Marge cupped her brow with extended fingers, protecting her eyes from the onslaught of the midmorning sun. “You’ve got to ask yourself why a top dog like Milligan would bother with Yalom. The answer is, he had something she wanted. But I can’t think that his stockholdings would be anything worth screaming about. Hell, if they were truly valuable, seems to me the easiest thing would be for VerHauten to buy the guy out.”

Decker said, “Agreed. Something else is at stake. You want to pay an impromptu visit to Ms. Milligan?”

“What are the chances that she’ll be in or that she’ll see us if she’s in?”

“Her offices are only a few blocks away. Let’s go for it.”

Marge shrugged. “You’re the veteran.”

Decker looked at the street signs. “This way. Let’s walk. The weather’s nice.”

Ten minutes later, Decker was standing in front of a waffled monolith of chrome and glass that reflected the glare of sunlight. He shielded his eyes and rolled his shoulder.

“Your bullet wound acting up?”

“Just when the weather’s been damp.” He smoothed back his hair. “Let’s do it.”

They went into a sunlit lobby, taking another express elevator. Decker felt his stomach lurch with each stop until they exited onto the twenty-third floor. Steel doors opened and they stepped into a paneled lobby. The entrance to the inner sanctum was blocked by a twenty-foot walnut desk manned by a pair of headphoned receptionists—one blonde, one brunette. The blonde had on a short-sleeved teal-blue dress; the dark-haired lass wore a tomato-red suit. Across the satin-smooth paneled barrier bronze capital letters spelled out MILLIGAN AND ASSOCIATES. The left side of the lobby held a six-foot leather couch; on the right were two wingback club chairs, between them a table holding several copies of the day’s Wall Street Journal. Decker approached the desk, attracting the attention of the blond receptionist. She smiled at him, but continued talking into her headphones. A moment later, she gave them her full attention.

“May I help you?”

Her voice was delicate, shaded with a South African accent. Decker said, “Kate Milligan, please.”

The blonde furrowed her brow. “And your name?”

“We don’t have an appointment.” Marge took out her badge. It attracted attention not only from the blonde but from the brunette as well.

The brunette said, “What’s this all about, Mae?”

Mae answered, “I don’t know.”

The phone rang. The brunette answered. “Milligan and Associates. This is Ellen. How may I direct your call?”

Mae said, “So Ms. Milligan isn’t expecting you?”

Decker smiled. “Just tell her the police are here.”

Mae seemed mired in indecision.

Decker said, “Why don’t you pick up your phone and call her?”