silence by the elevator. He wasn't home, Hiram thought, of course he wasn't home, he was out somewhere, he was-then the door gave a soft buzz and swung open slowly.
They walked into a small foyer, empty but for a bentwood hat rack and an umbrella stand. The kitchen was to the right, a closet to the left. Ahead was a huge living room with a sunken conversation pit, a wet bar, and a solid wall of floor-to-ceiling glass that opened on a roof garden, a magnificent view of Central Park and the city and stars beyond. A lavish bedroom suite and den both opened off the living room, their doors standing wide. Voices were coming from the den. Hiram walked lightly, small quiet steps, but Jay's heels clicked loudly on the gleaming parquet floor as they crossed the room.
"That's fine. Yes. Yes, at all costs. Phone in when you have news." The man touched a button; the speakerphone disconnected. The only light in the room came from a brass banker's lamp with a green glass shade. Latham sat with a stack of maps under his left hand, his right hand working the keyboard of an IBM PC. He wore the vest and trousers of a gray chalk-stripe Armani suit, a perfect white shirt with the top button undone, and a dark foulard tie, the knot pulled down and to one side. He did not look up when they entered. "Do I know you?"
"My name is Worchester," Hiram said. "Hiram Worchester. My associate is Jay Ackroyd, a licensed private investigator-"
"Who earlier today illegally detained a client of Latham, Strauss, violating his constitutional rights and causing him untold psychological distress, not to mention disorientation, damage to his good name, and fear for his life and safety," Latham said. He still did not look up from the keypad. The screen displayed a grid of some sort. "An error in judgment that is going to cost Mr. Ackroyd a considerable sum of money, and probably his license." He finished his entry, stored it, and wiped the grid off the screen. Only then did he deign to swivel his high-backed chair to look at them. "If you're here to propose a settlement, I'm certainly willing to listen."
"A settlement?" Hiram was aghast. "You're suggesting we pay money to that unspeakable thug who-"
"I'd caution you aginst slander, Mr. Worchester. You're in sufficient trouble already." The phone rang. Latham didn't bother to pick it up. He reached out, touched the speaker phone button, and announced, "Not now, I have company. Call back in ten minutes." The caller hung up without identifying himself. "Now, Mr. Worchester, what were you about to say?"
"Your client is scum," Hiram said clearly. "Frankly, I'm shocked that a distinguished man like yourself would even consider representing him."
"I'm a little curious about that myself," Jay Ackroyd said. He slouched against the doorway, hands in his pockets. "Usually you've got a little more class than that."
"I seldom involve myself in criminal matters," Latham said, "and I am not, in fact, the attorney of record in this case. But I make it a point to familiarize myself with all our pending litigation, even the most trivial, and Mr. Tulley briefed me on this matter only this afternoon."
"Who are you really working for?" Hiram demanded. Jay Ackroyd groaned. Hiram gave him a dirty look and then went on. "This is extortion, you know it and I know it. I want to know who's behind it, and I want to know now." He crossed the room, leaned over the desk, and stared in the lawyer's face. "I warn you, I'm an ace, and not an inconsiderable one, and I've had a very bad day."
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Worchester?" Latham asked in terms of polite interest.
"I don't feel so well," Ackroyd whined from the doorway. Hiram looked back in annoyance. Ackroyd was clutching his stomach, and his features did have a slight greenish tinge, but maybe that was just the light. "I wouldn't have eaten so much if I'd known I was going to get tear-gassed." He belched. "Where's the john?" he asked with some urgency.
"Through the master bedroom, to the right," Latham told him. Ackroyd bolted for sanctuary, and a moment later they heard the sound of retching. "Charming," Latham said.
Hiram turned back on him. "Never mind about him. Your client and his friends sent a decent, honest man to the hospital today. They broke his arm and two of his ribs, knocked out several of his teeth,