He held his thumb on the end call button for a long time. It was just as he’d feared: he was completely on his own. Everyone else had jumped ship, Lucy and Madame included, in their own way. They’d all left him alone at the helm to navigate around the icebergs and bring the company into port. At the same time that pirates like Mark Ivins were trying to board. It was an impossible task. He didn’t know if he could do it.

At Marketplace Tower he left the driver to deal with his luggage and took the elevator to the thirtieth floor. There was some kind of disturbance in the aviary behind the reception desk. The doves weren’t cooing, they were squawking and flapping their wings in agitation. He saw why. A Mexican was in there running a squeegee over the glass walls.

Even the unflappable Marcia seemed agitated when she met him in the corridor and took his briefcase from him. “Welcome back, Mr. Barrett,” she greeted him with forced heartiness. In a lower voice, she said, “Mr. Gutman is in your office.”

“Who?”

“Ms. Carter-Jones’s husband? I’m sorry. He was most insistent.”

Barrett scowled. “Give him ten minutes. Then make up a call that I have to take.”

“Very good.”

Elliott Gutman jumped to his feet as Barrett came in. “What the hell’s going on, Barry?” he shouted. “Why’d they drop the charges?”

Barrett stopped, his arm extended for a handshake that wouldn’t happen. “What are you talking about?”

“The DA dropped the charges against that Lambert woman!”

Barrett’s arm fell. “Fuck,” he said, then, “Marcia!”

Her reply drifted through the speaker. “Yes, Mr. Barrett.”

“Get me whosit—that detective. Wiley.”

“Riley. Right away.”

“They’re calling it suicide,” Gutman wailed. “Do you know what that’s going to do to my sons? And what about the insurance?”

“Okay, calm down,” Barrett said. “Sit down. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The call connected. “Mr. Barrett,” the old detective’s voice sounded through the Ma Belle speaker. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’ll tell you what you can do. You can explain what you’re thinking, dismissing the case against Lambert. I mean, what the hell?”

Riley made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “Happens I’m right outside your building. Why don’t I come up and explain it to you in person?”

“Fine. You do that,” Barrett bit out, and as the call ended, he shouted at Marcia again. “Get Jack Culligan up here.”

“It wasn’t suicide,” Gutman said. “I know that now.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

“I’ve been remembering something she said that night, before she went to the office. She said she wouldn’t have our boys grow up under a cloud the way she did. Her family—they’re fine people, really. I mean, she’s got a cousin in the House of Lords! But she always felt that their past cast a shadow over her. The family disgrace, you know. It left a stain. She said she wouldn’t allow that to happen to our sons. Her suicide would have cast a terrible shadow over the boys. So I know she wouldn’t have done it. She couldn’t have.”