A handful of disapproving parents turned to glare at her. Margrit clapped a palm over her mouth, wide-eyed with guilt, then moved her hand to whisper, “Sorry,” as if a quiet apology made up for blurting a curse at a noticeable volume. “Holy shit,” she repeated, this time in a whisper all to herself.

“He hid in the rafters.” Margrit flung herself into the seat by Tony’s desk with an air of triumph. Tony stared at her, first blankly, then in disbelief. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and lines creased the skin at the corners of his mouth, giving a hint of what aging would bring. On a man twenty years his senior the lines would be distinguishing, giving a handsome face with character and strength. But for the moment, Margrit said, “You look terrible,” without thinking.

He snorted a laugh. “Thanks. You look like you got enough sleep.” He gestured to her running gear. “Enough to exercise, anyway.”

“I’m faking it. Runner’s high. I ran here from work.”

He glanced at a clock. “Early lunch?”

“I got to work at five this morning. Anyway, I told Russell I’d remembered something else about the guy in the park and I had to talk to you. I think he figures getting bent out of shape when I’m trying to help another public service agency is counterproductive. He’ll take it out in blood later. But listen, Tony.” She leaned forward to seize his hand, enthusiasm overtaking her. “He hid in the rafters. In the Blue Room girders. No cameras look up there.”

Tony chuckled, a rough low sound. “I’m sure there’s a nicer way to say this, but you’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I’m not!” She let go of his hand and thumped her fist on a stack of paperwork on his desk. “We saw him jump, right? In the video.”

He tilted his head back and blew out a noisy breath. “The ceiling in there’s thirty feet high, Margrit. Even where you were, it’s gotta be twenty, twenty-two feet.” He lowered his head, eyeing her. “You really trying to tell me you think he jumped twenty feet straight in the air?”

Margrit folded her arms. “You got a better suggestion?”

“No,” he said after long moments. “But it’s just not possible.”

“What if he was on something?” she demanded.

“He didn’t act like he was.”

“Well, maybe it’s something you don’t know about. Maybe he’s an Olympic athlete. I don’t know, but look. We can at least find out if somebody was in the rafters.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, challenging. Margrit tossed her ponytail, grinning at him. “Betcha nobody dusts up there.”

His eyebrows drew down, then slowly rose again, his expression clearing. A smile crept across his face and then he laughed. “All right. All right. I think you’re crazy, but he went somewhere, and that’s not a half-bad idea. If you’re right, I might even be able to get prints.” He clapped his hands together and stood up, weariness swept away.

“Do I get to come?” Margrit asked. “C’mon, Tony.” She stood, bouncing on her toes. “It was my idea. I promise I won’t touch anything. Swear to God. I just want to know if I was right.”

He looked at her, still grinning. “How about if I tell you over dinner tonight?”

“How about I go with you and we discuss what we find over dinner tonight?”

Tony laughed. “That wasn’t supposed to be an opening for negotiation.”

“I’m a lawyer, Tony. Everything is negotiation.”

He swung his jacket on, eyeing her sideways. “You won’t touch anything. And if any trouble crops up you’ll do what I say, and get out of there.”

“Scout’s honor,” Margrit promised, holding up three fingers.

He held up two fingers. “I was a Cub Scout,” he told her dryly. “You got it wrong.”

“I was a Girl Scout, Tony, and it’s three fingers for them.” Margrit arched an eyebrow, then tipped her head toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Margrit stood to one side of the Blue Room, arms folded under her breasts as she watched a young officer scramble up an aluminum ladder. Tony shuddered faintly and she smiled, edging toward him. “What was it you were doing when you found out how thin air is and how hard the ground is?”

“Playing tag,” he answered in a low voice. “On the roof. You know that.”

Margrit’s smile broadened. “Yeah, but I really like reminding you.”

“Watching McLaughlin is reminder enough.”

“She’s right, sir,” the officer in question called down. “Somebody was up here.”

Tony shot Margrit an incredulous look, growling, “I still don’t see how it’s possible,” before tipping his head back to shout up the ladder. “Think we can lift any prints?”

“We can try.” McLaughlin came skidding down the ladder with a reckless heed for his own mortality. Margrit moved to the side, remembering her promise to not be a nuisance. There were three officers, including Tony, although one was searching the rest of the club in case something had been missed the night before.

The club looked uncomfortably different during the day. Round white fluorescent lights, the bulbs protected by wire frames, had been turned on last night while the building was being emptied, but they seemed uglier during daylight hours. The rooms no longer echoed with remembered music, but stood empty and bare, mirrored walls reflecting a mundane existence that the night pushed away. Footsteps were audible against the hard floors. Margrit could hear water burbling in the pipes.

McLaughlin scaled the ladder again and Pulcella ambled over to Margrit’s side. “It was a good call,” he said. “I still don’t know how he got out of here without us seeing him, and I sure as hell don’t know how he made that jump, but it was a good call. You should turn away from the dark side and become a cop.”

Tension tightened Margrit’s shoulders and she let out a long sigh. “I like to think I’m one of the good guys, Tony. Sometimes I even get to defend innocent people.” Her cell phone rang from the depths of her jacket pocket. Margrit dug it out with more force than necessary, the distraction annoying and welcome all at once. There was never a good time to talk about it, she thought. Part of the nature of their relationship, and why it was off as much as it was on. “Besides,” she muttered, “it was just a hunch.” She wandered away from the detective, holding the phone to her ear.

“Hi, this is Margrit.”

“This is Russell. Are you finished with your business with Tony?” Her boss’s voice was hurried, urgency clipping his words. “The governor’s announcing his decision on the Johnson case this afternoon.”

“What? Sh-!” Margrit swallowed the curse, remembering just in time to be professional. “What time?” She aborted another curse, stalking in a small, agitated circle.

“One o’clock. During a luncheon with the Women’s City Club.”

Margrit clenched her hand in a fist. “God, I hope that’s good news. All right. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Damn!” She twisted her wrist, looking at the bangle gold watch she wore. It was eleven-thirty, and she cast up a prayer of thanks that she’d gotten to work early. “I’ve got to take a shower, Russell. I ran to the police station. I’ll be there in an hour. The office, or are we meeting him somewhere?”

“Office. You and I will be going over together. Just get back here, Counselor.”

“On my way.” Margrit snapped her phone shut and turned, all but running into Tony, whose eyebrows were lifted.

“Hot date?”

“Yeah. My clemency case is about to be decided.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up higher. “The Luka Johnson case?”

“Yeah. I’ve-”

“And there you were claiming just a second ago that you were one of the good guys. The good guys don’t get murderers out of jail, Grit.” He was only half kidding, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Margrit pressed her lips together, giving her head one short shake. “It was self-defense, Tony, and I don’t want to get into it right now. I’ve got to go.”