We sat on the couch, with our feet up on the coffee table and our shoulders touching.
'But you will?' Susan said.
'Yes.'
'When?'
'When it's time,' I said.
'And how will you know when it's time?'
'I don't know,' I said.
'Well,' Susan said. 'At least you have a plan.'
'Jumbo said at the end that he didn't know what happened,' I said.
'And you believe him?'
'Maybe,' I said.
'Not a ringing endorsement,' Susan said. 'You're sure he was there?'
'Pretty sure,' I said.
'So how would he not know?'
'Coulda passed out,' I said.
'There was booze,' Susan said.
'ME said she was drunk when she died.'
Susan sipped her martini and wiggled her right foot a little.
'When you spoke a little while ago about maybe scaring Jumbo enough to make something else happen,' she said. 'Could you talk about that a little more?'
'He's involved with some very bad people,' I said, 'who have invested a lot of money in him. If they fear for their investment, they'll do something.'
'Like what?' Susan said.
'I don't know,' I said. 'I'm hoping he'll worry about that enough to come to me, or Quirk, or Rita, and speak up.'
'So far what the bad people have done is warn you off the case,' Susan said.
'I know,' I said.
Susan carefully fished one of the olives from her martini and took a bite of it. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. She could make a martini olive last for several bites.
'Do you suppose,' she said, 'that if Jumbo reported to them that you were pressing him, they might intensify their warning to you?'
'They might,' I said.
'But we're not scared of them, are we,' Susan said.
'Only a little,' I said.
We were quiet while she finished her olive.
'Do you wish I were a pediatrician?' I said. 'Or a software specialist?'
'No,' Susan said.
'No regrets about what I do?' I said.
'You do what you are,' Susan said. 'I love what you are.'
'No fear?' I said.
She washed down the rest of her olive with a small sip of martini and put her head on my shoulder.
'Only a little,' she said.
36
Z WAS ON THE COUCHwith his feet up, reading a newspaper. I was at my desk, looking at the list of people to talk with about Jumbo Nelson, when one of them walked in.
Alice DeLauria looked great. Black dress, three-inch heels, diamonds, and a perfect tan. She kept her sunglasses on. She saw Z and glanced at him without interest, put her small black purse on the edge of my desk, and sat in one of my guest chairs.
'You know my associate,' I said. 'Mr. Sixkill.'
'I used to,' Alice DeLauria said.
Z shrugged and went back to his newspaper.
'Coffee's made,' I said. 'Would you care for some?'
'This is not a social call,' she said.
