Invasion of Privacy

witness himself and not how well Boycie’s company ran your condo complex.”
    “We already talked about this back in that room.”
    “Yeah, and you nicely brought me off the subject once I said I was sure Braverman and Kourmanos weren’t trailing me. But that leaves us with a dilemma, don’t you think?”
    No response, not even a glance.
    “The dilemma,” I said, “is this. If you got left out of the loop by Hendrix regarding my trip to Vermont , then I can see you going off to the concert with Jamey. But I can’t see Boycie not keeping an eye on Dees , using Braverman or Kourmanos or both.”
    If Robinette didn’t have to move the steering wheel, you’d have thought her a statue.
    “And that says to me that Hendrix made a bad call, a decision to have Kourmanos and Braverman try to find and follow me last night.”
    Robinette spoke very precisely. “They went to your office, assuming that you would come back there from Vermont . Then, when you did not, they went to your apartment, but your car was nowhere in the lot.”
    Which meant the marshals didn’t know about Primo Zuppone picking me up at my condo building on Thursday night and taking me to the airport to welcome the Milwaukee contingent. Kourmanos and Braverman would have missed me at Fairfield Street, because by the time they got there, I was already over at Nancy’s, and they would have been back in Plymouth Willows by the time Primo brought Ianella and Cocozzo to my office earlier on Friday.
    Which also meant that nobody from the marshals’ service was watching Andrew Dees on Thursday night. And therefore they couldn’t know what happened with or to him after Norman Elmendorf and the Stepanians heard him arguing with a woman in his condo and Steven Stepanian saw him loading luggage into Olga Evorova’s orange Porsche.
    I turned back toward the dashboard as we came up the front driveway to the complex and headed for my car. Reaching it, Robinette stopped, leaving her engine running.
    Looking out the windshield, she said, “I am hoping you meant what you said at Boyce’s tonight.”
    “About?”
    “About keeping whatever we have going here at the Willows to yourself.”
    “You can count on it. I don’t want to see anybody else get killed.”
    “You do not know Dees and your client are dead. In fact, you argued against it.”
    Not mentioning the Milwaukee boys, I said, “It’s not that I think the mob did anything. I’m more worried about Dees himself.”
    “ Dees himself?”
    “He runs away from the equity he has in the condo, taking just the money from his bank, maybe realizing my client was responsible for his identity being—what did you call it, ‘compromised’?”
    Robinette set her jaw. “Mr. Cuddy, I have no reason to believe Mr. Dees could turn violent. When he was in... Let us just say his history would be to the contrary.”
    “It’s not his history I’m worried about. More his current affair.”
    I opened the door and got out. Tángela Robinette drove off toward her unit before I could thank her for the lift.

19

    O nce in the Prelude, I looked down at the passenger seat. Nancy’s rose was standing tall against the door, but about half the water seemed to be gone from the tube. It was a good reminder of where I should go next.

    “Am I lucky to catch you home on a Friday night?”
    “I guess so,” said Nancy , wearing loose-fitting sweat-clothes and holding the front door to the three-decker open with a soxed foot. The bulge from her Smith & Wesson Bodyguard barely showed under the towel in her right hand. “What’s behind your back?”
    I said, “You’ll see when we get upstairs.”
    Just before Nancy reached the second landing, Drew Lynch’s door closed discreetly. At the third, she turned the unlocked knob of her own, Renfield trundling out and in and out again. Something smelled awfully good in the kitchen.
    Laying the towel and gun on the shelf by her telephone, Nancy moved to the counter by the sink. “Homemade soup in the crockpot. I stopped at the market on the way home.”
    “Ingredients?”
    “Chicken tenders, lightly fried, then cut up with fresh mushrooms, baby corn, carrots, onions, and a few spices. Mrs. Lynch gave me some of her special broth for stock.” A shifting of stance, a canting of head. “So, what’s behind the back, chardonnay or cabernet?”
    I brought out the rose. Nancy blinked twice, her mouth forming a little “O.” Then she came toward me. Taking the flower from