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could have borne Lloyd Gruber’s ministrations just now.”
    â€œHe did ask me to convey —”
    â€œOf course,” says Leo. “Tell him, tell him whatever you want to tell him.”
    He crosses the room, stares out at the building across the street. Margo looks in my direction. I try to gesture that she’s done well, that things will settle down, that Leo’s okay. I’m not sure I manage to get that across. I’m even less certain it’s the truth.
    â€œThank you for stocking the bar,” he says.
    â€œI wasn’t sure what —” Margo begins.
    â€œYou covered all the bases.”
    She finally manages to complete a sentence. “May I offer my own sympathy for this terrible loss.”
    Leo looks at her with what might have been an attempt at a brave smile but comes off as a grimace of pain.
    â€œI appreciate it,” he says.
    Margo gives me a glance that suggests general helplessness. I show her to the door.
    â€œHe’ll be okay,” I whisper.
    â€œEverybody’s shaken up,” she says. “Downstairs. They’ll do anything. Even Lloyd.”
    â€œBest thing is, keep the place running like nothing’s happened.”
    Margo leaves.
    Leo pours himself a drink. I wait for orders. It’s a long wait. Two minutes is a long time if you’re waiting for someone to speak, if you’re watching a man in pain pull himself together by an exercise of dogged will.
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you, sir?”
    I can see the tendons in his fingers and I worry that he’s going to crush his whisky glass, but his voice when he finally speaks is as cold as death. “Yes, there is, Joseph. You can find whoever did this … thing.”
    â€œThe police —”
    â€œThe police will do what policemen do,” he says. “ If they catch the bastard they’ll charge him with second-degree murder which will probably get knocked down to manslaughter or aggravated assault and he’ll be a free man in seven years if the courts are feeling really tough that day.”
    â€œI suppose that’s possible.”
    â€œI’m seventy-four years old, Joseph. I may not have seven years to wait. Otherwise I could plan how I’d kill the sonofabitch as he walked out of prison.” He has a sip of Scotch and smiles at me. It isn’t a friendly smile. “You think I’m joking?”
    I choose my words with care. “I think you’re understandably angry and that you want whoever did this to be punished.”
    â€œI don’t want them punished. I want them dead.”
    â€œOne of them is.”
    â€œGood,” he says. “It’s a start.”

chapter seven
    R achel gives me a sad smile when I come into the office. She looks likes she wants to give me a hug. I’m not in a huggy mood but I open my arms enough for her to get close, accept a quick squeeze.
    â€œYou okay, slugger?” she asks.
    â€œOh, sure,” I say.
    She steps back and checks me out. “We had the same name you know,” she says. “Raquel, Rachel. It’s an ancient name.”
    â€œYou should hear it in Hebrew,” Gritch says. He’s sitting in his corner. “How’s the old bugger doing?” he asks.
    â€œHe’s okay I guess. His doctor came by, checked him over, gave him something to help him sleep tonight.”
    â€œHit him hard,” Rachel says.
    â€œHe kept saying how we should have gone straight up, that she was waiting for him to come home, that he shouldn’t have been downstairs listening to music.”
    â€œWouldn’t have made any difference,” Gritch says.
    â€œMaybe not.”
    â€œSeriously,” he says. “I was talking to one of the uniforms. The pretty one?”
    â€œChinese?”
    â€œThat’s the one. Melody Chan. Nice kid. Wants to be a detective.”
    â€œWhat did she have to say?”
    â€œSays it probably