The offices of Hamlyn and Kohl Worldwide Investigations occupied the entire thirty-third floor of the John Hancock Tower, I. M. Pei’s icy skyscraper of metallic blue glass. The edifice consists of sheets of mirrored glass, each twenty feet high and sixty feet long. Pei designed them so that the surrounding buildings would be captured in the glass with perfect resolution, and as you approach, you can see the light granite and red sandstone of Trinity Church and the imposing limestone of the Copley Plaza Hotel trapped in the smoked blue of merciless glass. It’s not all that unattractive an image, really, and at least the sheets of glass don’t have a habit of falling out like they used to.

Everett Hamlyn’s office faced the Trinity Church side and you could see clear to Cambridge on a sharp cold night like tonight. Actually, you could see clear to Medford, but I don’t know anyone who’d want to look that far.

We sipped Everett Hamlyn’s top-shelf brandy and watched him stand by his sheet of glass and stare out at the city laid in a carpet of lights at his feet.

He cut a hell of a figure, Everett did. Ramrod straight, skin so tight to his hard frame that I often thought if a paper cut appeared in the flesh, he’d burst wide open. His gunmetal hair was trimmed tight to the scalp, and I’d never seen so much as a hint of stubble or shadow on his cheeks.

His work ethic was legendary—the one who turned on the lights in the morning and shut them off at night. A man who’d been overheard more than once saying that any man who needed more than four hours of sleep couldn’t be trusted, because treachery lay in sloth and a need for luxury and more than four hours’ sleep was a luxury. He’d been with the OSS during World War II, just a kid then, but now, more than fifty years later, he still looked better than most men half his age.

Retirement would come for Everett Hamlyn, it was said, the same night death did.

“You know I can’t discuss this,” he said, his eyes watching our reflections in the glass.

I met his eyes the same way. “Off the record, then. Everett, please.”

He smiled softly and raised his glass, took a parsimonious sip of brandy. “You knew you’d find me alone, Patrick. Didn’t you?”

“I assumed I would. You can see your light from the street if you know what square to look for.”

“Without a partner to protect me if you both decided to double-team me, wear an old man down.”

Angie chuckled. “Now, Everett,” she said, “please.”

He turned from the window, a twinkle in his eyes. “You are as ravishing as ever, Angela.”