“What!” Buffalo Bill exploded at his son. “It’s not enough the boy’s gone, and now you’re accusing him of stealing? Your own son? Just what have you misplaced that you’re trying to blame on him?”

“No one thinks he’s stealing, Papa Bill,” Jacqui put in quickly. “But you know one of Billy’s duties at the warehouse is to sort the faxes as they come in. He seemed to think some of the information from our Matagalpa plant down in Nicaragua meant more than it did, and he took it away with him two weeks ago. We thought he might have taken it to give to the Mexican minister, but no one down there seems to have it.”

She sounded so sure of this that I supposed they’d had Carnifice search everyone’s home to look for it—not just the careless once-over that William had given the Dorrado apartment Monday night. So it probably was Carnifice who’d come into Morrell’s place this morning. Did they think Marcena had the Nicaragua faxes, or was there yet something else that they were really looking for?

“Mr. Bysen,” I said to the Buffalo, “you know Bron Czernin was murdered Monday night while he was driving for—”

“It’s not clear he was on the job when he was killed.” Mr. William frowned.

“Now what?” I exclaimed. “Are you going to try to pretend he wasn’t driving Monday night so you can deny his family’s comp claim? Grobian himself has a log of where Bron took his truck!”

“That truck has disappeared. And we know now that he was—dallying with this Love woman, which means he was off the By-Smart clock as far as we’re concerned. If the family wants to take it to court, they can try, but his widow will find it very unpleasant to have the details of her husband’s life revealed in public.”

“But her lawyer won’t be offended at all,” I said coldly. “Freeman Carter will be representing her.” Freeman is my lawyer. If I guaranteed his fee, he might be willing to go up against By-Smart—you never know.

Linus Rankin, the corporate counsel, knew Freeman’s name. He said if Sandra could afford Freeman, she didn’t even need the insurance claim or her cashier’s job.

I could feel anger rising in me, like a blood infection, starting at my toes and sweeping through my body. “Why do you begrudge Sandra Czernin her rightful settlement? A quarter of a million dollars would barely pay for the cars you have parked out front, let alone this massive estate here. She needs to look after her daughter who’s seriously ill, and your company has denied her health insurance by keeping her hours just below forty a week. You claim to be Christians—”