I wondered if there were wars between nations that had begun like this, if whole peoples slaughtered each other without even being able to agree on what they were fighting about.

"Is that all?" I asked pleasantly.

"I've taken an office on the forty-second floor," he replied. "My primary purpose here is to negate your contract and to have you evicted, maybe even incarcerated."

Toller was not a day over forty-five but he carried himself like a man of seventy. He was one of those men who came into the world with the weight of years on his shoulders. I could tell by the timbre of his voice and the cast of his eye that he felt he was being threatening. I expected that he could imagine the fear I felt at his words.

I smiled.

"Do they pay you well, Mr. Toller?"

"I do all right."

" 'All right'? That's a lot of money to try and nullify a good-faith contract. Listen to me, man, these empty rooms are mine, just like the little place thirty floors down is yours. I'm not leaving, and you're not taking or sending me anywhere. Okay?"

Finally-a frown.

"I'm very good at my job, Mr. McGill. I have a background in forensic accounting."

And I have a pistol in my top drawer.

The image of Toller kissing Aura came back to me. I could feel the fingernails digging into my palms.

"I haven't broken any laws, Mr. Toller," I lied. "So you can take your red case and your blue suit and do whatever it is a CFO forensic bookkeeper does. I'm staying right here."

"I don't think you understand the seriousness of your situation," he replied.

"What a man don't know," I quoted, "he just don't know."

Something about the phrase inflamed the prig's aesthetic. His left nostril flared and he rose to his feet, hugging the briefcase under his arm like a pet piglet.

"You'll be hearing from me" were his last words before leaving.

THE IDEA OF TOLLER'S investigation didn't intimidate me. I was vulnerable, of course-all people are. Innocent or not, anyone can be made to look bad. And I had enough skeletons in my closet to make a death row inmate seem angelic. But I wasn't worried-not about Toller-just overwhelmed by the circumstances of my life.

Any good boxer can tell you that if you have a sound strategy, and stick to it, you always have a shot at winning the fight. And even if you don't win, you can make it through to the final bell, throwing at least some doubt on your opponent's claim to victory.

What beats a fighter with a good plan isn't power or a lucky punch, not usually; no, what beats a journeyman pugilist is the onslaught of an implacable attack. If your opponent throws so much at you that you get confused, you will necessarily be drawn away from your game plan and defeated by the complexity of your own (mis)perceptions.

I had a lot on my mind: everything from murder to the unexpected bouquet of wildflowers that Katrina had placed in our dining room.

I resolved to ignore any new information until I had answered at least one question.

At that moment the buzzer sounded again. I decided to have that wire disconnected.

"Yes, Mardi?"

"A Mr. Alphonse Rinaldo to see you, Mr. McGill."

Show him in," I said, stunned by the impact of the soft words. Alphonse Rinaldo.

I had never seen him outside his downtown offices. The Big Man didn't come to you; he never went anywhere, as far as I knew.

When the door came open I stood up. Mardi entered with a smile for me and the view. She moved a little awkwardly but that was okay-I was off balance myself. Alphonse Rinaldo was the most powerful man I had ever met. Seeing him follow the child into the room was unreal. His dark-brown silk suit cost more than most cars. He was five- nine, with a perfect complexion and black, well-managed hair. He nodded and then moved gracefully to the visitor's chair.

It seemed like a travesty that such an important man should sit in the same seat that was occupied by George Toller just a while before.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Rinaldo?" Mardi asked.

"Coffee?" he said.

"There's a Coffee Exchange in the lobby," I said. "Get me one, too, will ya, Mardi?"

I handed her a ten-dollar bill and the key ring for the front door, adding, "The silver key works on the top lock."

She smiled and backed out of the room.

"Nice place," Rinaldo said. His voice was smooth and deep like a placid lake on just the right day.

"Thank you."

I sat down and frowned again. It was becoming less and less likely that I'd make it to the final round.

Like Toller, Rinaldo was carrying a briefcase. But unlike the so-called CFO, the Special Assistant to the City of New York wasn't bringing tuna sandwiches and condoms to work.

For a moment there I imagined Toller going to the eighty-first floor and rutting with Aura on her big metal desk.

"What's wrong, Leonid?" Alphonse asked.

"You came here all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then you must know why I look like there's something wrong."

Instead of smiling he took a small photograph from his breast pocket and leaned across the desk, handing it to me.

It was a snapshot of a raven-haired girl, no older than twenty-five, whose look was somehow both reserved and wild. She was facing the lens but not looking into it. The shot was taken when she was unaware.

"Is this the girl you saw last night?"

"I don't get it, Mr. Rinaldo, you could get any of a hundred people to show you the crime-scene photographs. As far as I know, the NYPD is an open book to you."

"I cannot be involved." His eyebrows furrowed one-sixteenth of an inch. It wasn't much, but a man that close to being royalty didn't have to do much.

"The face on the dead girl was pretty destroyed, but she had blond hair and one blue eye."

I could tell by the waver over his lips and the slight puffing of his cheek that he sighed in relief. I couldn't actually hear the exhalation, but it was there.

"What happened to Strange?" I asked.

"I pulled him off the job," Rinaldo said. "Told him that it was over."

"But it's not."

"I need you to find this girl, Leonid. It is very important to me."

In that fight-the one where you had a plan and stuck to it-you could be thrown off balance by any change in your opponent; for instance, if he were to switch from a normal right-handed stance to southpaw. I never expected to see vulnerability in this man who, for all intents and purposes, was beyond the reaches of pain.

"Did Strange tell you my caveats?" I asked, pretending that this was a meeting between equals.

"He records every conversation he has on my behalf."

"So what do you have to say?"

"If you hadn't voiced those restrictions I wouldn't be here."

Our eyes met. Rinaldo's gaze was unwavering. Even in obvious pain and defenseless he wouldn't look away.

"Excuse me," Mardi Bitterman said.

She was carrying a cardboard box that they use for large orders at the Coffee Exchange.

"That was quick," I said.

"I called down. They have a building delivery service," she said. "I didn't ask how you wanted your coffees, so I had them bring a cup of half-and-half, some sugars, and sugar substitutes."

She put the box down in front of Rinaldo, also placing my key ring and change in the center of the desk.

"Thank you," Rinaldo said, and then he touched her elbow.

She flinched, pulling her arm away.

"Excuse me," he said.

"It's okay. I, I just don't like being touched. I'm sorry."

Mardi backed out of the room again, half-smiling and looking as if she were about to cry.

Rinaldo took his coffee black, as I did mine.

"Whatever it costs," he said. "I need to find her and make sure she's safe."