“I hate when you’re right,” I said.
“I’m used to it,” Quirk said. “She did it. Go talk to her.”
“You know anything I don’t know?”
“A lot,” Quirk said, “but not about this case.”
“You think they’ll convict her?”
“In a heartbeat,” Quirk said. “Jury will hate her.”
“That’s pretty much what Rita said.”
“Fiore?”
“Yes.”
“Used to be a prosecutor in Norfolk County,” Quirk said.
“She’s with Cone Oakes now,” I said.
“Good-looking broad,” Quirk said.
“Yes.”
“Good ass.”
“You noticed.”
“I’m a seasoned investigator,” Quirk said. “Isn’t she the one that’s hot for you?”
“I hope so,” I said.
CHAPTER THREE
We were walking toward the Cone Oakes conference room on the thirty-fifth floor. Today Rita had on a red jacket with a short leather skirt.
“You still with that prissy Jewess?” Rita said.
“I prefer to think of her as the girl of my dreams,” I said.
“Even with me currently available?” Rita said.
“Again?”
“The bank guy didn’t work out,” Rita said. “Why not give it a whirl?”
“I’m emotionally limited,” I said.
“Probably not,” Rita said.
She opened the conference room door and we went in. Mary Smith was there with a young man.
The young man had on blue-tinted rimless glasses. He was nearly bald, and what hair remained he wore cut very short. He had a carefully trimmed blond mustache. He wore a dark gray pin-striped suit and a pale gray tie with a lavender shirt and a lavender pocket handkerchief. On the desk in front of him was a pigskin briefcase with a shoulder strap.
Mary was something else. Dark skin, big dark eyes, big blond hair, a lot of blue eye makeup. She had a big chest. She was in black as befit her recent widowhood. Her clothes were expensive but a little small for her. And the jacket of her black suit rode up a little on her hips. Rita introduced us. The guy was named Larson Graff.
“Mr. Graff is Mrs. Smith’s public relations consultant,” Rita said with a blank face.
I blinked once at her. Rita almost smiled but didn’t.
“He’s like family,” Mary said. “You can say whatever you want.”
Graff took a small tape recorder from his briefcase.
“You don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” he said.
“I wish I’d known,” I said. “I’d have brought my arrangements.”
“What arrangements?” Mary said.
Graff said, “It’s a joke, Mary.”
Rita said, “I mind.”
“Excuse me?” Graff said.
“I mind. This is privileged communication here. I don’t want it taped.”
“I thought it would be good to have a record,” Graff said.
“It would not be good,” Rita said.
Mary looked at Graff.
“Is there a problem?” she said.
“No. It’s okay, Mary. Rita’s just being careful.”
“Well,” Mary said. “Like I said, there’s no need to be careful with Larson. He’s family.”
