“I believe you,” Louis said.

Ronnie got in. Eric gunned the engine. Ronnie leaned out the window and gave a tentative smile. “Thanks, man.”

Louis nodded. He watched the old Ford bump out of the lot and jerk slowly up Mantanza Trail, the brake lights blinking every few feet. He took a final glance around the downtrodden nursery. He had the feeling that J.C. Landscaping wasn’t the only thing Ronnie Cade was trying to keep afloat.

The elevator jerked to a stop and the door wheezed open, letting Louis out on the ninth floor. He was in a plain, uncarpeted hallway. A sign with an arrow pointed left to DUVALL AND BERNHARDT, ATTORNEYS AT LAW.

He had expected a hotshot lawyer like Spencer Duvall to have an office in one of the new buildings on Jackson Street overlooking the river. But Duvall’s address turned out to be an old building on a side street just off Martin Luther King Boulevard.

He found the entrance and went in. It was nice inside compared to the exterior. Hushed, tasteful, lots of dark mahogany and framed prints of English hunting scenes. The blue carpet gave like a sponge. The receptionist’s desk was empty, but there was a lipstick-ringed Garfield coffee mug on it.

Louis went to the window. Nothing to see but the tarred and tiled roofs of downtown Fort Myers with a glimpse of the green-gray Caloosahatchee beyond. No view for the hotshot either.

“Can I help you?”

Louis turned and looked down at a tiny woman with a fluff of gray hair. She was in her sixties, wearing a tan suit with glasses dangling from a chain around her neck.

“I’m Louis Kincaid. I have an appointment with Mr. Bernhardt,” Louis said.

The woman’s eyes swept over him. “Mr. Bernhardt had to leave early. I called your office but there was no answer.”

Office. . it was his home phone. He had to get an answering machine. He stifled a sigh at the wasted trip. He was hoping to at least get a look at Duvall’s office. He glanced at the closed door over the secretary’s shoulder. Damn Bernhardt. He was probably in there, ducking him.

He thought about trying a smile, but then realized it wasn’t going to break the ice with this old biddy. “Look,” he said, “I really need to see Mr. Bern-”

“Ellie?”

The secretary jumped to her desk and punched a button.

“Yes?”

“Is Pearson here yet?”

“Is that your boss?” Louis asked.

The old lady ignored Louis. “No, he’s not, Mr. Bernhardt,” she said into the phone, “but Mr. Kincaid is.”

There was no answer. The secretary hung up and gave Louis a frown. “I hate lying for him,” she said.

Louis was about to speak when a man in a blue suit appeared. He was short, overweight, about fifty but looked older, with thin gray-blond hair and the ashy skin of a future coronary patient.

“Lyle Bernhardt,” he said briskly, extending a hand.

Louis accepted the soft, damp handshake. “Louis Kincaid.”

“I don’t appreciate being strong-armed,” he said.

“I had an appointment,” Louis said calmly.

Bernhardt frowned. “Well, come in, then,” he said, motioning Louis toward his office.

“I was hoping I could see Spencer Duvall’s office,” Louis said.

Bernhardt hesitated. “What? Why?”

“It’s just routine, Mr. Bernhardt. Part of any investigation.”

Bernhardt pursed his lips and glanced at the secretary. She was watching him closely.

“I don’t think that would be proper,” he said. “Besides, it’s all been cleaned up now anyway.”

“The scene’s been cleared?” Louis asked.

“Yes, thank God. Terribly distracting, if you know what I mean. Our clients were most uncomfortable. Why don’t you come into my office?”

Bernhardt led Louis into a large office done in the same pseudo-English manor style as the reception area. Louis took a chair across from Bernhardt’s imposing desk. The desk was heaped with papers and fat legal files. Bernhardt stared at the piles for a moment, as if confused.

“Sorry for the mess. Things have been in such an uproar since. .” Bernhardt’s voice trailed off. “The police don’t seem to appreciate the fact that business must go on no matter what.”

“It was just you and Mr. Duvall, right?” Louis said.

Bernhardt nodded. “That’s the way it’s been for almost twenty years now. I wanted to expand, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of it. Now I’m left with all of it.”

“You could hire someone now,” Louis offered.

Bernhardt looked at him like he was nuts. “You don’t just go out and find someone overnight. At least not someone who can handle the kind of cases Spencer did.”

He was rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. “What a mess he left me with,” he muttered, staring at the files on the desk.

Finally, he looked up at Louis. “Ellie said you’re a private investigator. For whom?”

“Ronnie Cade.”

“Ronnie? He doesn’t have any money. He’s nothing but a lousy mow-and-blow guy. And his father is broke. You’re wasting your time, son.”

Bernhardt made a point of looking at his watch. Louis felt himself starting to bristle.

“Just because a man’s broke doesn’t mean he isn’t entitled to a decent defense,” Louis said.

Bernhardt’s expression was piteous. “Oh, come on. Don’t start with that liberal claptrap.”

“Jack Cade-”

“-is a lying, murdering sonofabitch who should have been electrocuted twenty years ago. If he had, my partner would still be alive right now.”

Bernhardt began rubbing vigorously at the spot between his eyebrows again.

“Your partner was the one who got Cade the plea bargain that kept him alive,” Louis said. He could hear his words, but it was almost like someone else was saying them. Being on the other side was going to take some getting used to.

“I don’t need you or anyone to remind me of that.” Bernhardt leaned forward. “Look, Cade is an ungrateful moron. He should have gotten down on his knees and kissed Spencer’s shoes. Do I think Cade shot him? Yes, I do. He’s as guilty of shooting Spencer as he was of killing that girl twenty years ago.”

“You weren’t involved in that case, Mr. Bernhardt?” Louis asked.

Bernhardt shook his head. “Spencer was working alone in those days. We got together about a year later. I would have never defended a man like Jack Cade. But Spencer, well, he never could resist a challenge.”

“Do you think Cade really intended to sue your partner?”

“No, he intended to kill him. Revenge is a powerful, primitive emotion, and Jack Cade is a primitive man.”

The phone intercom beeped. Bernhardt punched the button. The secretary’s voice came on. “Mr. Pearson’s here.”

“Send him in,” Bernhardt said. He rose. “I’m sorry, but I have a client to see.”

Louis pushed himself out of the chair. “Thanks for your cooperation,” he said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Of course.”

Louis left, passing a burly man in a business suit. The door closed behind him. Louis stood there for a moment, collecting his thoughts. What there was to collect anyway.

He felt someone’s eyes on him and looked over to see the secretary staring at him.

“Do you want to make another appointment?” she asked.

“Think it will do me any good?”

“Nope.” The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Mr. Bernhardt?”

“Ellie, where’s my Rules of Court?”

“On the shelf where it always is, Mr. Bernhardt.”

“No, it’s not. I looked-”

“The shelf to your left, Mr. Bernhardt.”

“What? Oh. Here it is.” He clicked off.

She looked up at Louis. “His regular secretary is out on maternity leave. I’m filling in.”

Something clicked in Louis’s head. Ellie. . he remembered the name from the newspaper articles. Ellie Silvestri had been Duvall’s secretary.

Louis watched as she busied herself with some papers. It occurred to him that she had the air of someone in mourning. The newspaper article said she had been with the firm for twenty-five years. . a long time to work for one man, longer than most marriages. He suddenly remembered that Ellie Silvestri had found Duvall’s body when she came to work the next morning. Gunshot to the head. He knew what that could look like.