“That’s correct.”

He produced a cold smile. “You are not the first Chicago detective to be curious about our clients’ affairs.”

“I expect not,” I said. “From what Ms. Geraldine Graham’s been telling me, your clients could have kept an entire bureau of detectives busy.” Larry Yosano sucked in his breath and looked from me to Arnoff in dismay, but the senior lawyer said, “If Mrs. Graham has been confiding in you, then Yosano here can hardly add anything to what you know” “She’s told me fragments, not anything like a whole, coherent story. She’s told me about her battles with her mother, and that her mother …

persuaded her to marry MacKenzie Graham. She’s told me that Olin Taverner was a homosexual. I know that Calvin Bayard suffers from Alzheimer’s and that Renee Bayard is at great pains to keep the world from knowing he’s ill. But a lot of the connecting details are missing.”

“And you hope we’ll tell you what we wouldn’t tell the detectives and reporters who sniffed around here fifty years ago?” His tone was supercilious.

“My concern isn’t with New Solway’s fifty-year-old riff on Peyton Place, but with a couple of contemporary murders. I’m investigating Marcus Whitby’s death: he’s the man who died-“

“I know all about the man who died at Larchmont. Even though the Grahams sold Larchmont Hall, we continue to be involved with the property. I know that Rick Salvi believes the man committed suicide, and that you are out to force us into a murder investigation.”

“When murder has been committed, an investigation is usually a good idea,” I said mildly.

“Not always, young woman, not always,” he snapped.

“I’ve been wondering about that myself.” I assumed a thoughtful expression. “I discovered evidence at Olin Taverner’s apartment yesterday that makes me suspect he may also have been murdered. And yet, I have to ask whether that needs to be investigated. Does it matter that someone hustled an old man off the planet a few months before his time? Do I waste my energy on the death of a man who himself ruined many people’s lives?”

“Olin Taverner began his legal training in Theodore Lebold’s office,” Arnoff said. “He went on to more important matters before I joined the firm, but we have always held him in esteem here.”

“So you think his murder deserves investigation. But that Marc Whitby’s doesn’t.”

“Don’t twist my words, young woman.” Arnoff turned his hooded gaze to Yosano. “What do we know about Mr. Taverner’s death, Larry?” Yosano sat up straight. “Only that Ms. Warshawski found something unusual in his apartment, sir. She was going to explain the situation to me in our meeting this afternoon.”

“And that situation is-?” Arnoff turned back to me.

I leaned back in my chair, legs crossed, trying to establish that I wasn’t a surbordinate. “Someone was in Taverner’s apartment the night he died. That person took pains to cover up his, or maybe her, presence, but nonetheless left telltale traces. I know firsthand that someone broke into the place yesterday-I interrupted him. Unfortunately, he knocked me over and got away. I know Marcus Whitby consulted Taverner last Thursdaya week ago yesterday. And I know Taverner let him see some documents that he kept in a locked drawer. Those documents have been stolen from the apartment. I’m hoping you know what was in them.”