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still owned—either because he hadn’t sold them or he’d had to foreclose on them—got auctioned somehow. I’m not quite sure how all that worked in the technical, legal sense—I wasn’t on the board then—but I had the impression that the FDIC or some other federal bank agency had them and then auctioned them off, with a realty trust buying most of them.”
    Olga Evorova had mentioned that, and I thought I ought be solidify my cover story with Stepanian toward asking her about Andrew Dees. “Which realty trust?”
    “I just know the name on the checks they send in for their monthly maintenance.”
    “Don’t those go to Hendrix?”
    “Yes, but we on the board kind of... informally audit the financial statements Boyce prepares for us.”
    “You have any reason to think those statements need to be audited?”
    “Oh. Oh, no, not in that sense. I think every condominium association that’s big enough to need a management company kind of keeps an eye on that company. Doesn’t yours?”
    “I rent.”
    “I mean, doesn’t the complex you’re working for do that with their current manager?”
    “Well, yes. In fact...” I shrugged.
    “Oh. Oh, I see. Is that one of the reasons they’re thinking of changing companies?”
    “You’re very astute, Mrs. Stepanian.”
    The small teeth. “Thank you, Mr. Cuddy.”
    “How have you found working with Mr. Hendrix?”
    “Oh, very pleasant. He’s always available by telephone, and visits the complex regularly.”
    “How does he treat you when you visit him?”
    “Visit him?” The clouded look. “I don’t think I ever have. Why would I, when Boyce is always happy to come here?”
    So a trustee has never seen Hendrix’s office. “Does he produce or process the documentation on time?”
    “There’s really just the annual meeting notices, and the monthly maintenance bills, but he also does a good job of analyzing things like ‘reserve for replacement,’ and advising us on insurance rates and so forth.”
    “How does he handle complaints?”
    “Well, there are very few, actually. The developer here might have gotten into trouble financially, but he made sure the buildings and systems were done right structurally. And our superintendent does a wonderful job of maintaining the grounds and pool.”
    “I might have seen him on my way in. Baseball cap, rake?”
    The small smile, but with a tinge of sadness to it. “Yes. Paulie Fogerty. When Boyce first hired him for us, I was a little... well, I suppose it’s ‘politically incorrect,’ but I was a little concerned about Paulie being up to the task. However, I have to say, he’s really turned out well, and even does the extra things.”
    “Extra things?”
    “Yes, like helping you in with groceries if he sees you struggling at all, or accepting packages when you’re not home. He can sign his name and everything.”
    I wasn’t quite sure how Stepanian meant that, but, again, she spoke without sarcasm, just that hollow sound to the words, as though she’d memorized them and trotted out a given phrase when she thought it might fit the occasion. “Has Mr. Hendrix’s company always been the manager here?”
    “No. The developer did the ‘managing’ while he owned the majority of the units. He then stayed on as manager, but once the foreclosures and all started, we were kind of ‘self-managing,’ which is very hard in a complex this size. Fortunately, when that realty trust took over, they brought in Boyce to run things for us.”
    “And what’s the name of this realty trust?”
    “The C.W. Realty Trust.”
    “Which stands for?”
    The small teeth peeked out at me. “Nobody knows.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “You know how these realty trusts work. They’re anonymous—no, that’s not the right word. Confidential. They don’t have to disclose who they are, not even at the Registry of Deeds. I even went there once to look them up. Zero.”
    “So you don’t know who stands behind the C.W. Realty