stop worrying about skeleton keys.

Lord knows I had plenty of other worries.

"You asked for a preliminary opinion, Mr. Lacone," I went on.

"The way I see it, right now the chops would be safer if you just left them in the parking lot. That way no one would think they're worth anything."

For a moment, he offered me a shocked silence. Then he murmured, "Oh, my." Which was a big improvement on good, good.

"That seems harsh."

"I don't think so." I didn't want to drag the conversation out.

Garner's convulsive rush hour had begun to gather around me, and I needed to concentrate on my driving.

"I'm sure you remember how the locks are keyed. Each dojo just has one. The same key fits the front door, the fire exits, the apartments, the conference room." Plus whatever was on the third floor.

"Anyone with a copy of Essential Shotokan's key can get at the chops at any time, day or night."

I could feel him getting ready to object, but I forestalled him by saying, "I assume that Nakahatchi sensei has been sensible about copies. I'm told there are only four. But those aren't complicated locks, Mr. Lacone. Anyone with a set of picks can open them. And you can buy picks almost anywhere." Including mail order.

"Along with instructions. In effect, anyone at all can get at the chops.

"As matters stand, you'd better pray that Nakahatchi sensei and Mr.

Komatori are light sleepers, because that's all the protection you've got."

Sammy Posten could've told Lacone exactly the same thing. He didn't need me. But I kept that to myself.

Lacone breathed, "Oh, my," again. This time I didn't hear any imminent objections.

"It's a simple problem, really, Mr. Lacone," I explained.

"That building was designed for public use, not to secure valuable antiques. Any place like it would have the same problems."

After a long moment's consideration, he asked, "What do you suggest?"

For once he didn't sound like he was smiling.

"Two things to start with," I replied promptly.

"First, install a couple of heavy bolts on the inside of the conference room door. And I don't mean deadbolts you can open with a key. I'm talking about old-fashioned sliding bolts set top-and-bottom so that they anchor the door to both the lintel and th

"Then hire an electronic security firm to put motion sensors in the hall outside the conference room. And set pressure plates under the carpet in front of the door. Have them all wired to an arming switch in Nakahatchi's apartment or Komatori's.