"Good for you," I said.

He picked up his phone and punched up a number without looking it up. He waited, talked briefly with Mary Smith, nodded several times, probably for my benefit, and hung up.

"No," he said.

"She won't authorize the statements?"

"No."

"She say why not?"

"No."

"And you didn't ask?" I said.

"It's her right," Tyler said. "She doesn't have to explain."

"How nice for her," I said. "You have any thoughts on who would want to kill Nathan?"

"I thought Mary did it."

"Because?"

"Because according to the paper the cops say she did it."

"And you believe it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"She seem the type?" I said.

"Oh h.e.l.l. I didn't know them like that. It was mostly a business friendship."

"So you think she murdered her husband, but you still need her permission to give me access to something as innocuous as his monthly statements?"

"I have a fiduciary responsibility here. I can't betray it. If I did, and word got around, who would trust me?"

"You're a stockbroker," I said. "You think people trust you now?"

"I don't think we have anything else to talk about," Tyler said.

"We do, Brink," I said. "But I'm willing to let it wait."

He didn't say anything. I got up and let myself out and, encouraged by her hip sway when she'd ushered me in, smiled my killer smile at the secretary. She smiled back at me pleasantly.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

When I got to the garage there was a fat guy lingering around the elevator, and Curly had come up quite close behind me. All three of us waited for the elevator. Curly and the fat guy were in compet.i.tion to see which of them could look more nonchalant. When the elevator doors opened I turned and went past the two men and took the stairs instead of the elevator. Except in high-status buildings, elevators were for sissies.

I hotfooted it up the stairs and stopped on the fourth-floor landing. I could hear footsteps behind me. I went into the garage and walked toward my car. The fat guy was already there, exiting the elevator. Behind me Curly emerged from the stairwell. There was no one else in sight. The fat guy stepped in front of me.

He said, "Hold it there, pal."

I stopped. Behind me I could hear Curly's footsteps.

"You know," I said, "if you'd use the stairs every time, instead of taking the elevator, you wouldn't be so fat."

"f.u.c.k you," the fat guy said.

"Gee," I said. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

I glanced back. Curly had stopped a few feet behind me. I did a half turn so that I could see both of them.

"We wanna know what you're doing," the fat guy said.

"Isn't it obvious," I said. "I'm talking with a couple of a.s.sholes."

"You're a funny guy," Fatso said. "Ain't he a funny guy, Bo."

"Funny guy," Curly Bo said.

"We ain't funny guys," Fatso said.

"I can see that," I said.

"And we want to know what you was talking to Brink Tyler about."

"Who?"

"You know who, you was just in his office."

"Oh," I said. "The Brinkster. Yeah. We were talking about diversifying my portfolio."

The fat guy didn't know what to say. He was used to people being scared of him, and it confused him that I wasn't. Also, he probably didn't know what a portfolio was. Bo, aka Curly, decided to step in.

"Okay, pal," he said. "Let's not f.u.c.k around here. We ask questions. You answer them, and you answer them straight. You understand? Or you get your a.s.s kicked."

I spread my hands. "Hey," I said. "No problem. I didn't know you guys were serious."

"That's better," the fat guy said.

I kicked him in the crotch. While he was sinking to his knees, I swung around and popped Curly Bo with a right hook, and broke his nose. Bo was game. With the blood running down his chin he caught me with an overhand right on the side of the head. I hit him with a left hook and a right hook, and he went down. Fatso, on his knees and in pain, had fumbled a gun out. I kicked it out of his hand and heard it skitter away under one of the cars.

"You guys been roughing up civilians too long," I said. "Whatever you had to start with, you've lost."

"f.u.c.k you," Fatso said.

Curly Bo was on his hands and knees, his head lolling, as he tried to clear the buzz from his brain.

"Who is it wants to know what I'm doing?" I said.

"f.u.c.k you," Fatso said.

"Soldiers Field Development, perhaps?"

"f.u.c.k you," Fatso said.

"Maybe I could beat it out of you," I said.

"Maybe you couldn't," Fatso said.

I stood for a minute and thought about it.

"You're right," I said. "Maybe I couldn't."

I went past them and got in my car and drove away. In the rearview mirror I could see them still on the ground as I turned onto the down ramp and headed out.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Rita had sandwiches and coffee sent in, and we ate lunch together at a cherry-wood conference table in her office. From where I sat I could look through Rita's big window and along the south sh.o.r.e to the narrow arch of land on which Hull dangled into the Atlantic.

"As I recall," I said, "when you were working in Norfolk County, you had an office with one wooden chair."

"And a view of my file cabinet," Rita said.

"And a lot of young male ADA'S fresh out of law school hanging around the door with a clear interest in your body."

Rita smiled, and said, "Those were the days, my friend."

She took a small bite of her tuna-fish sandwich and chewed it in a ladylike manner, and swallowed gracefully.

"You ever sleep with a redhead?" she said.

"I'm not sure," I said.

"Lost count, have we?"

I had a ham and cheese sandwich on light rye. I ate some.

"Come to think of it," Rita said, "so have I."

I drank some coffee. "Good for us," I said.

"Yeah," Rita said. "Better than being able to remember the only one, in detail."

"There's only been one for a while," I said.

"I'm painfully aware of that," Rita said.

"Moving on," I said. "What did you find out about Soldiers Field Development?"

"Not a h.e.l.l of a lot," Rita said. "They do real estate development-office buildings, motels, malls, stuff like that. Nathan Smith was on the board of directors."

"Oh ha!"

"Oh ha? What the h.e.l.l is Oh ha?"

"Combination of oh ho and ah ha," I said. "I believe in variety."

"Me too," Rita said. "Do you say oh ha when you encounter a clue?"

"Or ah ha! Or oh ho! Depends on how many clues I have to react to."

"Well, it's not been much of a problem in this case," Rita said. "Why are you so interested in Soldiers Field Development?"

"There's been people following me since I took this case," I said. "They're connected to Soldiers Field Development."

"And now Nathan Smith turns up on the board," Rita said.

"Yes."

Rita smiled.

"Oh ha!" she said. "So how does this help my client?"

"If she didn't kill him, someone else did. I'm looking for the someone else."

"And how does this do that?" Rita said.

"I don't know yet," I said. "What I know is that something's going on with Soldiers Field Development that is connected to this case."

Rita picked up her coffee and stood and went to the window and looked out, sipping coffee.

"Are you thinking?" I said. "Or showing me your b.u.t.t?"

"Both," Rita said. "I think better standing, but I haven't put in all those hours on the StairMaster to hide my b.u.t.t under a bushel."