“Change? You'll be taking your clothes off in front of twenty people every day you shoot. You want to go someplace and change?”

“No, I want you to get the full effect.” She nodded toward her bag. “I've got this outfit. I think you'll like it. Just an office or something? It'll take five minutes.”

Gutman was moderately interested. He looked her over again, then waved his arm. “Find an office, change. I'll be here.”

She found Danny Traub's office right up the hallway. She walked in, closed the door behind her. She glanced around quickly — at the walls done in Ace Home Center wood paneling, the big fake-ebony desk, more plants, a leather couch.

And two file cabinets.

Rune started through the first one.

She was looking for evidence. A piece of wire. A book on explosives. A letter from Shelly telling him he was a son of a bitch. A Bible, where Traub might've gotten the quote about the angels destroying the earth... Anything that might link him to the bombing.

Physical evidence. That's what Healy'd said she needed for probable cause.

She didn't find any. Just contracts, correspondence. Just like any other businessman would keep in his office.

She turned to the second cabinet and started through it. This one contained more contracts and legal documents. She didn't find anything significant until she got to the L's and saw the file labeled Shelly Lowe.

But she didn't have a chance to read it because just then the door swung open and Danny Traub walked inside.

He froze. Then recovered. He swung the door shut and, never one to neglect his invisible audience, said, “Well, this kiddo's looking in my drawers. Wonder if she's found anything interesting.”

Death of a Blue Movie Star

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rune closed the file cabinet, checking distances, checking exits. She was on the fourth floor. That was forty feet. Would a jump through the window kill her? Might.

Traub stepped toward her, shaking his head. “Gosh, here we are in New York, crime capital of the world... I mean, there are people from Iowa hold on to their wallets when they fly over New York in an airplane. This city's got such a bad rep, I can't believe it.”

“I was just —”

“And what do we have here? A young lady stealing files! My God! Does she realize that those manila folders cost a couple cents each? Steal a hundred thousand of them —”

“I was —”

“— and she could buy herself a set of Tupperware. Or a Big Mac feast for her and her friends. Trying to fence them though's a little tricky...” The smile faded. The audience was gone. “Okay. What the fuck you doing here?”

He walked over to where she was standing and lifted the file out of her hands. Glanced at the name on the folder. He nodded knowingly. Tossed it back into the cabinet.