"What do they do?"

"They make things. I don't know. Widgets, baubles, bangles, bright, shiny beads." Reece shrugged then continued, "Now the first installments of the loan were due six months ago and the company missed the payments. They go back and forth, the bank and Hanover, but it's pretty clear that the company's never going to pay the money back. So, under the loan agreement, the whole amount comes due – a quarter-billion dollars."

"What'd they do with the money?"

"Good question. My feeling is it's still sitting somewhere – hell, they didn't have time to spend that much. But anyway, what happens at New Amsterdam – our revered client – is this. The economy melts down and the bank's reserves are shrinking. Now, the government says to all banks, Thou shall have X amount of dollars on hand at all times. But New Amsterdam doesn't have X amount anymore. They need more in their reserves or the feds're going to step in. And the only way to get a big infusion of cash is to get back Hanover 's loan. If they don't, the bank could go under. And that results in a couple of problems. First, Amsterdam is Donald Burdick's plum client. If the bank goes under he will not be a happy person, nor will the firm, because they pay us close to six million a year in fees. The other problem is that New Amsterdam happens to be a bank with a soul. They have the largest minority-business lending program in the country. Now, I'm not a flaming liberal, but you may have heard that one of my pet projects here -"

"The criminal pro bono program."

"Right. And I've seen firsthand that the one thing that helps improve shitty neighborhoods is to keep businesses in them. So I have a philosophical stake in the outcome of this situation."

"And what exactly is the situation, Mitchell?"

"Earlier in the fall we filed suit against Hanover for the two hundred fifty million plus interest. Now if we can get a judgment fast we can levy against the assets of the company before the other creditors know what hit them. But if there's a delay in enforcing that judgment the company'll go into bankruptcy, the assets'll disappear and New Amsterdam might just go into receivership."

Taylor tapped the pen on her knee. She didn't mean to be projecting the impatience she felt though she knew maybe she was. "And the burglary part?"

He replied, "I'm getting to that. To loan the money the bank made Hanover sign a promissory note – you know, a negotiable instrument that says Hanover promises to pay the money back. It's like your savings bond."

Not like one of mine, Taylor reflected, considering what theirs was worth.

"Now the trial was set for yesterday. I had the case all prepared. There was no way we'd lose." Reece sighed. "Except when you're going to sue to recover money on a note you have to produce the note in court. On Saturday the bank couriered the note to me. I put it in the safe there." He nodded at a big filing cabinet bolted to the floor. There were two heavy key locks on the front.

Shocked, Taylor said, "That's what was stolen? The note?"

Reece said in a low voice, "Somebody took it right out of my fucking safe. Just walked right in and walked out with it."

"You need the original? Can't you use a copy?"

"We could still win the case but not having the note'll delay the trial for months. I managed to finagle a postponement till next week but the judge won't grant any more extensions."

She nodded at the file cabinet. "But when how was it stolen?"

"I was here until about three on Sunday morning. I went home to get some sleep and was back here by nine-thirty that morning. I almost thought of camping out." He gestured toward a sleeping bag in the corner. "I should have."

"What'd the police say?"

He laughed. "No, no. No police. Burdick'd find out that the note's missing, the client too. The newspapers." He held her eyes. "So I guess you know why I asked you here."

"You want me to find out who took it?"

"Actually, I'd like you to find the note itself. I don't really care who did it."

She laughed. The whole idea was ridiculous. "But why me?"

"I can't do it by myself." Reece leaned back in his chair, the singing metal rang again. He looked at ease, as if she had already accepted his offer – a bit of haughtiness that irritated her some. "Whoever took it'll know I can't go to the cops and he'll be anticipating me. I need somebody else to help me. I need you."

"I just -"

"I know about your ski trip. I'm sorry. You'd have to postpone it."

Well, so much for the negotiations, Ms. Strickland.

"Mitchell, I don't know. I'm flattered you called me but I don't have a clue how to go about it."

"Well, let me just say one thing. We work with a lot of, you know, private eyes -"

"Sam Spade, sure."

"Actually, no, not Sam Spade at all. This's what I'm saying. The best detectives're women. They listen better than men. They're more empathic. They observe more carefully. You're smart, popular at the firm and – if we can mix our gender metaphor for a minute – the grapevine here says you've got balls."

"Does it now?" Taylor asked, frowning and feeling immensely pleased.

"And if you want another reason. I trust you."

Trust me? she wondered. He doesn't even know me. He – But then she understood. She smiled. "And you know I didn't steal it. I've got an alibi."

Reece nodded unabashedly. "Yep, you were out of town."

She'd gone to Maryland to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with her parents.

Taylor said, "I could've hired somebody."

"I think whoever was behind the theft did hire somebody." A nod toward the cabinet. "It's a professional break-in – the burglar picked the lock and, whatever you see in the movies, that ain't easy. But the point is that you don't have a motive, and motive is the number one reason somebody becomes a suspect in a crime. Why would you steal it? You have a good relationship with everybody at the firm. You don't need money. You've applied to law school – three of the best in the country. Besides, I just can't imagine Samuel Lockwood's daughter stealing a note."

She felt a troubled jolt that he'd peered so far into her life. "Well, I suspect Ted Bundy had upright parents too. It's just that this is out of my depth, Mitchell. You need a pro – one of those private eyes you've hired before."

"That wouldn't work," he said bluntly, as if it were obvious. "I need somebody with a reason to be here, who won't raise eyebrows. You'll have to poke into a lot of different places at the firm."

Like Alice on the other side of the looking glass.

Still seeing the hesitancy in her face, he added, "It could work out well for you too." He toyed with his coffee cup. She lifted an enquiring eyebrow and he continued, "I'm a trial lawyer and I lost my delicacy the first time I ever stood up in court. The fact is if that note doesn't turn up and I lose the case then I'm not going to make partner this year and that just isn't acceptable. I might even get fired. But if we can find it and nobody learns about the theft then it's pretty likely I'll make partner here or, if I don't want to stay at Hubbard, White, at some other firm."

"And?" she asked, still not certain where his comments were headed.

"I'll be in a position to make sure you get into whatever law school you want and get you a job when you graduate. I've got contacts everywhere – corporate firms, the government, public welfare law, environmental law firms."

As a paralegal Taylor Lockwood had learned that the engine of law ran on many fuels and that it would seize and burn without the delicate web of contacts and networks and unspoken obligations that Reece was not so subtly referring to.

But she also knew that you could always take a higher path and, with luck, sweat and smarts make your own way in this world. She said stiffly, "I appreciate that, Mitchell, but my undergrad professors're writing me all the letters of recommendation I need."