Carolyn gave him a look. I said, "Oh, hell. There's a woman I've been seeing, and it's a sick, hopeless relationship, and I swore to Carolyn that I wasn't going to see her anymore. And I went out last night looking for her."

"I bet you went lookin' in Murray Hill."

"As a matter of fact I did. That's where she lives, but she wasn't home, so I went around looking in some of the bars and coffee shops she's apt to frequent."

"And did you find her?"

"Finally, but it took forever."

"Bernie, I can't believe what I'm hearing," Carolyn chimed in helpfully. "You actually started up with that neurotic bitch after you swore up and down you were through with her."

"I know, I know. It was a mistake."

"The two of you are somethin'," Ray said. "One lies an' the other swears to it. This femme fatality, has she got a name?"

"Of course she's got a name."

"Yeah, well, don't tell me, not just yet. First we'll try a little experiment." He took out his notebook, tore out a sheet of paper, ripped it in half, and gave half to me and half to Carolyn. "Since you both know this woman," he said, "whyntcha both write down her name?"

We did, and he collected the slips. " 'Barbara,' " he read. "An' Barbara. I don't know how the two of you pulled that one off, but it don't really matter. I don't buy the whole story for a second."

"Fine," I said. "It happens to be the truth, but you don't have to believe it. Take my picture and show it to those people."

"What people?"

"The Rogins, or whatever their name is."

"Rogovin."

"Fine. Show my picture to the Rogovins and ask them if they can identify me. When they can't, maybe you'll go bother somebody else."

"Can't do it, Bernie."

"Why not?"

"They took two bullets apiece in the side of the head, an' they're never gonna be able to identify anybody."

"Ohmigod."

"You didn't know, did you? I had a hunch you didn't. Your partners must have sent you home before they capped 'em." He frowned. "Bernie, you don't look so good. You're not gonna puke, are you?"

I shook my head.

"I know it's not your style," he said. "Not the rough stuff, and not the triple homicide."

"Triple? I thought you said there were just two of them."

"Yeah, well, the doorman was taped a little too well. He died of suffocation by the time somebody found him."

"God, that's awful."

"It's about as bad as it gets. I don't understand you, Bernie. Why would you want to work with people who would do something like that?"

"I didn't work with anybody."

"You usually don't," he allowed. "An' that's wise, because the worst thing about partners is they'll always rat you out to save their own asses. An' that's exactly what you're about to do, my friend."

"What?"

"Give up the murderin' bastards you worked with last night. We'll pick 'em up and you'll turn state's evidence an' testify against 'em, an' you'll get off with a slap on the wrist an' a stern talkin'-to from the judge. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

"No, but-"

"Matter of fact," he said, leaning on the counter and lowering his voice, "there's no reason you got to walk away from the whole deal empty-handed. I figure you an' me, we worked a lot of angles in the past, we can probably work somethin' out here. Share an' share alike, if you get my drift."

It wasn't that elusive a drift. "While we're on the subject," I said, "what exactly did they get from the safe?"

"I should be asking you that, Bernie. You're the one who was there."

"Except I wasn't."

"Aw, Bernie," he said, shaking his head. "You're disappointin' me, you really are."

"Well, I don't mean to, Ray, but-"

"Let's go."

"Huh?"

"What, you want to hear the whole spiel? 'You have the right to remain silent, di dah di dah di dah.' Do I have to give it to you word for word?"

"No, that's good enough. You're serious? You're taking me in?"

"You're damn right I am. Three people are dead an' you're mixed up in it up to your eyeteeth. You bet your ass I'm takin' you in. Now have you got somethin' you want to tell me?"

"I think I'd better exercise my right to remain silent." I turned to Carolyn. "Call Wally Hemphill," I said, "and tell him to do something. And would you do me one more favor? Wrap up the rest of my sandwich and put it where Raffles can't get it. I don't know how long it'll take Wally to spring me, but I'm sure to be hungry by the time I get out."

The first time I met Wally Hemphill, I'd just been arrested, which is when I have the most urgent need for an attorney. I'd called Klein, who'd served me in that capacity for many years, only to learn that, in the time since I'd last had the need for him, the man had died. You don't figure your lawyer's going to do that, and it threw me, but I wound up with Wally, who was training for the New York marathon. And I have to say I was glad of that, because I figured it would keep the weight off and the cardiovascular system in tiptop shape. It takes a while for an habitual felon to bond with his lawyer, so you want to pick a guy who's going to be around for the long haul.

Wally went on training for marathons, and running them, until he blew out a knee. Then he met a nice girl and got married, and they had a kid, and then either he found out she wasn't so nice after all, or she found out he wasn't, or the discovery was mutual. They got a divorce and she packed up the kid and moved to Arizona, where she'd apprenticed herself to a potter. "She's throwing clay pots," Wally said, "and as long as she's not throwing them at me, I say the best of luck to her."

After the divorce he'd taken up martial arts, and you can make of that what you will. It didn't stress his bum knee, and the skills he developed gave him increased self-confidence when dealing with some of his less savory clients, but the chief benefit, he assured me, was spiritual. "You've got to try it," he told me. "It'll change your life."

I'd tried running, though I never got to the marathon level, and I have to say it had changed my life. It made me feel better, and I stuck with it for a few years, and then I stopped, and that made me feel better all over again. When I've got more time, I told Wally, and he gave me the knowing smile of the spiritually advanced human being. "When you're ready, Bernie," he said gently. "You just let me know."

He showed up downtown at One Police Plaza, which is where Ray had taken me, and by late afternoon he had me out of there, and took me around the corner to a teahouse one flight up from a store that sold lacquered Chinese furniture. We sat at one of those low tables with a recess in the floor for your feet, and a little slip of a girl came over and taught us how to make tea. I'd never needed instructions in the past, I just dropped the tea bag in the cup and poured hot water on top of it, but this was a more elaborate procedure involving a pot full of water with a can of Sterno under it to keep it at the boiling point, and a whole system for making the tea in small batches which we were supposed to drink from these tiny china eyecups.

"This is the real stuff," Wally said, knocking back a quarter of an ounce of liquid the approximate color of tears. "Drink up, Bernie."

I did, and noted the extreme subtlety of the flavor. It tasted, I have to say, an awful lot like water.

"Amazing, right? And there's no place like it this side of Hong Kong."

"Really? You'd think there'd be a line halfway around the block."

"That's the thing," he said. "Nobody knows about it. Bernie, they've got nothing. That's why they cut you loose without putting up much of a fight. I mean, what have they got? They can prove you were within a few blocks of the place around the time those people were being robbed and murdered. Well, so were several thousand other people. They can't establish that you were in the building, let alone the penthouse apartment where the crime took place. I've got to wonder what Kirschmann was thinking of, hauling you in when he knew they couldn't hold you. Unless…"