I made a face as Erica took him over to the bar and interrupted Sal’s conversation with one of her regulars, a trader who sits at the end every night, drinking four double bourbons whether the market is up or down. Sal is African-American: Hempel apparently needed her opinion on whether a white woman like me was trustworthy.

He came back to the table a few minutes later, Sal laughing at me behind his back. “Ms. Emerald left town ten days ago with August,” he said without preamble. “She might have told me what she was doing if I’d been here, but I was attending an advanced training institute in Tel Aviv. I only got home five days after she left. She told my mother she’d forwarded her phone to mine, and she expected me to take care of her affairs while she was gone.”

He gave a half smile. “I’ve been running errands for her since she moved onto our street twenty-five years ago. I think she still imagines I’m seven: ‘Troy, I need my lawn cut today’ or ‘Troy, I need a ride to the hairdresser,’ that kind of thing.”

“She didn’t tell your mother where she was going?”

“Oh, yes. She said August was a gifted young filmmaker who was going to put together a documentary of her life. They were driving down to Kansas so he could film her roots.”

I digested that. “Was it supposed to be a big secret? I don’t understand why August isn’t answering his phone.”

Hempel shook his head. “That has me worried, too. My mother wondered if August was taking advantage of Ms. Emerald. She never was a superstar, but she still gets royalties from a couple of TV shows she was in. She does better than most old black women, and we all—everyone on the street—try to keep an eye out for hustlers.”

“Is she able to manage her own affairs?” I asked.

“Oh, her mind is fine, but she never had much business sense even when she was young. She’s given me a power of attorney so I can handle her affairs. Anyway, my mother says she had a long talk with Veriden before they took off, and she thought he was on the level.”

“Right before he disappeared, Veriden cashed a biggish check. I’m wondering if Ferring gave it to him, and if so—did he con her out of it, or did she offer it?”

“Is that where that money went?” Hempel said. “I’m a signer on her accounts. I saw she’d pulled out four thousand, but she did it as a cashier’s check. Damn.”