My spinach was too cold now to be appetizing. I took the plate back to the kitchen. Presumably the folks at Diamond Head killed Mitch Kruger because he saw Eddie living well and wormed out of him how he’d got the money from the company. And when Mitch came around trying to get them to ante up for him, they conked him on the head and pushed him into the San. Did that mean they knew what they’d done was illegal? Or just that they were afraid it might be? People panic at the thought of exposure when they’ve done something shameful. And if the bosses let their panic be felt by underlings whom they’ve hired strictly for brute muscle, anything can happen. Still, Dick was walking a mighty fine line here.

I found myself holding the plate, staring abstractedly out the kitchen window, when Loring finally rang the bell. Mr. Contreras was up and about: I could hear his fierce interrogation of the visitor when I opened my front door.

It wasn’t until then that I remembered the urine in the corner of the stairwell. The stench was unmistakable, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Loring’s face was set in angry lines when he came in.

“Who the hell’s that old man? What business does he have questioning me?”

“He’s my partner. Part of his job is to check my visitors. People’ve been stalking me all week—it makes both of us nervous. Coffee? Wine? Tofu?”

“Nothing for me. I don’t want to be here and I don’t want to prolong it. Your partner, huh? Not much of an operation.”

“But you’re not here as my business consultant, are you? I need some coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The pot I’d made with my lunch was cold. It took about five minutes to brew up some fresh stuff. By the time I returned to the living room Loring himself was coming to a rolling boil—always a critical moment in cooking.

“What are you trying to do to me, Warshawski? I run the finances of a major corporation. I dropped everything to meet with the members of our board who could give me the green light to talk to you—and now you’re jacking me around just for the hell of it. I might be better off taking my chances with the press.”

“No, you wouldn’t. And you don’t need me to tell you that. I spent all of last night looking at files relating to Diamond Head. I got in at six-thirty this morning and went to bed. I know now—”

“Where?” he demanded. “If you had access to Diamond Head files, why the hell are you screwing around with me?”