“I do. But passion or no, there comes a time when a man must retire and leave the work to others to complete.” He got up, nodded courteously to Miranda, Fae, and Khabir, and began to make his way to the door.

“A pity we cannot work as long as we wish without age slowing us down, especially if our work is in doing good for others. It almost makes you want to live forever,” Miranda said, smiling with every part of her face but her eyes.

Malveaux did not quite stumble, but something in his gait suggested that his legs had lost their strength for a moment. He turned and stood still in the doorway, considering her, then spoke in a near whisper. “Not me.”

“You were on the bus. What happened? What did you see?”

He stared at her, looked down, smiled, shook his head, and met her eyes again with such regret that Miranda faltered. “Dr. Ecouvo, one word from you could have me committed to the psychiatric wards. I’ll keep the fullness of that nightmare to myself.”

He walked away. Miranda waited until there was the distant sound of a car’s motor starting up and moving away, and then she sagged and turned to Khabir. “Tell me, what was the point of that visit?”

He shrugged, but uneasily. “I ran into him at the Club, and he was extremely upset about your injuries. You said that there might be a motive attached to your accident, so I thought if you spoke to Malveaux directly . . .”

Miranda was already nodding along mockingly. “. . . I’d see how far-fetched the idea was. Or something. Khabir, you have to stop taking my words so literally.”

“Rail at me all you want,” he said. “We know something about the Mermaid that we didn’t know before, and that case isn’t closed. Not yet.”

“Dancer at private parties?” Miranda said doubtfully. “There’s not much in that.”

Khabir grimaced. “I think I know the parties he’s talking about. Some of the Club members have smaller, more exclusive gatherings . . .”

She stared at him. “I see. Khabir, when you’re investigating that lead, there’s something I want you to think about. Imagine, in a completely not-taking-my-words-too-seriously way, imagine that the Mermaid did not commit suicide but was killed by a Freeman. Do you think you could adjust your approach to your fraternal colleagues accordingly?”

He was appalled. “Miranda! I’ve been working in this City almost as long as you’ve been alive. I know they’re most of them a bunch of crooks. There’s no need to warn me how to handle myself.”

“Of course,” Fae interrupted cheerfully, “according to the best crime stories, the murderer-mastermind would most likely be you.”