4

The accounting firm's tastefully understated offices occupied most of a skyscraper floor in the middle of San Francisco's financial district, and judging by the directory inside the double glass doors included several generations of Armours, Hayengas, and Kriszcziokaitises.

Harry eyed the sculpture and original oils around the reception area and dragged in a deep breath. "Smell the money."

The stunningly beautiful receptionist directed them down the corridor to the office of one Magrethe Kriszcziokaitis, a handsome woman in her forties, to argue out what they wanted.

Ms. Kriszcziokaitis smiled politely. "Sergeant Takananda, I understand your situation and I would like to help, but I just don't know what I can tell you. I know nothing about this Barbara Madell."

Harry sent back an equally professional smile. "But your firm has been paying her rent for over a year and a half. I respect your desire to maintain the confidentiality of your clients, but I remind you that the woman is a suspect in a murder case."

Ms. Kriszcziokaitis tented her fingers. "The woman isn't our client, strictly speaking. We only pay her bills."

"Then you must know where she is. How does she give you her instructions?"

"She gives us none, sergeant. The instructions come from another party."

Harry straighted. "Someone else's money is paying her bills? Whose?"

The accountant leaned back in her chair. "I'm sorry. I'm not free to divulge that information, sergeant. Unless, of course, you come back with a court order."

Harry's expression never changed but his body language told Garreth how hopeless Harry considered that possibility. He stood. "Perhaps we will. Thank you." Leaving the office he muttered to Garreth, "Do you think it's the guy?"

"She's a beautiful woman. What do you think?" But this time Garreth knew he lied. There could be only one person paying, the person who had so much money to spend. A woman with hypnotic powers can learn a great many investment tips from the business giants she beds, Lane had told him. "Damn." He felt his pockets. "I think I dropped my notebook in there. Go on and I'll catch up with you at the elevator."

He stepped back into Kriszcziokaitis's office. As she looked up with a frown, he pulled off his glasses and caught her gaze. "A moment more of your time, please. Tell me, is a Madelaine Bieber paying Madell's bills?"

The accountant's pupils pulsated with an inner struggle. It lasted only a moment, however, before she surrendered. "Yes. She's a very old and respected client."

"How old?"

"She's been with us since 1941."

That sounded about right. "And in that time she's paid the bills for a number of young women, hasn't she?"

"Yes."

All of them Lane herself with different aliases. What a convenient solution to the problem of finances through numerous identity changes.

"Please write down the name of her bank for me." The money belonged to her family; they should be able to find it.

The accountant scribbled on a memo pad and ripped off the sheet.

Folding the sheet and putting it away in the inside pocket of his sport coat, Garreth smiled at her. "Now please forget that I came back and we had this conversation."

He slipped out of the office.

Outside the reception area Harry held the elevator, calmly ignoring the glares of the passengers. "Hard time finding the notebook? Strange. I don't remember you having one in there at all."

The doors closed and the car started down.

Garreth grinned while conscience stabbed him over the lies and half lies to come. I'm sorry, Taka-san; you deserve better. "What sharp eyes you have, grandpa. No, it was just an excuse to spend more time in there and hint that we know who Lane's patron is. She didn't turn a hair, though. She's one cool lady."

Harry glanced sideways at him. "Why didn't you ask her before we left?"

Garreth gave him a thin smile. "You don't want to know I'm doing anything except riding along." And I don't want you hearing Lane Barber and Mada Bieber's names together. You'd go hunting the connection between them.