Everyone in the room was quiet.

"How long had he held the policy?" Russo said.

"He said he had it since he was a small boy."

"You check the policy?" Russo said.

"Oh, no. I really, really don't read things like that. They're really..."

Russo nodded and looked at Rita as he spoke to Mary.

"Most policies have an exclusion period, generally two years," Russo said. "After that they pay off on suicide like any other death."

Mary stared at him as if he were speaking in tongues. "I needed the money," she said.

I saw Rita sneak a long breath of air. "Okay?" she said to Quirk.

Quirk looked at me. "You got anything to offer?" he said.

"What kind of trouble was going on at the bank?" I said.

"Oh, I really don't know anything about that kind of thing," Mary said. "He brought Mr. Conroy in to help fix it."

I nodded. "You don't know where Conroy is now, do you?"

"At the bank, I guess."

"Just while we're all here," I said, "could I clean up one other little confusion? How'd you meet your husband, Mrs. Smith?"

She smiled at Larson Graff.

"Larson introduced us," she said.

"So he knew your husband prior to your marriage?"

"Excuse me?"

"Graff and your husband knew each other before you married your husband," I said.

"Oh, yes, of course."

I looked at Graff and waited. He was looking alertly at the tabletop. n.o.body else spoke.

"That so?" I said to Larson.

"I don't, I guess..." He frowned at the table. "I don't really recall."

"You told me that you met him because he called you on behalf of his wife," I said.

"I didn't... I..."

Graff looked at Quirk. "I just don't think this is about me," Graff said.

Quirk nodded.

"Do I have to answer his questions?" Graff said.

"Nope."

"Well then, I won't."

"So," Quirk said. "Did you know Smith before he was married or not?"

"I don't remember."

"Mrs. Smith?" Quirk said.

"What?"

"Did Mr. Graff introduce you to your husband?"

"Yes. I told you that."

"He says he didn't."

"Larson, you did, too," Mary said. "You called me up and told me you had a rich friend that wanted to be married, and it was Nathan."

Graff didn't say anything.

"Larson," Mary said. "You did."

"Do I have to stay here?" Graff said.

n.o.body responded. Graff looked around the table for a moment. Then he stood and left the room.

"Well, my G.o.d," Mary said. "What's wrong with him?"

"Maybe a lot," I said.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE.

Thomas Bisbee, wearing a yellow hard hat, was standing in the middle of a big building lot where three foundations were being poured. Since I hadn't seen anything that could fall on my head when I had parked on the street and started in, I risked the area without a hard hat. Bisbee had a clipboard, too, and work boots, and a tape measure on his belt-everything necessary to look exactly like a general contractor. In fact, of course, he was simply an appraiser and could have worn an Armani suit for all the heavy lifting he was going to perform. But apparently he liked the look.

"My name is Spenser," I said. "I'm a detective working on a murder."

"So how can I help you?" Bisbee said.

"We need to talk," I said.

"About what?"

"Felton Shawcross," I said, "Soldiers Field Development, Nathan Smith, Marvin Conroy, Brinkman Tyler, Ann Kiley, Jack DeRosa."

If you don't know which bait to use you throw it all out and let the fish tell you. Bisbee stood stock-still.

After a pause he said, "Who?"

I repeated the names. He listened, his face grimly blank. When I finished, he said, "We can sit on that wall," and walked over and sat on a stone wall that had probably belonged to the old farmhouse that was being replaced. I sat beside him.

"What's this about Marvin Conroy?" he said.

"You tell me," I said.

"What makes you think I have something to tell?"

"Because Marvin had two guys beat you up a while ago, and you wouldn't press charges."

"I... They didn't really hurt me," he said.

"Because a postal cop came along and stopped them before they did," I said. "Why didn't you press charges?"

"I... What's this about a murder?"

"Four or five murders," I said.

"My G.o.d."

"Why didn't you press charges?" I said.

Across the open field a big cement truck had backed in against the foundation forms and begun to sluice a gray slurry of concrete into the first foundation. There were some dandelions in the field, and a few b.u.t.tercups. The breeze riffled the surface of the uncut gra.s.s.

"I don't want to discuss it," Bisbee said.

He was a thin-faced man with a gray-streaked black mustache and goatee. I waited.

I said, "We're way past that, Mr. Bisbee. You're a material witness to a case of multiple homicide. You could be arrested."

I was careful not to say that I would arrest him, as I had been careful not to say I was a police detective. But misunderstanding was possible.

"G.o.d, Jesus!" he said.

"So why didn't you press charges?"

"If I tell you, would I still be arrested?"

"No," I said.

I wasn't exactly lying. His arrest was not contingent on him telling me anything.

"It was the woman lawyer," he said.

"Ann Kiley?"

"Yes. She said she represented the two men who attacked me, and that she also represented Marvin."

"Marvin Conroy?"

"Yes. And Marvin wanted me to drop the charges."

"And why did you care what Marvin wanted?"

He looked at me as if I had blasphemed. "He... Marvin is very dangerous."

"What was your relationship?" I said.

"With Marvin?"

"Yes."

Across the way three laborers were moving the cement chute. Two more guys watching. Good ratio, I thought.

"I appraised some property for him."

"And?"

"He didn't like the appraisal."

"Why not?"

"He wanted me to inflate the appraisal."

"So he could get a bigger loan?"

"Something like that."

"So why'd you get beat up, to make you change your appraisal?"

"No. To keep me from telling anybody. Marvin was up to something. Probably flipping real estate, maybe covering some real shaky loans. I don't know. But I told him that I was suspicious and the next day he sent me a message."

"The message being?"

"To keep my mouth shut."