I didn't know what he did with his off hours or rather I thought I knew way too much about what he did with them so I feared that he wouldn't answer. But he picked up after the second ring.

"Viviter."

He didn't sound like I'd interrupted him in the middle of anything really compulsory.

"Marshal." A complex relief blunted the edge that usually came into my voice when I talked to him.

"It's Brew."

"Brew," he acknowledged.

"You never quit, do you."

"You forget I don't know anyone in Garner." I tried to keep it light.

"Who else am I going to talk to?"

"So talk." He hesitated fractionally, then asked, "Are you all right?

You sound " He didn't specify how I sounded.

Instead of answering his question, I said, "I'm in Bernie's apartment."

"Really? That's called 'breaking and entering," Brew."

"Tell me about it some other time," I retorted.

"I don't work for you, so it's not your worry."

Abruptly I stopped. With the phone clamped hard to my head, I paused to kick myself for being snide to a man who hadn't actually done anything except help me.

Through my teeth, I muttered, "Sorry about that. The strain must be getting to me."

He didn't respond. I took a deep breath and started again.

"I know I asked you to research Bernie's past. But I didn't know how much you could accomplish without a client to represent, and I had some time, so I came here.

"I've been through his papers." Compounding the misdemeanor.

"And I've called a bunch of his friends and relatives. Here's the short version. He was involved in absolutely nothing that might explain why he was killed. If he hadn't walked into that restroom right when he did, he'd still be alive."

Pure fucking bad luck.

"For a man who just met him three days ago," Marshal observed, "you're taking this pretty hard."

I wanted to pull the phone away from my ear and beat myself on the head with it.

"You haven't seen this apartment," I countered.

"It's so damn lonely " My throat closed.

"And you aren't?" he asked quietly.

"Come on, Brew. You knew from the start that it probably didn't have anything to do with him. If he hadn't been pugnacious and independent enough to go into that restroom alone, he'd still be alive. You're grasping at straws. If Bernie was involved in something that got him killed, you might not have to feel so sorry for him.

"Or " Again he didn't specify.

And again I didn't ask. I didn't want to risk hearing him say that he thought I was just feeling sorry for myself.

Changing the subject hard, I asked, "Have you heard anything new from Moy? Has the ME figured out which hand left that bruise on Bernie's wrist?"

Marshal had no trouble keeping up with me.

"You're going to love this," he said in a completely different tone.

"He was so taken with the question that he called back to tell me the answer." Cops never called private investigators back. That was a law.

"The ME says the bruise was made with the assailant's right hand. The bruise on the left cheek looks like it was made backhand, with the left fist. It's about the right size and shape for that. He now speculates that the assailant grabbed the right wrist with his right hand and swung his left fist across the left cheek."

For some reason, Marshal didn't remind me that the ME and Moy didn't know about the flik because I hadn't mentioned it.

Staring at ships in bottles, I asked, "What about those fibers?" The ones pounded into Bernie's throat.

"Does the ME know yet if they came from Bernie's blazer?"

"That's not his department." Somehow Marshal managed to sound like he wasn't making an effort to be patient.

"The blazer and the fibers are at the lab now. But I'm sure Moy only went that far because he liked my question about the wrist bruise. He thinks this one's too obvious. He won't ask the lab to hurry on it."

That, too, was my fault. No doubt the detective assumed that the killer used his own weapon. Moy had no reason to think the fibers could've come from some other blazer.

"He ought to take a closer look," I growled in my own defense.

"I didn't see any spots on Bernie's blazer that looked like fibers were torn off."

"Brew " Marshal began.

I heard the warning in his tone.

"Don't say it," I snapped.

"I'll tell him. I'll call him in the morning."

Then I sighed. Marshal probably deserved an explanation. Wearily I said, "I only kept my mouth shut because Wisman asked me to."

"Wisman?"

"One of The Luxury's security guards. They aren't supposed to carry weapons. Hotel policy. He thought he'd get in trouble if anyone found out about Bernie's fh'k. The dumb kid had a tonfa hidden under his jacket. I guess I wanted him to trust me. At the time, anyway. We were supposed to be working together."

Viviter considered this for a moment. Finally he pronounced, "I understand. No harm, no foul, as they say. Even if you'd betrayed Wisman's little secret right away, the lab wouldn't have started on those fibers until the ME was done. We wouldn't be much closer to an answer than we are now."