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

attached.”
    “Well, of course you did.” Laura Lee broke off a chunk of bread and wiped up the remnants of the soup from her bowl. “What would you have said if he’d asked you to marry him before he left?”
    “Oh, Laura Lee, he wasn’t going to the Middle East, he was only going to Virginia.” She wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t know what I would have said. Maybe, yes. But I don’t know. I’m confused about everything.” Watching Laura Lee, she said, “And now I’ve met someone else.”
    “Uh-oh.” Laura Lee grinned at her.
    “He’s older. Established.”
    “How old?”
    “Don’t look so thrilled. It’s making me sick. He’s in his fifties. A widower. Grown children. High profile in the City.” Her voice caught in her throat. “What am I going to do, Laura Lee? I want to be honest. Do I tell Silvestri?”
    “You absolutely do not, darlin’. Are you mad? He’s not around anyway, so what’s he goin’ to be able to do? Let it work itself through. Things happen because they’re supposed to happen. If it’s goin’ to be Silvestri, believe me, it will be Silvestri. Now are you goin’ to tell me who this other man is?”
    “Alton Pinkus.” Wetzon concentrated on the huge blue plate of meatless chili in front of her.
    “Ah. Interestin’ man.”
    “Do you know him?”
    “I know his daughter. She’s a client.”
    “I’m in such a muddle.”
    “Go with it, darlin’. What else have you got?”
    “Besides that? My apartment is a mess. God knows when I’ll be able to move back. It’s going to take time for the insurance to come through, so I’m going to have to lay out a ton of money. Business isn’t great. And Smith has us involved in investigating Brian Middleton’s death.”
    “For money?”
    “Well, of course, Laura Lee. We are talking about Smith, aren’t we?”
    “How could I ask? She’s a real winner, your partner is.”
    “It now seems that his murder was not a mugging. They found his wallet and jewelry in a park trash can. And he was shot at close range. They think it may have been someone he knew. Revenge or something having to do with the arbitration.”
    “Really, now? I was wonderin’ when clients would start killin’ off their brokers. Not a minute too soon for some of them. Wetzon, you can’t believe the slime that some of these firms hire from each other. They’re givin’ my profession a bad name. And Brian—well, I told you my feelin’ about him.”
    “Yes, but he won the arbitration except for the two small annuities that the client was awarded. Brian claimed that the stock-index options and highly speculative OTC stocks he put her in were all her idea. And that couldn’t be verified. All they were able to come up with at Bliss Norderman was the paper the client signed allowing Brian discretion. Supposedly, correspondence was missing from Bliss Norderman’s files.” A little bell suddenly went off in the back of Wetzon’s head.
    “I’ll bet you anythin’ that Bliss was makin’ Brian pick up the tab for the annuities and would have held up his license so he couldn’t move until he paid up.”
    “Tabitha,” Wetzon said.
    “Tabitha?” Laura Lee snapped her fingers at Wetzon. “Where are you, darlin’? Who is Tabitha?”
    “She’s sixteen years old and the daughter of the client who sued. She worked for Brian in the summer. She was feuding with her mother, and Brian even got her to testify against her mother in the arbitration.”
    “What did I tell you about that Brian? And considerin’ how laxly brokerage offices are run—”
    “Laura Lee, wait a minute. Tabitha had access. She could have removed the papers.”

25.
    I T WAS ALMOST ten o’clock when Wetzon got out of the cab on West Tenth Street, and she was beat. She was putting the key into the outside lock when she heard a car door slam behind her. Sneaking a look over her shoulder, she saw Detectives Ferrante and Martens crossing the street toward her. Martens was wearing a suit and a tie and a snappy gray fedora.
    “Oh, come on, guys. What’s going on? I feel as if you’re hounding me.” She shouldered the door open, and the men followed her to the elevator. “Sure, old pals,” she said. “Why not come up and have a cup of coffee.”
    “Don’t mind if we do,” Ferrante said.
    The loft was warm and getting less and less alien. Wetzon put up the coffee. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, dropping her handbag and briefcase on the kitchen counter. “I