“She was hired for backup. Nothing complicated, just relief on the phone, and all-purpose assistance when I travel with Mr. Kotsos or have to be away from my desk for any reason. Her résumé was impressive. Executive sec at eBay and Microsoft and two venture capital firms in Los Gatos, and she appeared bright and eager. Later, we found out everything was forged. So much for that agency.”

Kotsos looked stunned. “Elena, I never knew—”

“No need. I protect you.”

Milo said, “Which agency—”

“Kersey and Garland. We no longer use them.”

“What was their excuse for not vetting her properly?”

“They were as much victims as we were.” Snort. “If they’d bothered to actually check her references, a lot of trouble could’ve been avoided.”

“What, specifically, did Brigid do wrong, ma’am?”

Elena turned to Kotsos. “Brace yourself: I caught her going places she shouldn’t be going.” Tapping the rim of the laptop.

“Oh, no,” said Kotsos.

“Not to worry, she got nothing.”

“Cyber-snooping?” said Milo.

“There was no reason for her to be anywhere near the files. Her job was to meet my needs.”

“How’d you catch her?”

“Keystroke buddy program,” she said. “Every move she made was traced. I do it routinely. To ensure confidentiality.” Back to Kotsos. “You see? No worry.”

He said, “Yes, yes, thank you.”

Milo said, “Where’d she go other than company files?”

“Nowhere,” said Elena. “And she got no further than addresses, which she could find anyway in public records. Because I password-protect each and every file. But that was not the point. She had no business sticking her nose in.”

“Who was hired to replace her?”

“No one. I don’t want help, it’s not worth the time and effort to train someone.”

Milo said, “What else can you tell us about her?”

“Poor taste in clothes,” said Elena. Taking in his rumpled poly tie, saggy chinos and smiling. Kotsos’s wrinkled outfit didn’t draw a glance.

“Poor taste, how?”

“Bad fabrics, poor silhouette, careless fit. With outlets and the Internet, there’s no excuse for not dressing well. I should’ve known her carelessness would extend to work.”

“Sounds like she was more devious than careless.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“What about Desmond Backer?”

“Who?”

“An architect who died with her.”

“An architect,” said Elena. “Perhaps she had some sort of fixation.”

Markos Kotsos said, “But of course. Architects are dashing fellows.”

Elena smirked. “Your limo to LAX and your pickup in Athens are confirmed. I have ordered irises for your mother. Blue, I assume that’s okay.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Milo said, “Could we please have an address for that agency?”

“Not necessary,” said Elena. “Take the elevator to the ground floor.”

As we waited by the elevator, a nervous fellow in pinstripes passed by, tugging at his hair.

Milo said, “Know anything about Masterson?”

The banker stopped. Frowned. Muttered, “Ghost town,” and continued.