“Into what? You didn’t kill anybody.” He thought for a moment—was there any chance she had killed someone? No.

“No. I didn’t. But money laundering . . .” She looked at him, raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that why you were so interested in him, and in me?”

“You know why I was interested in you.”

“Yes, in Cambridge. But then five years go by with nothing. And then here I am, doing what I’m doing, and suddenly you’re back.”

“I didn’t even know you were in Geneva.”

“But I was, and you found me. And then you were investigating me.”

I was, Rafe thought.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s both believe that. Then maybe you can help me.” She held out her glass. “Do you have any more vodka?”

He went and got the nearly empty bottle and sat on the couch next to her.

“Help you how?”

“Majid told me. He said you got into trouble in the States, some funny business, so you know that side of things.”

Majid told you? Thanks a lot, Majid.

“And now you’re doing favors for the government, so you know that side, too. So you can help me with this.” She stretched out a leg and kicked the suitcase.

“Launder more than half a million dollars? By Friday?”

“Fair is fair. You fucked me to get to Pleski.”

“No,” he said. “Catherine, no.”

“No?” She pointed to the open bedroom door, the unmade bed beyond it. “I was standing right over there, pretty much naked, when you asked me to introduce you to him.”

“To help you. To help you get rid of him.”

Apparently that did not dignify a response.

“Besides,” she said, “you owe me.” She drained her glass and looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before. “If you’re right about him, I think I saved your life.”

“Saved my life?” Was he still dreaming? Would Ringo be walking into the room with the lyrics for “Octopus’s Garden”? (“Lads, think I should sing this one.”)

“I told Pleski that someone was asking about him and that fatal accident in New York. But I didn’t tell him you were the one doing the asking. I kind of told him it was somebody at the bank.”

“And . . .?” Rafe waited. Her voice was firm, her tone casual, like she was telling someone about a funny thing that happened at work. And then we found a box of condoms behind the copier.

“And then he was killed. In an accident.”

“Who was killed?”

“Aren’t you listening? Do you have any more vodka?”

“I’ll look in a minute. Did Pleski tell you he killed him? That somebody from the bank?”

“He didn’t say it . . . He . . .” And then she broke. Small tears, her head bobbing. Rafe put an arm around her.

“But you think he did?”