Brazen Virtue

clients.”
    Ben took out his badge and held it under her nose.
    “Oh.” She cleared her throat and unearthed her intercom. “I’ll see if he’s available. Mr. Markowitz—” Both Ben and Ed could hear the cranky static that followed the interruption. “I’m sorry, Mr. Markowitz. Yes, sir, but there are two men here. No, sir, I haven’t run the Berlin account yet. Mr. Markowitz—Mr. Markowitz, they’re policemen.” She said the last in an undertone, as if it were a secret. “Yes, sir, I’m sure. No, sir. All right.”
    She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Mr. Markowitz will see you now. Right through that door.” Her duty done, she yanked up the phone. “Lawrence Markowitz and Associates.”
    If he had any associates, they weren’t to be seen. Markowitz was alone in his office, a skinny, balding man with big teeth and thick glasses. His desk was black, like his secretary’s, but half again as large. Files were heaped on it, along with two phones, at least a dozen sharpened pencils, and a pair of calculators. Tape streamed onto the floor. There was a watercooler in the corner. Hanging in front of the window was a bird cage with a big green parakeet in it.
    “Mr. Markowitz.” Both detectives showed their identification.
    “Yes, what can I do for you?” He ran his palm over what was left of his hair and licked his lips. He hadn’t lied to Roxanne about the overbite. “I’m afraid I’m swamped at the moment. You know what today is, don’t you? April fourteenth. Everybody waits until the last minute, then they want a miracle. All I ask for is a little consideration, a little organization. I can’t file extensions for everyone, you know. Rabbits, they want you to pull rabbits out of your hat.”
    “Yes, sir,” Ben began, then it hit him. “April fourteenth?”

    “I filed last month,” Ed said mildly.
    “You would.”
    “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but these new tax laws have everyone in an uproar. If I work for the next twenty-four hours straight, I might just finish before deadline.” Markowitz’s fingers hovered nervously over his calculator.
    “Fuck the IRS,” the parakeet chirped from his perch.
    “Yeah.” Ben ran his own fingers through his hair and tried not to dwell on it. “Mr. Markowitz, we’re not here about taxes. What do you charge, anyway?”
    “We’re here about Mary Grice,” Ed put in. “You knew her as Roxanne.”
    Markowitz hit the clear button in reflex, then grabbed a pencil. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Mr. Markowitz, Mary Grice was murdered last night.” Ed waited a beat, but saw the accountant had found time to read the morning paper. “We have reason to believe you were talking to her on the phone at the time of the attack.”
    “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
    “You knew Roxanne,” Ben added.
    Markowitz’s already pale skin took on a hint of green. “I don’t understand what Roxanne has to do with Mary Grice.”
    “They were the same woman,” Ben said and watched Markowitz swallow hard.
    He’d known. Somehow he’d known as soon as he scanned the morning headlines. But that hadn’t made it real. Two cops in his office in the middle of the day made it very real. And very personal. “I have some of the biggest accounts in the metropolitan area. Several of my clients are in the Congress, the Senate. I can’t afford any trouble.”
    “We could subpoena you,” Ed told him. “If you cooperate, we may be able to keep things quiet.”

    “It’s the pressure.” Markowitz took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He looked blind and helpless without them. “For months your life revolves around 1099s and Keoghs. You can’t imagine it. Nobody wants to pay, you know. You can hardly blame them. Most of my clients have incomes in the high six figures. They don’t want to give thirty-five percent or more to the government. They want me to find a way out for them.”
    “That’s tough,” Ben said and decided to try one of the sling chairs. “We’re not concerned with your reasons for using Fantasy’s services, Mr. Markowitz. We’d like you to tell us exactly what happened last night while you were talking to Mary.”
    “Roxanne,” Markowitz corrected. “I feel better thinking of her as Roxanne. She had a wonderful voice, and she was so … well, adventurous. I don’t have much time for women since my divorce. But that’s water under the bridge. Anyway, I developed such an exciting rapport with