Sal pelted me with questions—about the neighbors, Ferring’s house, and how August Veriden had wormed his way into Ferring’s confidence.

“You’re like a teenage girl with a crush,” I grumbled.

Sal nodded. “Where Emerald Ferring is concerned, I am a teenage girl with a crush.”

I decided not to mention I’d never heard of Ferring until this morning: that might create a chasm that would be difficult to bridge. Instead I showed her Troy Hempel’s entry on LinkedIn, and we bet on what he was likely to drink.

“Bourbon,” I said. “He’s young, he’s hip, he’s proving he’s smooth.”

“You might as well pay up now, girlfriend. Young, hip—beer, local brew.”

Hempel came in about ten minutes later. He had the impassive face of a discreet butler, but his eyes widened as he took in Sal’s famous bar, a mahogany horseshoe, and the Tiffany lamps that make her insurance too high for me to count even if I use my toes along with my fingers.

“I work five blocks away and never knew this place existed. How long has it been here?” he said.

“Since you were teething,” Sal said, flashing her thousand-watt smile to take the sting out of the words. “What can I pour you?”

He wanted beer, which made Sal smirk. Hempel asked for something called Hophazardly. I thought maybe he was challenging Sal for making fun of his youth, but she just called over to Erica, her head bartender, who trotted down the stairs and came back with a case to stick under the bar.

Sal had reserved a table for me in the far corner of the room, away from the televisions, which were giving us news on one screen and the Bulls on the other.

“Okay,” Hempel said. “Now tell me what you want with Ms. Emerald.”

“August Veriden.” I brought out my cell phone and showed him a couple of the shots I’d taken this morning in August’s apartment. “I have no idea what’s going on, but there’s similar wreckage in the gym where he works.”

I went through my spiel: August’s cousin hiring me to find him before the police did, my various theories about what had led to the destruction, and my wondering how well August knew Emerald Ferring. “Is she someone he might have confided in?”

Hempel had drunk his Hophazardly in two swallows and was rolling the bottle between his palms. Erica, who scans the room almost as skillfully as Sal, appeared with a fresh bottle and a lifted eyebrow. Hempel nodded but asked for a word with Sal. In private.