“At the stand, a street beggar came up to her and demanded money. Elgin told me he was big, filthy, smelled like someone had poured cheap whiskey in an open sewer and verbally abusive. She didn’t have any change and when she started to walk away, he grabbed her, started shaking her like a shark with its prey and threatening to break her arm.”

Sheila paused as Harm’s pen flew across the folder. It took several seconds before he looked up, ready for her to continue.

“Terrified of course, Elgin said something just sort of clicked in her mind and the next thing she knew, she’d swung her briefcase as hard as she could and put the corner of it right in the…old Family Jewels.”

In spite of herself, a nervous little snicker escaped her as the man across the desk squirmed slightly in universal male empathy.

“A cabby who’d just pulled up and seen the tail end of what happened, hustled her to his taxi, calmed her down enough to get her address and took her home. Her jacket had a huge, greasy stain where he’d grabbed her arm and torn the shoulder seam wide open. And you can still see the ring of purple bruises on her arm where he grabbed her.”

She shuddered a little and closed her eyes.

“Did Ms. Collier file a police report?”

“No, although Martha and I both told her she should. But she said that if she did, someone would find out who she was and then a shyster lawyer would convince this creep to sue her. Maybe even have her arrested with all the attendant media frenzy. Unfortunately, that happens an awful lot to famous people.”

“Did someone at the scene call the police?”

“Uh-huh. A couple of gawkers with cell phones called 9-1-1 but it happened so quickly, by the time they got there, Elgin had already left and apparently, when he realized the police were on the way, the bum managed to get up and stagger away too.”

“And that was the end of it?”

“Not quite,” she answered gravely, reaching into her bag again. Slowly, she placed a small piece of paper face down on the desk and pushed it toward him.

Turning it over, Harm saw a three-paragraph newspaper “filler” item.

Homeless Man Killed, read the small headline. The short article stated simply that the body of John Richards, a forty-eight year old transient, had been found in an alley by a busboy emptying garbage from a nearby restaurant at about three p.m. Police believed he’d been stabbed about two hours before he’d been found. There were no witnesses and no suspects.

“The man who assaulted Ms. Collier?”

Sheila nodded. “If the police are right about the time he was killed, it couldn’t have been more than an hour after he attacked Elgin.” Concern now mingled with real fear in her voice.

“And you think the two incidents are related?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m sure you’re aware, Ms. Forbes, that a street person’s life is precarious at best,” Harm told her, keeping his tone serious. “You said he was panhandling. He could have been murdered for his money. In that world, even pocket change can be worth killing for. And if he was as aggressive and abusive as you describe, he could have gotten into another altercation that escalated into violence. Or perhaps he just ran into someone who was meaner or crazier than he was. Whatever happened, the chances of it having anything to do with your friend are extremely remote.”

“That’s pretty much what the police told me,” she retorted sharply. “They came by yesterday to talk to Elgin. Of course they don’t think she had anything to do with this bum’s death, but they were trying to track his movements before he died and they found out about the incident and the cabby told them where he’d taken her so they wanted to get her story. ‘Purely routine,’ they called it. But I’m absolutely convinced this murder is tied to what’s been happening to Elgin.

“I believe whoever is stalking her has been following her around. That’s how he discovered where she lives. How he found out what kind of flowers and candy she has delivered. He even got close enough to her to fondle her ass in a crowded elevator. That, combined with the stalking itself, shows how unstable he is.

“When that animal attacked Elgin, the stalker probably went berserk, followed him and stabbed him. Having killed the beast who’d sullied his lady’s honor, he’s no doubt feeling very good about it, too.”

“And what does Ms. Collier say about all this?” Harm asked quietly. “I’d think if she was concerned about her security, she’d be here in person.”

“Elgin is a writer,” Sheila explained tartly. “Like most writers, she lives in a universe of her own creation where everything runs to her whim.”

“So she doesn’t think there’s a problem, either?”

Sheila rummaged in her bag once more, this time pulling out a check, which she placed squarely in front of him. The number of zeros surprised even him.

“Your secretary quoted me your rate when I made the appointment.” She nodded toward the check. “You’ll see that’s your rate times twenty-four hours, times seven days, times two weeks. Plus what I deem a generous allowance for expenses. I want you to investigate this matter, quietly but thoroughly. I also want you to provide discreet but constant security for Elgin Collier.

“If, as you seem to think, there is no problem, then you should be able to wrap things up quickly although you may keep the entire retainer. My peace of mind will be well worth the money. But if there is a problem, I want it resolved. Permanently.”

A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “And don’t worry, Mr. Harm. Not only is the check good, but there’s lot’s more where that came from.”

“All right, Ms. Forbes, we’ll take the case. We’ll deposit your check and draw our daily rate plus expenses against it. Any amount remaining after the case is closed, will be refunded to you.”

“No, Mr. Harm,” she corrected, “you will take the case. Personally. I’ve checked around carefully and you’re the best there is at what you do. Ex-police, ex-FBI, ex-Secret Service. I’m paying for the best and that’s what I expect for my money.”

“I can assure you that all my detectives…”

“Are no doubt top notch,” she cut in, “and I expect you’ll assign the watching and digging to them. A brain surgeon doesn’t boil his own instruments. But you will be in charge.”

“If you insist, Ms. Forbes,” he smiled and leaned forward. “But my time is very valuable. For me to handle this case myself, it will cost you double the agency rate.”

Without blinking, Sheila produced an eight by ten-inch photo, her checkbook and a slender jade green pen. Quickly, she filled out another check and set it and the photo next to the first check.

“I’ll expect you to begin immediately. You seem an honest sort, so for the time being, we’ll seal the bargain with a handshake.”

They stood up and she extended her hand. “Messenger the contract to me at my office, I’ll sign it and messenger it right back. Good bye, Mr. Harm.”

Slightly dazed, he shook her hand.

“Good bye, Ms. Forbes.”

The door had just barely closed behind her when his secretary came in, steno pad at the ready. Leaning across his desk, he handed her the checks.

“Open a new case file,” he told her as she began taking notes. “Our client is Ms. Sheila Forbes. Her information’s in the file from the intake when she made the appointment. We’ll be investigating a possible stalker and providing personal security to the victim until we can get it sorted out. I’ll be overseeing this myself.”

Jessica’s hand stopped in mid-flight and a quizzical eyebrow shot up.

“She handed me the first check,” he replied to her unspoken question, “and told me she wanted me to handle the case personally. I told her it would cost her twice the office rate and without so much as batting an eyelash, she wrote out the second check.”

Unexpectedly, he chuckled. “Never let it be said that C.A. Harm ever prevented some willing woman from showering him with money.”