"Talked to a homicide guy in L.A. named Samuelson." He blew on the black surface of the coffee for a moment and then took a sip.

"Says he knows you. Says hello."

"I screwed up a case with him once too," I said.

Romero shrugged and grinned at me.

"Shit happens," he said.

"Yeah," I said.

"Quite often."

CHAPTER 30

I was in my office with my feet up studying the way my name looked backwards through the frosted glass window of my office door. The office had been shut up since I left for Vegas, and I opened the Berkeley Street window to dilute the accumulated closeness. Then I started studying the door again. The mail had been routine and easily disposed of. There were no phone calls.

Maybe SPENSER ought to be in script. A nice flowing script might make me seem lovable, and could contrast nicely with INVESTIGATIONS, which would be in a bold, no-nonsense sans serif. Maybe some sort of motto would be good. WE DON'T SOLVE ANYTHING BUT WE

GIVE OUR FEE AWAY.

The door opened and Susan came in with a large canvas tote bag with the PBS logo on it.

"No patients?" I said.

"Teaching day," Susan said.

"But you sounded so down when you called last night that I canceled class and came over to welcome you home. What happened to your cheek?"

"Line of duty," I said.

"You think my name on the door would look good in script?"

"No."

"Nice bag," I said.

"Official Cambridge tote bag," she said.

She put the tote bag down on one of my empty client chairs and took a large thermos out of it. It was a tan and blue thing, the kind Dunkin' Donuts sells you with a starter fill of coffee. She put it on my desk.

"Decaf," she said.

"Thank God," I said.

A box of donuts came out next, and two plastic coffee cups and two pale pink linen napkins.

"You bought donuts?" I said.

"Yes."

"I wasn't aware you knew how."

"I don't. But I watched the other people in line."

I opened the box. Plain donuts. Perfect.

"Do you know how to eat a donut?" I said.

"I'll watch you on the first one," Susan said.

She opened the thermos and poured two cups of coffee into the plastic cups. I ate half a donut.

"Ugh," Susan said.

"Is that how it's done?"

"Girls sometimes take smaller bites," I said.

"I certainly hope so," Susan said.

She picked up one of the donuts between her thumb and forefinger and broke off a crumb and put the rest of the donut back. She took a bite of the crumb. I ate the other half of my first donut and drank some coffee, and looked at her. She had on some kind of expensive white tee-shirt, and jeans that fit her well, and some low black cowboy boots with silver trim. I always felt as if I breathed more deeply when I was looking at her, as if I were taking in more oxygen, and doing it more easily, as if the air were clearer.

"Welcome home," Susan said.

"Yes," I said.

"It went badly," Susan said.

"Mostly," I said, "it didn't go at all."

"You found Anthony Meeker," Susan said.

I shrugged.

"You couldn't prevent Shirley's death," Susan said.

"No."

"You weren't able to find who killed her."

"No."

"But you accept that, don't you."

"You can't solve every case," I said.

"You still don't know what was going on between Anthony and Marty Anaheim."

"No."

"But you accept that too, don't you."

"Lot of stuff I don't know," I said.

"And Anthony?"

"No one hired me to protect him," I said.

"No one hired me to keep him in Vegas."

"And Bibi?"

"Bibi never showed up in L.A."

"You think anything happened to her?"

"I don't know. Chollo didn't know what she looked like. She could have walked right on past him."

"Which she probably did," Susan said.

"From what you've told me, she had very little reason to trust men."

I shrugged again and had some donut. Susan smiled.

"Not even you, Sweet Potato," she said.

"I know."

"It's what's bothering you though, isn't it."

"It's all bothering me," I said.

"Hawk and I spent the last week or so wandering around Vegas without a clue."

"You found Anthony Meeker," Susan said.

"That is what you were hired to do."

"And I don't know where he is now, and I don't know who killed Shirley, and I don't know what was going on between Anthony and Marty, and I don't know why Gino Fish was so interested, and I don't know whether Julius was involved, and I don't know where Bibi is, or what's going to happen to her. She showed no signs of being able to fend for herself."

"You can't help people that don't want you to help them," Susan said.

"Thanks, Doc."

"You are a grown-up," Susan said.

"You know that as well as I do. We both do work that teaches us that lesson daily."

"True," I said.

We were quiet. I started on my third donut. Susan broke another microscopic fragment off her first one and ate some of it. The sound of the traffic floated up from Berkeley Street. Somewhere someone was making a hole in something hard. I could hear the faint sound of a jackhammer.

"What are you going to do now?" Susan said.

"There were a couple of things I back-burnered," I said, "while I went to Vegas. I'll see if I can resurrect one."

"Good to work," Susan said.

"Good to eat," I said.

"I'll always feed you," Susan said.

"Didn't you get a large sum of money recently? From some insurance company?"

"Yeah. A percentage of what I saved them. More money than I deserve. Actually, more money than anyone deserves, except Michael Jordan."

"So I don't have to feed you. You can take a little time off and pursue your hobbies if you wish to."

"You mean the Vegas thing?"

"Money is freedom," Susan said.

"I could go talk with Gino Fish again, see if he can tell me anything he didn't tell me before."

"No harm in that."

"No. Unless Gino finds it annoying and tells Vinnie Morris to shoot me."

"Would he shoot you?" Susan said.

"Depends."

"Would you shoot him?"

"Depends."

"Everything does, I guess."

"Everything but you and me, donut girl."

"Present company, always excluded," she said.

"This is going to bother you until you get some kind of closure on it."

"I suppose it might," I said.

"It will," Susan said.

"I have a Ph.D. from Harvard."

"This is going to bother me," I said, "until I get some kind of closure on it."

Susan smiled.

"It's good to face the truth," she said.

"Would it help if I sat on your lap?"

"It might," I said.

CHAPTER 31

Hawk and I went to see Gino Fish on a raw day with no sun and the wind coming hard off the Atlantic. Gino lived in a big colonial house on the ocean side of Jerusalem Road in Cohasset. There was a circular drive in front and a lawn that sloped to the seawall behind. The house was done in white cedar shingles which had silvered in the salt air, the way they're supposed to. A very handsome young man answered the door.