“If we define a circle of suspects that includes everyone who might possibly have heard anything, we get nowhere. If we limit the pool to the most likely choices, we have something we can work with, and we’re much more likely to find the traitor.”
“We?” Gard asked.
“Whatever,” I said. “Who would have had a lot of access? Let’s leave the contractors out of it. They generally aren’t out for blood, and Marcone owns half the developers in town anyway.”
Gard nodded her head in acceptance. “Very well. One of three or four accountants, any of the inner circle, and one of two or three troubleshooters.”
“Troubleshooters?” Michael asked.
“When there’s trouble,” I told him, “they shoot it.”
Gard let out a quick snort of laughter—then winced, clutching at her stomach with both hands.
“Easy there,” I said. “You all right?”
“Eventually,” Gard murmured. “Please continue.”
“What about Torelli?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“Could he be our guy?”
Gard rolled her eyes. “Please. The man has the intellect of a lobotomized turtle. Marcone’s been aware of his ambition for some time now.”
“If he’s been aware of it,” I asked, “how come Torelli is still paying taxes?”
“Because we were using him to draw any other would-be usurpers into the open, where they could be dealt with.”
“Hungh,” I said, frowning. “Could he have put pressure on any of the people in the know?”
“The bookkeepers, perhaps, but I think it highly unlikely. Marcone has made it clear that they enjoy his most enthusiastic protection.”
“Yeah, but Yurtle the Lobotomized isn’t all that bright.”
Gard blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My God, woman!” I protested. “You’ve never read Dr. Seuss?”
She frowned. “Who is Dr.—”
I held up a hand. “Never mind, forget it. Torelli isn’t all that bright. Maybe he figured he could strong-arm a bookkeeper and knock off Marcone before Marcone got a chance to demonstrate his enthusiasm.”
Gard pursed her lips. “Torelli has stupidity enough and to spare. But he’s also a sniveling, cowardly little splatter of rat dung.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so focused on him?”
“Oh,” I said, “I can’t put my finger on any one thing. But my finely tuned instincts tell me that he’s hostile.”
Gard smiled. “Tried to kill you, did he?”
“He started trying to put the muscle on Demeter while I was there this morning. I objected.”
“Ah,” she said. “I had wondered how you found us.”
“Torelli’s goons tried shooting me up right before I came here.”
“I see,” Gard said, narrowing her eyes in thought. “The timing of his uprising is rather too precise to be mere coincidence.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought of that.”
She tapped a finger against her chin. “Torelli is no genius, but he is competent at his job. He wouldn’t be operating that high in the organization if he weren’t. I suppose it’s possible that Torelli might have secured the information if he applied enough mean cunning to the task.” She glanced up at me. “You think the Denarians recruited him to be their man on the inside?”
“I think they had to get their information about Marcone’s panic room somewhere,” I said.
“Worked that out, did you?” Gard said with a wan smile.
“Yeah. Turned your own hidey-hole into a fox trap. That’s gotta sting the old ego, Miss Security Consultant.”
“You wouldn’t believe how much,” Gard said, a flinty light in her eyes. “But I’ll deal with that when it’s time.”
“You aren’t dealing with anything but more sleep for a little while,” I noted.
Her face twisted into a scowl. “Yes.”
“So let me do the heavy lifting,” I said.
“How so?”
I glanced around the workshop. “Could we speak privately for a moment?”
Hendricks, who had been reassembling his gun, turned his over-developed brow ridges toward me, scowling in suspicion. Michael glanced up, his face a mask.
Gard looked at me for a while. Then she said, “It’s all right with me.”
Hendricks finished putting the pistol back together, loaded it, and then loaded a round into the chamber. He made it a point to stare straight at me the entire while. Then he stood up, tugged on his coat, and walked straight toward me.
Hendricks wasn’t as tall as me, which cut down on the intimidation factor. On the other hand, he had muscle enough to break me in half and we both knew it. He stopped a foot away, put the gun in his pocket, and said, “Be right outside.”
“Michael,” I said. “Please.”
He rose, sheathing the dagger, and followed Hendricks out into the snow. The two kept a careful, even distance between them as they went, like dogs who aren’t yet sure whether