Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4)

Now.”
    She pointed the receiver at Ferrante and, when he got up and took it, dabbed at her eyes with a used tissue she’d dug out of the pocket of her robe. Martens left the wall and pushed a mug of coffee at her, and she slumped into a chair and sipped, elbows on the table.
    Her gaze drifted to the material Ferrante had removed from the envelope. Glassine bags. Martens emptied them in front of her. A gold Rolex. A black billfold. A diamond tiepin. A gold pen. A gold chain. Her gaze slid back to the diamond tiepin. Brian had a diamond tiepin.
    Ferrante hung up and came back to the table. “He said he’ll call you in a half hour.”
    “Whoopie!” She stuck her index finger up in the air and twirled it. And who cares , she thought dully. He wasn’t here when she needed him, so who cared anyway. And if he were here, he would yell at her and carry on as if it were something she did on purpose. Alton, she was sure, would never do that.
    “You recognize this stuff, Ms. Wetzon?”
    “The tiepin looks like one I saw Brian wearing.”
    “Yes. It’s his billfold with his credit cards. The pen is his.”
    “That was pretty fast, wasn’t it? Where’d you find them? In a pawnshop?”
    “No. Try a trash basket not far from the murder scene.”
    “A trash basket?” she said slowly, turning that over in her mind. “Why would the mugger throw away stuff he could sell? Why take it in the first place, why kill for it?” She stared at Ferrante and then at Martens.
    “Because it wasn’t a mugging,” Martens said, packing Brian’s possessions back into their bags.
    Ferrante looked at her expectantly. What was she supposed to say? She kept silent, waiting.
    Finally he said, standing, “The killer was able to get right up close to him. A witness has come forward who saw a man arguing with a woman early that morning in the Conservatory Garden. We think Middleton knew his killer.”

19.
    “W ETZON , I ’D LIKE to hire him, but I can’t. He writes small tickets. I can give him fifty percent for six months, but once that’s done, he’ll fall off our grid. It wouldn’t be good for him or for us. So we’re going to pass.”
    “Good-bye, Lee.” She sighed and put down the phone.
    “Now what?” Smith asked, strolling in carrying a slim leather briefcase. It was after ten, and she looked great. Wetzon, having had another almost sleepless night, hated her.
    “Ozzie Haber. He has two thousand clients, each of whom buys a hundred shares at a time. His tickets range from seventy-five to a hundred dollars, if we’re lucky, and at Rivington Ellis, to make grid the tickets have to be over a hundred. He’ll end up working for nothing.” She ran her eye down the first page of the client book and then turned it to the next. “Where am I going to send him?”
    “To our new client.” Smith was actually preening, she was that pleased with herself.
    Wetzon sat up. “Music to my ears.”
    “I told you I was working on something big.” Smith pulled out her chair and sat down.
    “Oh, moi of little faith ... Tell me.”
    “Ameribank is opening a freestanding brokerage network. They want to have at least three working branches in Manhattan, one each in White Plains, Garden City, and Huntington, and then national before the end of this decade.”
    “Ooh la, what a treat. So much for Glass-Steagall.”
    Smith opened the door to the reception area and called, “Boys, come in here and let’s have a little meeting.”
    “Boys?” Wetzon began to laugh.
    Smith waggled a finger at her as Max Orchard waddled into the room, squeaking on his thick gum soles. The waistband of his trousers was pulled up to his chest and hung there on suspenders, the pantlegs stopping at his ankles revealing sagging brown socks. There was a dab of dried shaving cream near his left earlobe.
    “Max, sweetie ,” Smith gushed. “You always look so perfect.”
    Wetzon coughed behind her hand and walked to the windows that looked out on their garden. When she turned back to Smith, B.B. was standing behind Max.
    “Max, B.B., we have a new client, Ameribank, and we’re going to saturate the field for qualified candidates. With the repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act, banks are now legally able to compete with brokerage firms for retail business. Ideally, they want young bodies, asset gatherers, and brokers will be paid for assets under management with basis points. Clean U4s.”
    “U4s?” Max looked confused.
    “You’ve heard us talk about this,