I rode the elevator to the sixth floor, seeing the familiar signs for Smythe Incorporated and Feed the Need in the hallway as I got off. I turned right and stepped into the reception area, pleased to find the desk there empty. Without missing a beat, I opened the glass door into Feed the Need and strode purposefully through. The place was much more subdued than it had been during my visit earlier that day. Now instead of the busy hum of an office at work, there were only small clusters of employees speaking in hushed tones around their cubicles.

No one seemed to notice me as I reached the door to Gwen’s office and stepped inside. Unfortunately, several people were in there, all of whom looked up as I came in. I recognized Detective Keegan, the man who had interviewed me earlier. He was standing next to a tall, familiar-looking man and a woman I hadn’t seen before.

“So anyway,” the woman was saying, “about three hours and I should have some preliminaries.”

She was holding an opened-topped box that was filled with lunch-sized paper bags—evidence, no doubt. Carefully carrying the box, she headed out the door, the other man holding it open for her.

“I’ll catch a ride with Michelle,” he said to Detective Keegan. “See you back at the station.”

The two of them left, and Keegan turned to me inquisitively.

“Can I help you?” he asked, squinting his eyes as he studied me. “Oh, you changed clothes. Sorry I didn’t recognize you right off.”

“I couldn’t stand that stiff suit any longer,” I said, smiling. “I don’t mind dressing up, but sometimes I get a bit claustrophobic.”

He didn’t laugh but merely raised one eyebrow and continued to look at me.

“I was just wondering if the crime scene has been released.”

“Just finished,” he said. “I think I’m the last one here. Is there something you need?”

“No,” I answered lightly. “I just wanted to take a look around.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to let me off that easily. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then lowered my voice.

“I’ve been…retained,” I said, “to look into Mr. Smythe’s death.”

“Retained?”

“As an investigator.”

“When I questioned you earlier, you said you were an attorney and that you worked for a foundation.”

“That’s correct. But I’m also a licensed PI. My boss seems to think I might be of some use around here now that Mr. Smythe’s death has definitely been classified as a homicide.”

Detective Keegan didn’t look very pleased.

“You’re licensed in Pennsylvania?” he asked.

“Maryland,” I said. “But I’m working here with the Perskie Detective Agency. I can give you the number of Duane Perskie, if you need to verify it.”

He waited a beat, studying my face.

“No, I know Duane,” he said. Then, with a final nod, he picked up his jacket from the back of Gwen’s chair, slipped it over his shoulders, and headed for the door.