Bysen preened and snorted a little and told Mildred to figure out a free time slot some time in the next week, before turning to glower at me. “And you, young woman, with your fancy cutting dollar bills into forty thousand pieces, we’ll get back to you.”

Linus had been talking on his cell phone during Marcena’s performance; he got up now to hand a piece of paper to Bysen. The old man scanned it, and scowled at me even more fiercely.

“I see you’ve destroyed a number of important businesses, young woman, and you’ve meddled in affairs that were none of your business. Do you always butt in where no one wants you, hnnh?”

“Young Billy wants me meddling in girls’ basketball, Mr. Bysen-that’s good enough for me. I know he’ll be eager to hear how our conversation went.”

Bysen stared at me for a long moment, as if weighing Billy’s needs against my meddlesomeness. “We’re through here, young woman. William, Roger, see she gets out the door.”

William told his brother he’d take care of me. When we’d left the conference room, his hand on the small of my back, he said, “My son is basically a good kid.”

“I believe you. I saw him at the warehouse and was impressed with how the men responded to him.”

“The problem is, he’s too trusting; people take advantage of him. Added to that, my father has always been so indulgent with him that he doesn’t have a good sense of how the world really works.”

I couldn’t see where this was going, so I said cautiously, “It’s a common problem with self-made men like your dad: they’re overly strict with their own offspring, but the third generation doesn’t get those same restrictions.”

He looked startled, as if I’d uncovered a subtle truth about his life. “So you noticed how the old man treats him? It’s been the same story since Billy was born: every time I try to set-not even the same limits Dad gave us, just some kind of parental guidance-Dad undercuts me, then blames me for-well, that’s neither here nor there. I am the company’s chief financial officer.”

“And obviously very good at it, to turn in the numbers you do.” We were being so lovey-dovey, I thought I’d try molasses.

“If I had real authority, we could pass Wal-Mart, I know we could, but my company decisions are just like my parental-anyway, I want to know when you’re planning on seeing Billy, and what you’re planning to say to him.”

“I’m going to tell him exactly what got said in our meeting and ask him to interpret it for me: you’re all strangers to me, so I don’t understand what you mean when you say things.”

“That’s just it,” William said. “We all say things, but we work together as a family. My brothers and I, I mean: we grew up fighting, the old man thought it made us tougher, but we run this company as a family. And we present a family front to competitors.”

So I wasn’t supposed to take dissension among the brothers to a bigger public. I had destroyed some important businesses with my meddling; I needed to know that By-Smart would fight me hard if I tried to do anything to them.

“Is Billy living in South Chicago?”

“Of course not. He may be infatuated with that storefront preacher, but he comes home to his mother at the end of the day. Just watch what you say and do with him, Ms.-uh-because we’ll be watching you.”

Our moment of palliness was apparently at an end. “Warshawski. I believe you will-I saw all the spy cams in the warehouse. I’ll be real careful what I say just in case you’ve put one in my car.”

He forced a laugh. So we still were pals after all? I waited for him to come to the point, schooling my face into the bland mask that makes people think you’re a discreet listener-not the woman who destroyed Gustav Humboldt.

“I need to know who this English woman is riding with in South Chicago. It could be bad for us, from a liability standpoint, I mean, if she got injured.”

I shook my head regretfully. “She hasn’t told me who she’s met down there, or how she’s met them. She has a lot of friends, and she makes friends easily, as you saw with your dad just now. I’d think it could be almost anybody, maybe even Patrick Grobian, since she likes to make sure the top man is in her court.”

The mention of Grobian’s name seemed to bother him, or at least put him off balance. He drummed his fingers on the doorjamb, wanting to ask something else, but unsure how to phrase it. Before he figured it out, Mildred’s nervous assistant claimed his attention: one of his directors was returning his call.

He went to Mildred’s desk to answer the phone. I walked over to the picture of Buffalo Bill and the airplane. If I stood on tiptoe and squinted down, I could see the name of a photographer’s studio with an address in Wattisham at the bottom of the matting. Marcena was not only a more skilled interrogator than I, but a cleverer investigator. It was depressing.

William was still on the phone when Buffalo Bill escorted Marcena out of the conference room, his hand on her waist. He frowned when he saw I was still there, but he spoke to Marcena. “You don’t come without those photographs of your father, young woman, you hear?”

“Absolutely not; he’ll be thrilled to know I’ve met you.”

While they did an intricate separation dance, William put a hand over the mouthpiece and beckoned me to his side. “Find out who this gal is riding with, okay, and give me a call.”

“In exchange for funding for my program?” I said brightly.

He stiffened. “In exchange for keeping it under discussion, certainly.”

I looked mournful. “That offer won’t really make me summon my best effort, Mr. William.”

Bysens weren’t used to beggars trying to be choosers. “And that kind of attitude definitely won’t bring forth any effort on my part, young-”

“The name is Warshawski. You can call me that.”

Marcena had finished with Buffalo Bill; I turned my back on young William and headed down the hall with her. Once we were clear of the office, her shoulders sagged and she dropped her perky grin.

“I am so fagged!” she said.

“You should be; you’ve done a full day’s work this last hour, what with Pete, and Buffalo Bill. I’m a little beat, myself. Is there really a Julian Love who flew Hurricanes in the war?”

She smiled mischievously. “Not exactly. But my father’s tutor at Cambridge did, and when I was up, I used to have tea with him once or twice a term. I heard all the stories; I think I can fake it.”

“I don’t suppose he flew out of Wattisham, either.”

“It was Nacton, but Buffalo Bill won’t remember after all these years what one airfield or another looked like. I mean-he thinks I’m old enough to have a father who flew in the war!”

“And the photographs of your father, I suppose, will get lost in the mail. Sad, really, because they were taken before digital photography, and now they can’t be replaced.”

She gave a loud shout of laughter that made several people stare at us. “Something like that, Vic, something very like that, hnnh, hnnh.”