"Again that Duke education."

"But that makes no sense. She was killed after the plagiarism was discovered, right?"

"Right after, yeah."

"So it was too late by then. Everyone thinks he's guilty already. He's lost his job. He's disgraced. If his mistress now comes out and says 'Yeah, I lied,' it wouldn't really change a thing. What would Stan have gained by killing her?"

Bruce shrugged. "Maybe her retraction would have removed any doubt."

"But there's not much doubt there anyway."

The bartender came over. Bruce ordered a sandwich. Myron shook him off. "Can you find out where Stan Gibbs is hiding?"

Bruce waved down the bartender again. "I already know."

"How?"

"He was my friend."

"Was or is?"

"Is, I guess."

"You like him?"

"Yeah," Bruce said. "I like him."

"Yet, you still think he did it."

"Murder, probably not. Plagiarize..." He shrugged. "I'm a cynical guy. And just because a guy is a friend of mine doesn't mean he can't do dumb things."

"Will you give me his address?"

"Will you tell me why?"

Myron sipped his flat club soda. "Okay, this is the part where you say you want to know what I have. Then I say I have nothing and when I do, you'll be the first to know. Then you get kinda huffy and say I owe you and that's not good enough, but in the end you take the deal. So why don't we skip all that and just give me the address?"

"Will I still get my sandwich?"

"Sure."

"Fine, then," Bruce said. "Doesn't matter. Stan hasn't talked to anyone since he resigned--not even his close friends. What makes you think he'll talk to you?"

"Because I'm a witty dinner companion and natty dresser?"

"Yeah, that." He turned to Myron and looked at him heavily. "Now, this is the part where I tell you that if you find anything, anything, that suggests that Stan Gibbs is being set up, you tell me because I'm his friend and I'm a reporter hungry for a big story."

"Not to mention a sandwich."

No smile. "You got me?"

"Got you."

"Anything you want to tell me now?"

"Bruce, I got less than nothing. It's just a thread I need to snip away."

"You know Cross River in Englewood?"

"A mid-eighties condo development that looks like something out of Poltergeist."

"Twenty-four Acre Drive. Stan just came back to the area. He's renting there."

Chapter 17.

The Morning Mosh was not really the establishment's name. Located in a converted warehouse downtown on the West Side, the Mosh had a neon sign that changed as the day went on. The word Mosh stayed lit all the time, but in the morning it blinked Morning Mosh , then Mid-Day Mosh (as it now read) and later on, Midnight Mosh. And that's Mosh , not Nosh. Myron had expected a bagel store. But the letter was M, not N, and this place was Mosh. As in Mosh Pit. As in some retro heavy-metal band minus the talent blaring sounds that could strip paint while kids danced--and we're using that term in its loosest form here--in a pit, careening off one another like a thousand pinballs released into the machine at the same time.