"But what would be the point of silencing him? There must be plenty of other people who know about the scam. You, for one."

"I never had any real authority. Now that he's gone, they can blame it all on him."

"Did he tell anyone else what he knew?"

"He never said so if he did."

"But why come to you? I gather you didn't even know him that well."

"He wanted my help. He figured I had nothing to lose."

"Do you think he told Joel and Harvey what he was up to?"

"Not if he was smart. I know he had lunch with Joel that day, but he didn't say anything else about it to me."

"I don't get it. With all these agencies at work, how come they haven't been caught?"

She shrugged. "Most of what they submit is legitimate and where the figures are false, everything else looks good. They use standard diagnoses and standard treatments. They're careful not to cross the line in any obvious way. It's like playing the float. They know how far they can push the system before the flags go up."

"But the flags did go up. Any idea why?"

"Someone must have phoned in a complaint because I talked to the fraud investigator last week and most of what I told him he already had in his files."

The phony bills for Klotilde had to be part of the scheme. "I've got some information that should be of help and I'd be happy to do a paper search early in the week if there's time."

"That'd be great. I'll be talking to him again and I can pass it on."

"Something else I'm unclear on. Why take the chance on billing items out to someone deceased?"

"Listen, you're dealing with the local, state, and federal governments. You get caught, you say 'Oops' and give the money back. You think the government would prosecute for a couple hundred dollars' worth of 'errors'?"

"Yeah, right. What's the story on Harvey Broadus and nurse what's-her-name… Pepper Gray?"

"He left his wife, Celine, for her and then I heard he went back."

I studied her carefully, wondering if she'd answer the question that had just come to mind. "Were you the one who phoned in the complaint to Medicare?"

"Someone else did that."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure, but I suspect she did."

"Pepper?"

"Yes."

"Pepper was the one who dimed them out?"

"Well, think about it. When Harvey broke off their relationship, she was in the perfect position to blow the whistle on them. I noticed her name or initials showed up most frequently on charges for questionable goods or services. She probably dummied up the slips from the floor. Why should she go on protecting him once he dumped her?"

"Well, they're certainly tight now."

"Really. That surprises me. Imagine the bind that puts her in if he finds out what she's done…" She let the thought trail, punctuated by a nearly imperceptible smile.

On my way home, I stopped by the office to pick up some index cards. I had two fresh packs in my desk drawer and I wanted to transfer the notes I'd managed to scribble in my spiral-bound notebook. I drove down Dave Levine as far as Capillo, where I made a left. Passing State Street, I could see that downtown Santa Teresa was deserted in the rain. It was after six P.M. on a Saturday and most retail stores had closed. Their windows were lighted, but the interiors were dim, sporting just enough wattage to foil the roving bands of burglars. I turned into the driveway running under Lonnie's building and parked in the narrow lot beyond.

I got out and locked my car door. Over the back wall, I could see lights coming from the cottage across the alleyway. I was unable to resist looking at the office space I'd leased one short week ago. The parking lot was empty: no sign of Tommy's pickup truck or his little red Porsche. The upper shutters along the right side of the one-story building were open, but the lowers had been closed. I saw a shadow intersect the light. Maybe Richard was showing the office to someone new.

I turned away from the sight, knowing I was well out of it. What was done was done and there was no point entertaining regrets. I counted myself lucky Mariah Talbot had showed up when she did. Otherwise, I'd be renting from a couple of stone-cold killers. I crossed Lonnie's lot and trotted up the stairs to the third floor. I let myself into the law offices, which were lighted but empty. I went down the silent inner corridor and unlocked my office door.

I crossed to my desk, opened the bottom drawer, and picked up the two packs of blank index cards still in their cellophane wrap. I opened one and began to make notes. For the next hour, I felt safe, absorbed in my work. At 7:15 I put a rubber band around my note cards and tucked them in my handbag along with the extra pack of blank cards.

I locked the office and let myself out again, trotting down the outside stairs. At the first turn, I glanced out through the opening in the stairwell. It's not a window in any true sense of the word, just a slot, one foot wide and maybe two feet high, intended to help with ventilation. From the second floor, I had a clear view across the alleyway to the rear of the Heveners' cottage. The back door now stood wide open. In the office to the right (which I still thought of as mine) the shutters stood open. The light was on, but the window now had the blank look of unoccupied space. Something seemed off, but I wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe someone had gone out for a moment, leaving the backdoor open for convenience. Whatever it was, I had no intention of going over there to snoop around.

I continued down the stairs and crossed the small parking lot to my car. I drove home by way of the supermarket, stopping long enough to pick up toilet paper, wine, milk, bread, eggs, Kleenex, and a tall stack of frozen entrees. Once in my neighborhood, I was forced to park a block and a half away, which annoyed me no end. With my bag and two loads of groceries, I had to struggle to let myself in the gate. Halfway across the patio, I caught a flash of movement to my right and someone stepped out of the dark. I jumped half a foot, barely managing to suppress a scream as I dropped one grocery bag and clutched at the other one. Tommy Hevener stood there, hands in his raincoat pockets. "Hey."

"Goddamn it! Don't do that! What are you doing here?"

"Let's talk."

"I don't want to talk. Now get out of my way." I hunkered to pick up my keys. One bag had ripped. I began to toss items back into the other bag. Half the carton of eggs were broken and the bread was mashed flat where I'd grabbed it in haste. I had no idea how I'd get into the apartment, lugging the few items that were still intact. "Oh, forget it," I said. I found my keys and crossed to my door, aware that Tommy had moved to intercept my path. He stretched out an arm, hand flat on the door, his body crowding against mine.

I turned my face to one side, trying to avoid contact. "Get away from me." I thought about my gun.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"If you don't get off me, I'm going to scream."

"You won't scream," he murmured.

"HENRY!"

"Shh!"

"HENRY!!"

Henry's back light went on. I saw his face appear in the door.

"HELP!"

"Bitch," Tommy said.

Henry came out the back door with a baseball bat. Tommy glanced at him, turned, and walked away at a leisurely pace, showing his contempt, showing he wasn't intimidated. Henry came across the patio at a quick clip, bat raised, looking as angry as I've ever seen him. I could hear Tommy's heels clatter down the sidewalk, sound diminishing. "What was that about? Should I call the police?"

"Don't bother. By the time they get here, he'll be gone."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, but he scared the shit out of me."

"I think you should file a police report. That way they'll have something on record in case he does this again."