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felt a little ping. “You don’t know her.”
    â€œI know her, I just don’t know her, you know?”
    â€œYou lost me.”
    Mo knocked some ashes into his drawer. “Couple of years ago, editor here got me a job teaching adjunct, a journalism school crosstown. This Rust was in one of my classes. Or so she said on the phone.”
    â€œShe called you Professor Katzen with me.”
    â€œHah.” Mo set down the cigar. “Professor Katzen. Yeah, she would, she’s the one I’m thinking of.”
    â€œShe telephoned you?”
    â€œYeah. She needed an investigator to nose around Nasharbor. Somebody who wasn’t already wired into the big boys down there.”
    â€œShe tell you why?”
    â€œNo. You gonna?”
    â€œNo. Statute says I can’t. But I would like to know this—you figure her for a conspiracy nut?”
    Mo stuck the cigar back into his mouth and spoke around it. “Can’t help you there. I just don’t remember her much. Only saw her for a couple of hours on maybe ten Tuesdays two years ago. She asked some questions, gave some answers, barely stuck in my mind.”
    When I didn’t reply, Mo said, “What I’m saying is, you don’t owe me anything on this. You want to take her case, you take it. You don’t, no offense on my part.”
    I got up. “Thanks, Mo.”
    Reaching the door, I heard him punch in a telephone number and say, “Parking Bureau? Listen, we gotta talk here.”
    Walking back to the condo, I averted my eyes from the traitorous, but still empty, parking space. Upstairs, I showered and shaved for the second time that day, the face protesting that it was too soon to be scraped again. I used styptic pencil to stanch the blood, and aftershave to wipe off the white, powdery residue. Pulling on a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and Reebok sport shorts for Nancy, I decanted a bottle of red wine and chopped some fresh spinach, prosciutini, and cheddar cheese into a simple salad.
    The downstairs buzzer sounded. From the staircase, I could see her through the second of two glass-paneled doors. Lustrous black hair, charcoal suit, white ruffled blouse still looking fresh after a tough day litigating for the Suffolk County district attorney’s office downtown.
    I opened the door, and the hand that wasn’t carrying her briefcase came out from behind her back. A mixed bouquet of flowers.
    â€œPity I just pawned the Ming vase.”
    She went up on her toes to kiss me. “Only a Holy Cross grad would consider putting flowers in a Ming vase.” The kiss was sweet, a combination of nature and wintergreen Tic Tac.
    â€œLet’s continue this upstairs.”
    Nancy followed me. “Your buzzer system broken?”
    â€œNo. After the nurse was raped and murdered on Commonwealth, we disconnected the door latch part of it.”
    â€œWelcome to Back Bay.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œI’m sorry, too. It’s just been that kind of day.”
    At the apartment door, I motioned for Nancy to step past me over the threshold. “Well, what do you think?”
    She moved her head slowly around the apartment, taking in the polished oak-front fireplace, the lavender windows, and the Scandinavian Design furnishings. “I knew I should have gone to medical school.”
    Nudging her toward the couch, I went to the kitchen. “Wine or hard stuff?”
    â€œWhat’s the wine?”
    â€œRobert Mondavi, 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon.”
    â€œYou’re impressing me.”
    â€œWait’ll you see the receipt for the entree.”
    â€œMaybe half a glass of the wine, John.”
    I poured us both the same amount and carried the carafe and long-stemmed crystal on a Faneuil Hall Memorial tray.
    Nancy smiled up at me. “After the day I’ve had, this is really wonderful.”
    Putting the tray on the coffee table, I said, “Want to tell me about it?”
    The smile faded.