"Roger Cullen lived high, hard and fast. Those who knew him and or did business with him soon learned that risk was his only goal in life. If you were conservative, cautious or too ethical, Roger eschewed any contact. On the other hand if you displayed an interest in working without a net then Roger was your bosom pal. Of course, most risks taken by Roger were with other people's money or property so if the dare crashed in flames somewhere, Roger would commiserate with the wounded and hastily move on to the next exploit.

The thing that kept Roger Cullen as popular as he was, was his innate ability to avoid, for the most part, any really crippling disasters. His market timing was impeccable. His stock selections uncannily accurate and his ability to manipulate funds, the envy of his competition. What Roger lacked and what finally did him in was his total disregard for the consequences of his schemes when they did fail."

"That's my take, anyway." Jerry wiped a glob of sauce from his chin and followed with another chomp of Szechwan pork.

"Eschewed . . . how eloquent, Jerry. I've never heard you wax thus before. You gleaned all that from our interview notes?"

"And a pretty detailed bio on the net." He chewed with his mouth closed—a first.

"The last statement, the bit about what did him in, is that your considered conclusion?"

"I would agree with that without much trouble."

"So it wasn't really yours...?"

"Jesus, Ward, does it bloody well matter? It was an opinion piece from a journalist doing a follow up. It's a good deduction from the way the guy operated. Jeez."

Bettmeir lost a slice of onion from his chopsticks and dug around the edge of his plate in annoyance, finally grasping it in his fingers and tossing it on the plate.

"Problem is, Jer, we can't find anyone who suffered that much of a loss of anything with him that they might want to interior decorate his head with lead."

"So then we look for another motive. Jealousy perhaps, revenge maybe or a lover scorned."

"A lover scorned?" Bettmeir nearly choked on his Emperor Fung Yoo chicken. "Have you been taking classes or something, reading romance novels?" Bettmeir suddenly sat back and laughed. "I know what's goin' on. You didn't like being told you didn't qualify for that club by that frame and it got up your nose and now you're actin' all hoity-toity to feel superior."

"Screw off, Bettmeir." Jerry coloured under his white collar. "It ain't hard to be superior around you."

"Unbelievable."

"Screw you."

"Right. Okay then, Lord Almighty Asper, could this Rita Cornell be a- uh, scorned lover perhaps?" Bettmeir's eyes twinkled.

"Why not? There must be some reason for the alias, Hatti Ambrose." Snappish.

"So you think Hargrave is off our list?"

"No, but we can't ignore other possibilities. Remember the last time we stuck with one suspect."

The humour evaporated. "I don't want to." Bettmeir gulped some of his Thai beer. "Okay so we go back over Cullen's stuff, find this Hatti or Rita and we see where that takes us."

"So decisive. You make me shiver." Thick sarcasm.

"Screw you, Asper."



Rita Cornell tossed her head back and stared into the steamy mirror. Water droplets trailed down her cheeks and over her chin from the sopping hair she flattened to her head. From blonde to brunette in one easy step, she thought. Thank you, Miss Clairol. She grabbed a towel and scribbled it on the top of her head, pausing to shake out the long curls and check the effect. With a styling comb and dryer, she created a soft, face-framing wave of dark hair that gave her green eyes an extra glow.

"You are so worth it."

She gave her mane another toss, tied a short robe about her and padded into the bedroom of the hotel suite she'd booked under her alias. On the bed was a pile of documents identifying another new persona and all that was needed was a photo of her with the new hair colour and the glasses she added as part of her latest character.

These chameleon changes had become a constant requirement recently, a mandatory deception for the life she'd fallen into with Roger. She sat on the bed and thumbed through the documents she'd used for Hatti, remembering the thrill of the scenario Roger had devised when talked her into joining. She was going to miss poor Roger but the scheme was still viable and she knew exactly how to proceed. She set the Hatti papers aside, fell back on the bedspread, dialed her cell phone and smiled at the ceiling.

A good friend had promised to do the photography for her right in the hotel and have the necessary documents ready for the following day. Rita called and made her appointment.



Chester pushed the apartment buzzer under the name Ambrose at the address from his club informant and waited. Life's little complications always seemed to nag at his heels never giving him a moment's rest. He thumbed the buzzer again and sucked his teeth when nothing happened. He jabbed the superintendent's number and it lit up as a scratchy voice answered. Chester explained that he was expected at the Ambrose apartment and that there was no answer and he wanted to be sure the intercom system was working properly.

The unshaven superintendent shuffled ahead of Chester, his worn slippers making a swishing sound on the hall carpet. "Haven't had any other complaints." He stopped at the apartment door and gave a bored knock.

"Louder please, " Chester asked.

The man frowned and banged a fist on the door calling the tenant's name. Nothing. "Nobody home."

"Open it please, I was expected."

"I can't do that..."

"You can and you will." Chester produced a large bill and held it up for the man to see.

"I could get in trouble..."

"I know." Chester didn't budge and the man shrugged and put his master key in the slot, opening the door and stepping inside.

Chester followed, shoved the bill into the man's t-shirt and eased him back out. "I'll lock up when I leave." He waited until the man returned to the elevator and boarded, doors closing behind him then he shut the apartment door and flicked on the light. The small apartment wasn't made any larger by the décor, a too large sofa and coffee table dominated the living room portion of the L-shaped layout, with a TV on an all component compartmentalized stand, filling most of the balance. In the dining portion Chester winced at the faux cherry wood, drop leaf table with two upholstered armchairs, the wooden frames finished in the same imitation colour.

Beyond was a small galley kitchen and he began his search there. Few cupboards with fewer contents, a refrigerator with a freezer compartment inside, both barely supplied, and a narrow, four-burner stove yielded nothing. Under the sink he found a wastebasket with discarded mailing pieces and a slip of paper with a telephone number hastily scribbled.

"Enterprise Hotel, good evening," the voice answered when he dialed the number. Chester asked if there was a Miss Ambrose registered and was informed that guest information was confidential. It occurred to him that it might be under Cornell but he didn't waste time asking. He thanked the voice and hung up. The telephone book revealed that the Enterprise Hotel was off the main drag but right in the middle of the downtown and good to his word, he locked the apartment and headed out to his car.

He knew the witness business was bluff but could Roger's murder have had something to do with the member's behaviour in the club and Hatti was his protégé working the inside?