And it didn't account for the distinct modulation of Ginny's manner toward me.

Just to be on the safe side, I checked my map. It indicated that I was right on track.

In my condition, the mere idea felt like a cruel joke.

Sighing to myself, I picked up the phone and dialed the number on Edgar Moy's card.

He didn't sound surprised to hear from me. And he told me without prodding that the driver's license in Hardshorn's wallet identified him as "James M. Hardshorn," address withheld pending investigation. The wallet also contained nearly fifteen hundred bucks in cash, but no credit cards or other information in particular, no conveniently incriminating phone numbers, addresses, or contacts.

If Moy had learned anything useful last night, he kept it to himself.

Instead he told me in a bored tone which might've masked humor or irritation that no one had admitted knowing Hardshorn outside the fight club. Several patrons reported watching him fight several times. A couple of fighters said that they'd taken him on. None of them had ever seen him lose.

They'd said the same of Anson Sternway. Apparently Stern-way and Hardshorn had never tackled each other. According to one of the bouncers, the two were establishing their reputations so that when they finally fought the winner would make as much money as possible.

Ah, hell. I thanked the detective and hung up. I still didn't know whether he took my theory about Bernie's killer seriously, but I figured I'd better leave that subject to Marshal. He'd known Moy a lot longer than I had.

So far I hadn't accomplished a thing for Bernie or Alyse. So what?

Take it a step at a time. No one ever cracked a case by standing still.

Despite or maybe because of my floundering sensation, I called Deborah Messenger next.

I was on a roll of sorts. Like Marshal and Sergeant Moy, she answered her phone right away.

"Deborah," I said, "it's Brew," just to prove that I could benefit from Marshal's advice.

"Are we still on for tonight?"

She laughed with pleasure.

"Let me put it this way. If you're calling to cancel, I'll buy a voodoo doll and stick pins in it until you change your mind."

I grinned into the phone.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't miss it."

How else could I hope to find out what she was up to?

"In that case," she said like nibbling on my ear, "this must be a business call. I'll try to act like a professional." Her tone gave the remark a provocative fris son

"I suppose one of us had better." Without transition my grip turned slick on the wheel. I could hardly hold onto the phone.

"Otherwise I might drive into a pole."

She laughed again.

"Flatterer."

I swallowed at the sudden lump of desire in my throat.

"But you're right, it's business.

"Has Watchdog decided to get the chops appraised?"

"If you can call what corporations do 'deciding,"

" she told me, "yes. The home offices still aren't willing to rely on a local appraisal. Their expert will fly out from New York next week as scheduled. But they agree that getting a temporary evaluation here might be a good idea.

"Sammy talked them into it. Those crooks at the tournament really spooked him. He's convinced himself that more of them are lining up on the sidewalk." I pictured her rolling her eyes.

"He can be pretty hysterical, as I'm sure you've noticed, but he knows how to play company politics. I'll bring Carliss Swilley out to Martial America around eleven this morning, if that suits you."

Politely she added, "I've already called Essential Shotokan."

I checked my watch automatically.

"Eleven is fine. Any excuse to see you before this evening works for me." I hesitated, then forged ahead.

"I've got an idea I want to try."

As soon as I said it, I felt like I'd stepped off a cliff. Suddenly I'd committed myself to intuitions I couldn't name, possibilities I didn't want to face.

But Deborah didn't know that.

"Does Martial America have a restroom we can lock?" She sounded like she was licking her lips.

"It's not that kind of idea." I wedged the phone at my ear with my shoulder, scrubbed both palms on my pants.

"I thought it might be interesting to ask Sifu Hong's opinion of the chops."

She took a moment to change gears.

"Is he an authority?"

"Probably not in the way you mean." I continued falling.

"But he's a moral authority. If I can tell him that Watchdog Insurance and Alex Lacone value his opinion, it might relax his hostility a bit."

Certainly it might make my job easier by defusing some of his personal distrust.

"And who knows? It may give Posten ammunition to use on your home offices."

Deborah paused to consider the idea. After a few seconds, she answered slowly, "Brew, I have to be sure I understand what you're asking." She sounded dubious.

"Do you want us to offer Sifu Hong an appraiser's fee? Because if you do " "No," I put in, "nothing that official. I just want to be able to tell him that I speak for Watchdog as well as Lacone when I ask for his cooperation."

Lacone wouldn't object. Anything to keep the peace.

"Oh, that's no problem." Her relief was evident.

"You can use my name. And Sammy's. I'll make sure he doesn't get hurry about it. The homes offices won't complain. Since they aren't excited about the idea of a local appraisal, even a temporary one, they'll welcome a second opinion. If the two don't match, they can feel smug about insisting on their own expert. And if Sifu Hong agrees with Mr. Swilley, that only strengthens Watchdog's position."