“You think you can do it?” I asked Bill.

He shrugged. “Don’t know till I try, do I? It won’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be impossible.”

“Well, what are we hanging round here for?”

Bill’s attempts at hacking still hadn’t borne fruit by midnight, when the phone rang. From force of habit, I picked it up. “Mortensen and Brannigan,” I announced automatically.

“Is that Kate Brannigan?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“That’s right. And you are?”

“My name is David Berman. I’m Kevin Kleinman’s solicitor. I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the day, but my client was most insistent that I speak with you. Would it be possible for me to come round to your office? I’m only a couple of minutes away.” His voice was soft and persuasive.

“Can you hold a second?” I asked him. I pressed the mute button and said, “Kevin’s solicitor wants to come round. I don’t think he’s just after a decent cup of coffee.”

Bill’s eyebrows rose like a pair of blond caterpillars. “Let’s see what the man has to say,” he said. Sometimes I think I’d kill to be that laid back.

I reopened the channels of communication and said, “That

“The time has come, the walrus said,” Bill muttered in cryptic response as he tried out another password. I left him to it and put on a fresh pot of coffee before I went downstairs to meet David Berman.

When I got downstairs, a prosperous-looking yuppie was waiting on our doorstep. Dark gray self-stripe suit, pale blue shirt and a subdued paisley pattern silk tie. Not a crease anywhere, except in his trousers, and that could have sliced salami. His dark hair was fashionably slicked back and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He smiled confidently at me as I struggled with the four locks on the plate glass doors.

As soon as I opened them, his hand was thrust towards me. The handshake was cool, with the carefully measured amount of pressure that gives the message, “I could crush your hand if I wanted to, but who needs to be macho among friends?”

“Miss Brannigan? Pleased to meet you. David Berman,” he said cheerfully. “I really appreciate you making time for me at this hour of the night.”

He followed me up the stairs, avoiding small talk in a way that I found slightly unsettling. I suspected it was deliberate. I showed him into the main office, and offered him coffee. Bill didn’t even look up from his screen, though I caught Berman peering nosily through the door of his office.

I sat down at Shelley’s desk and said, “What makes you think we can help, Mr. Berman?”