“And you just let him?”

“Pardon?”

“You just let Clu withdraw two hundred grand?”

“It's his money.”

“But that much cash?”

“It was none of my business,” Win said.

“You know Clu, Win. It could have been for drugs or gambling or-”

“Probably was,” Win agreed. “But I am his financial adviser. I instruct him on investment strategies. Period. I am not his conscience or his mommy or his baby-sitter- or even his agent.”

Ouch. But no time for that now. Once again Myron suppressed the guilt and mulled over the possibilities. “Clu okayed us receiving his financial statements, right?”

Win nodded. MB SportsReps insisted that all clients use Win's services and meet with him in person at least quarterly to go over their accounts. This was for their sake more than Myron's. Too many athletes get taken advantage of because of ignorance. But most of Myron's clients had copies of their statements sent to Myron so thai he too could help keep track of the ins and outs, set up some automatic bill paying, that kind of thing.

“So a withdrawal that big would have come up on our screen,” Myron said.

“Yes.”

“Esperanza would have known about it.”

“Yes again.”

Myron frowned. “So that gives the DA another motive for the murder. She knew about the cash.”

“Indeed.”

Myron looked at Win. “So what did Clu do with the money?”

Win shrugged.

“Maybe Bonnie knows?”

“Doubtful,” Win said. “They've separated.”

“Big deal. They're always fighting, but she always takes him back.”

“Perhaps. But this time she made the separation legal.”

That surprised Myron. Bonnie had never gone that far before. Their turmoil cycle had always been consistent: Clu does something stupid, a big fight ensues, Bonnie throws him out for a couple of nights, maybe a week, Clu begs forgiveness, Bonnie takes him back, Clu behaves for a little while, Clu does something stupid, the cycle starts anew. “She got a lawyer and filed papers?”

“According to Clu.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes, Myron. That's what ‘According to Clu’ means.”

“When did he tell you all this?”

“Last week. When he took out the cash. He said that she had already begun divorce proceedings.”

“How did he feel about it?”

“Badly. He craved yet another reconciliation.”

“Did he say anything else when he withdrew the cash?”

“Nothing.”

“And you have no idea-”

“None.”

The conference room door flew open. Hester Crimstein came in, red-faced and fuming. “You dumb bastards. I told you to stay away.”

“Don't put this on us,” Myron said. “This is your screwup.”

“What?”

“Getting her bail should have been a slam dunk.”

“If you weren't in the courtroom, it would have been. You played right into the DA's hands. He wants to show the judge that the defendant has the resources to run away, and boom, he points to a famous ex-jock and one of the country's richest playboys sitting right in the front row.”

She started stomping about as though the industrial gray carpet contained small brushfires. “This judge is a liberal schmuck,” she said. “That's why I started with all that hardworking Hispanic crap. She hates rich people, probably because she is one. Having the Preppy Handbook here”-she gestured with her head at Win-“sit in the front row was like waving a Confederate flag at a black judge.”

“You should drop the case,” Myron said.

Her head jerked toward him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Your fame is playing against you. The judge may not like rich people, but she doesn't much like celebrities either. You're the wrong attorney for this case.”

“Bullshit. I've had three cases before this judge. I'm three and oh.”

“Maybe she doesn't like that either.”

Crimstein seemed to lose a little steam. She moved back and collapsed into a chair. “Bail denied,” she said more to herself than anyone else. “I can't believe they even had the nerve to ask for no bail.” She sat a bit straighter. “All right, here's how we play it. I'm going to press for answers. In the meantime you guys say nothing. No talking to the cops, the DA, the press. Nobody. Not until we figure out what exactly they think the three of you did.”

“The three of us?”

“Weren't you listening, Myron? They think it's a money scheme.”

“Involving the three of us?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

“I don't know. They mentioned your going to the Caribbean, maybe the Cayman Islands. We all know what that means.”

“Depositing cash in offshore accounts,” Myron said. “But I left the country three weeks ago-before the money was even withdrawn. And I never went anywhere near the Caymans.”

“They're probably still grasping at straws,” Crimstein said. “But they're going to go after you in a big way. I hope your books are in order because I guarantee you they'll have them subpoenaed within the hour.”

Money scandal, Myron thought. Hadn't FJ mentioned something about that?

Crimstein turned her attention to Win. “Is that stuff about a big cash withdrawal true?”

“Yes.”

“Can they prove Esperanza knew about it?”

“Probably.”

“Damn.” She thought about this a moment.

Win moved into a corner. He took out his cell phone, dialed, started talking.

Myron said, “Make me co-counsel.”

Crimstein looked up. “Excuse me?”

“As you pointed out last night, I'm a bar-appointed attorney. Make me her attorney, and anything she tells me falls under attorney-client.”

She shook her head. “One, that'll never fly. The judge will see it for what it is, a loophole to make sure you can't testify. Two, it's moronic. Not only will it reek of a desperate defensive move, but it'll look like we're shutting you up because we have something to hide. Three, you may still be charged in all this.”

“How? I already told you. I was in the Caribbean.”

“Right. Where nobody but Preppy Boy could find you. How convenient.”

“You think-”

“I don't think anything, Myron. I'm telling you what the DA might be thinking. For now we're just guessing. Go back to your office. Call your accountant. Make sure your books are in order.”

“They're in order,” Myron said. “I've never stolen a dime.”

She turned to Win. “How about you?”

Win hung up the phone. “What about me?”

“They'll subpoena your books too.”

Win arched the eyebrow. “They'll try.”

“Are they clean?”

“You could eat off them,” Win said.

“Fine, whatever. I'll let your lawyers handle it. I got enough to worry about.”

Silence.

“So how do we get her out?” Myron asked.

“We don't get her out. I get her out. You stay away.”

“I don't take orders from you,”

“No? How about from Esperanza?”

“What about Esperanza?”

“This is her request as well as mine. Stay away from her.”

“I don't believe she'd say that.”

“Believe it.”

“If she wants me out,” Myron said, “she'll have to tell me to my face.”

“Fine,” Crimstein said with a heavy sigh. “Let's go take care of that now.”

“What?”

“You want her to tell you herself? Give me five minutes.”