“We don’t turn up something soon, I’m bagging it,” he said. “No point in spending more time trying to collect for a job than I devoted to the job itself.”

“You worked four days. We’ve been chasing your fee for one.”

“True, and I’m already bored.”

The first box I opened the contained the contents of Pete’s wastebasket, which Letitia Beaudelaire must have upended and emptied with one mighty shake. Here, in layers going back for weeks, was an accumulation of overdue notices, judgments, legal warnings, dunning letters, threats, unpaid bills, and bank statements showing countless checks returned for inadequate funds. It appeared that Pete, when he had his back pressed to the wall, would send off a bad check as a means of buying himself a few days’ time. The plan always failed—how could it not?—but he was too busy putting out fires to worry about the ones that flared up again.

Dietz said, “At least he was sincere about the river cruise. Take a look at this.”

He leaned forward and handed me a glossy brochure that featured a color photograph of a sleek boat on a body of water. This was not a 2,600-passenger cruise liner tracking the Norwegian fjords. This was river travel. A village was laid out along the shore, with a low rolling mountain beyond. The bell tower on the church was reflected like a shimmering mirage at the water’s edge. Everything about the image was inviting, including the sight of passengers on the upper deck where a swimming pool was visible. “I could learn to live like that,” I said.

“I told you money has its advantages.”

“For sure. I just couldn’t picture anything I wanted. Now I’m getting it,” I said. “It’d be nice if he’d set aside some cash to pay for the trip. I’m sure Ruthie could use the getaway.”

“You think she’d go without him?”

“Not really. I think if she had the money, she’d pay off his creditors before she did anything else.”

I watched Dietz pick up a sheaf of papers. As his eyes traced the lines of print, he let out a bark of outrage. “Son of a bitch! Look at this! What the hell is he doing here?”

I took the typewritten pages and glanced at the first. “What am I looking at?”

“My report. He stole the whole damn thing. Retyped it and dicked around with the language, but essentially it’s my work, with all my receipts attached. I’ll bet he was reimbursed for everything, including my time. This is my original. Look at that.”