Montez was in the middle of it, pushing a black leather case on wheels. Thin and sallow as ever, gray hair drawn back in a ponytail. Giant drooping mustache and wispy chin-beard whitening around the edges. The lenses of his glasses were hexagonal and cobalt blue.

Walking alongside him was a pallid young woman in a filmy pink granny dress. Long black hair, beautiful face, old woman’s stoop. She kept talking to Montez. If he cared about what she had to say, he wasn’t showing it.

I blended with the crowd, managed to get behind the two of them.

Every time I’d seen Montez he’d gone for foppery. Today’s costume was a fitted, black velvet suit with an Edwardian cut, wide, peaked lapels trimmed with satin. The pink of his shirt brought painful memories of childhood sunburns. His peacock-blue bowtie was glossy silk.

The pallid girl said something that made him stop. The two of them veered to the right and stepped behind an open courtroom door. I edged closer to the other side and pretended to study a wall directory. The crowd had thinned, and I could make out their conversation through the jamb.

“What the continuance means, Jessica, is I bought some time for you to get clean and stay clean. You can also find yourself a job and try to con the judge into thinking you want to be a solid citizen.”

“What kinda job?”

“Anything, Jessica. Flip burgers at McDonalds.”

“What about Johnny Rockets? It’s, like, close by.”

“If you can get a job at Johnny Rockets, that would be great.”

“I never flipped burgers.”

“What have you done?”

“I danced.”

“Ballet?”

“Topless.”

“I’m sure you were great on the pole, Jessica, but that’s not going to help you.”

He walked away. The girl didn’t.

I moved from behind the door and said, “Afternoon.”

Montez turned. The girl had her back to the wall, as if pressed there by an unseen hand. “Go look for a job, Jessica.”

She flinched and left.

I said, “Did Michaela say anything about Dylan and Nora Dowd having a relationship?”

“You stalking me, Doc? Or is this happy coincidence?”

“We need to talk— ”

“I need to go home and forget about work. That includes you.” He took hold of his luggage rack.

“Meserve’s missing,” I said. “Given the fact that your client was murdered last week, you might reconsider being a glib wiseass.”

His jaw tightened. “It sucks, okay? Now leave me alone.”

“Meserve could be in danger or he could be a bad guy. Did Michaela tell you anything that would clarify the situation?”

“She blamed him for the hoax.”

I waited.

“Yeah, he was fucking Dowd. Okay?”

“How’d Michaela feel about that?”

“She thought Meserve had lost it,” said Montez. “Going for a senior citizen. I believe her precise phrase was ‘tired meat.’ ”

“Jealous?”

“No, she had no feelings for Meserve, just thought it was gross.”