“He’d shut me down.”

“Yes he would, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a scary man, Takahashi. Have you ever met him?”

“No. Just a lawyer.”

“Well, I have, and let me tell you. He’s no ordinary tycoon. He’s connected, connected to people you never want to meet. You ever hear of Yakuza?”

“Japanese gangs? Don’t be silly. He’s not…”

“Oh, yes, he is.”

Sunshine paled.

“Are you aware of the tradition of yubitsume?” I said.

“No.”

“Yubitsume. It is a form of penance. In the world of the Yakuza, when you mess up, you cut off one of your fingers and send it to the boss as an apology, hoping he won’t kill you and your children and your children’s children for what you did. Hold up your hand.”

He did as I instructed.

“That one,” I said.

“Victor, you wouldn’t go to him. You wouldn’t do that to an old friend, would you?”

“Not only would I do it, Jerry, old pal, I’d enjoy it. And get this – he’d pay me in the process.”

He rubbed his hand back and forth across the edge of his desk as he thought it through and then stopped the rubbing, opened his palm, looked at it. It’s funny the things you grow attached to in this life. Like fingers.

“Let’s have it,” I said.

“It’s no big deal anyway,” he said.

“Go ahead,” said Beth.

“Really. I don’t know why Velma was so adamant I keep quiet. It was nothing.”

“Go ahead.”

He hesitated a bit, fiddled with a flower in a vase on his desk, pushed a file to the side, rubbed his finger on the desk’s surface and then on his gums. “It was after the separation,” he said. “Velma was only trying to cheer Leesa up.”

“And how did she do that?” said Beth.

“The return of the famous Wykowski sisters. Velma brought her back to the club, they hung out at the bar, and it was just like old times. Or a semblance thereof. At the start Leesa wasn’t into it, she was still in love with François, still devastated by the breakup, concerned about her daughter. But Velma tried hard, always telling her to snap out of it, to live a little. And the three of us would come down here and party, and that seemed to loosen her up a bit. But not too much. With Velma it was like she was right back in the old days, she was into it. Like she was all too ready to fling off the constrictions of her marriage. Drinking too fast, flirting with the men at the bar, letting it go too far. But Leesa, you could tell, it wasn’t the same. Something had gone out of her. At least until Clem.”

“Clem?”

“A bad boy. Clem. You know the type, Victor. Like the greasers who roamed the halls in high school. Leather jacket, mussed hair, half-shaven beard, a bad boy who looked like a bad boy. And there was that danger in his eye that’s like catnip to a certain type of woman. So one night he shows up, and Velma just pounces. Next thing you know, they’re in the corner, making a spectacle of themselves before they’re roaring off together on his motorcycle, leaving Leesa alone and looking more forlorn than ever.”

“And his name was Clem?” said Beth. “What was his last name?”

“Who the hell knows? He was just Clem.”

“Where was he from?”

“Arizona or something. Guys like that are never from anyplace specific, just someplace far away.”

“What did he do?”

“He played, is what he did. Or fought. And the scars only made the women want him more.”

“So Clem was with Velma. Is that what she wanted to hide from her husband? That’s the big secret? She had an affair.”

“Of course. With that much money on the line, wouldn’t you want to keep it quiet? But that wasn’t all of it. After a while of playing around with Clem, she got a little bored, like she always did. And she was still feeling sorry for her friend. Still trying to cheer her up. So Velma did with Clem what she did with François. She gave him to Leesa.”

I tilted my head at that, leaned forward, felt a shiver roll down my spine. “What do you mean?” I said.

“She gave him to her,” said Sunshine. “Like a gift. First it was Velma and Clem. And then it was Leesa and Clem. And Clem was into it.”

“How do you know this?” I said.

“He told me the whole damn story and laughed about it. Right here, while we were doing lines together. Clem, that crazy son of a bitch. He loved it. Clem, Jesus. But by then, as with all guys like him, his charm was starting to be less charming. And you started noticing things. Like his breath and his temper.”

“So what happened?”

“Leesa wanted it to stop. She wanted out. But Clem wouldn’t let her go. ‘I leave,’ he said one night, spilling a bottle of beer with the slap of his hand on the bar. ‘No one leaves me.’ On another night there was a blowup at the club, an argument while Clem and Leesa and Velma were all together. Clem pushed Leesa away. She fell over a table and banged up her shoulder. She ran out. Velma ran after her. Clem stayed at the bar, getting drunk, muttering darkly to himself. That was the last time I saw Leesa. She was murdered only a few weeks later.”

“And this Clem creep?”

“Gone.”

“You tell the police this?” I said.

“Nah. No one ever came asking. And Velma came back to the club one night and begged me, begged me not to say anything. She couldn’t let her husband know, she said. So I agreed. What with the eyewitness I heard about and the picture in Leesa’s grip, I figured like everyone else it was François who killed her anyway. No reason to ruin the reputation of a dead girl.”

“And the investment?”

“That came later.”

“When?”

“Just before you got François that new trial. Velma came to me, said someone might come around asking questions. She asked, she begged me to keep my mouth shut. I told her I was having financial troubles. She said she would get me some cash flow for the club if I would just keep quiet. So I agreed.”

“And you’ll testify to all of this?”

“I’m not going to lie on the stand, Victor. How do you think I’d do in jail?”

“A rat like you, Sonenshein. I think you’d do fine.”

Outside, in the alleyway behind Marrakech, Beth hugged me hard, kissed me on the neck, and then spun away and did a little pirouette.

“What are you so happy about?” I said.

“Sunshine. What he said. We know who killed Leesa.”

“Do we?”

“Sure we do. It was that guy. Clem. He did it.”

“I don’t know that he did anything. I don’t even know who the hell he is.”

“Do we need all the details in order to make him a suspect?”

“An actual name would help, but no. The story is enough.”

“And isn’t this Clem the one thing we’ve been missing, another suspect?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then we have him, Victor. We have him.” She did another spin, a little pirouette like I had never seen from her.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Five years of ballet as a little girl. We have a real chance now. We’re going to win.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Oh, Victor. You always slight yourself. You’re a genius. I knew we could count on you. That stuff about the Japanese gangsters.”

“The Yakuza.”

“Is it true? Is Takahashi a Japanese gangster who will demand a finger for Sunshine’s mistakes?”

“I would doubt it,” I said. “He went to Stanford.”

She laughed, spun back to me, and hugged me again. “I have to go. I have to tell François. François will love the Yakuza story. It was brilliant, Victor. Purely brilliant.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was, wasn’t it?” And I guessed right then that it must have been, because slipping under Sunshine’s oily sheen of composure and getting him to spill had seemed so easy, so damn easy it was scary.