“Watch the women. Jackie and Cheryl. That’s where the action will be.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding dubious. “Why?”

“The men will talk. That’s all. But if money changes hands, it will be the women who do it.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the only reason they’re here. This way both Reisner and Pak can testify under oath that they had nothing to do with cash payments for favors.”

“I’m going to record them,” she said.

Ted’s immediate reaction to this escalation of their surveillance was mild panic. This wasn’t part of the plan. They could too easily be caught. He held his breath and watched Kenzie manipulate her menu as a shield for her phone.

“That’s going to work right up until the waiter takes our order,” he said.

“So I’ve got a while—oh, damn.”

“What?”

“They’re heading for the ladies’ room.” Kenzie stood.

“Wait. You can’t follow them into the bathroom and tape them in there.”

“I can goddamn well try.” She was gone.

Ted was stuck, afraid to look behind him without Kenzie to scout first. He calmed himself and tried to think through the ramifications of what he had just now learned. Cheryl had come to him with two requests—to find Richie’s killer and to follow the case of the surplus money. Then at some point she had lost interest. In both questions.

He had no trouble fixing the exact moment when she had lost all interest in the money. It was when he had made her realize that the Miller properties were tied up in the LBC project. Now that he’d seen her here, this made perfect sense.

But later she had pulled him off Richie’s case—fired him. Something had changed.

She must have received new information. Had she found out who killed Richie and stopped caring? Or was she afraid? Of whom? Of what?

And who would have provided that information? Jackie? Ted didn’t think so. He could easily imagine her furthering her career by abetting a conspiracy of wealthy power brokers. He was convinced she had defrauded Barbara Miller. But an accessory to murder? Not likely. If she knew anything about Richie’s death, she would have run to a safe harbor—the Judge or the cops. She was weak, venal, ambitious, and cruel. But she wasn’t evil. Or stupid.

Each question led to two more. His head began to pound.

“Will the lady be returning?” The beer-keg waiter was standing there with an expression of constrained impatience.

Ted wanted to get rid of him. He needed to think. “Tell you what,” he said. “Bring us two shrimp cocktails, steak for two medium rare, creamed spinach, and hashed browns.”

“The porterhouse?” the waiter asked.

He wanted the man gone. “Yes, yes.” But now he also wanted a beer. “What craft beers do you have?”

“Heineken?”