“How can you fuck up coffee from a Keurig machine, for the love of Pete? Did I fire you?”

“Yes. And I want to ask you about that. But I have a couple of other questions first.”

“I don’t want you screwing around any of this, you hear? Forget about those properties. The old lady. All of it. I told you that.”

“You told me to find Richie’s killer. I think they’re connected.” He wasn’t interested in convincing her—or himself. He wanted a reaction.

When it came, it wasn’t what he expected. Cheryl withdrew into what appeared to be a dark place. She seemed to deflate, her aggressive attitude gone. “It’s too late,” she said in a whisper so faint he almost asked her to repeat it. “Drop it.”

“I’ve got police harassing me. I want out.” He didn’t feel it was necessary to explain that his ex-wife and her grandfather were also strong motivating impetuses. “I’ll be happy to refund your money.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Money,” she said with a sneer.

Ted didn’t buy it. What could move this woman more than money? The answer came to him even as the question formed in his mind. Fear.

“You were on fire when you first came to see me,” he said. “Now you’re ashes. What changed?”

She looked at him with real pity in her bloodshot eyes. “You’re a nice guy. But you think you’re smart. And you are. Just not smart enough. Walk away, Eddie.”

“As soon as I get some answers,” he said.

The demand roused her ever so slightly. “I don’t have to tell you anything I don’t want to.”

“We’ll start with an easy one. I think you work for Councilman Kevin Pak. What do you do for him?”

“What? Is this supposed to be some big secret? I’m his admin. One of two, actually.”

“Okay, but what do you do?”

“I’m senior admin, though we don’t do titles,” she said.

He didn’t say anything. Sometimes silence creates a better question than repetition.

“Outreach. Fundraising. Business leaders need his support. They have to go through me to talk to him. A campaign contribution always helps.”

That kind of transactional democracy, which Ted took for granted, would have been called corruption in a foreign government. “Pay to play,” he said.

“Who cares? Why do you want to know?” She took a long slug of the cold coffee.

“I think your councilman is involved with Reisner and LBC and . . .”

He never got to the last part of his accusation, the Russian mob. Cheryl was laughing too hard.

“I would hope to hell he is,” she said. “It may not be his district, but his vote cost them good money. They wouldn’t have got to first base on that project without his okay.”

“I’ve heard the Russian mob is financing that tower.”