Arthur Fineberg read through the Grandcastle offer and made a few pencil notes in the margin. The family was asking for five hundred thousand dollars to satisfy all the circumstances occasioned by Grace Purcell's assault and ultimate destruction of their daughter's wedding plans. Arthur knew right away he could halve that amount as a matter of course.

The Grandcastle lawyer was an old, friendly enemy and they had compromised successfully on many such cases in the past. The remaining hundred would be a little harder. His promise to Grace of fifty thousand looked like he would be working at earning his own fee. The office phone rang and his secretary passed the call through.

"Grace, I was just thinking of you."

"I don't have a great deal of time Arthur. I want you to begin liquidating my holdings . . . all of them."

"What! But Grace how- why on earth-?'

"You don't need any details, Arthur. What you need to do is get your ass in gear and do as I asked. This must be done without delay."

He looked at the offer in front of him and made a snap decision. "Grace, I have the Grandcastle offer from their lawyer; it's for three hundred thousand. I know what we talked about but they have gone to the mat with this one and it looks like the best I will be able to manage is two hundred . . . I'll wave my fee, Grace, since I feel I gave you a great deal of false hope."

"You're telling me I have to pay that old bastard two hundred grand because of his prissy-assed daughter-?"

"Grace, you broke her nose and ruined her gown just hours before the service. They had to postpone and that was very expensive even without your fee."

"Fine. Fine. You'll just have to get the money from liquidation but I need the balance pronto, Arthur or I may have to take different measures."

"I sincerely hope that's not a threat to me, Grace."

"Hope springs eternal, Arthur. I will get back to you tomorrow."

"Tomo-!" The line went dead and he hung up slowly, considering her cryptic remark.

******

Parker answered the phone and mouthed Holt's name to Des, sitting on the couch. "All stitched back together, Detective?"

'Well enough to get on with my job for a day. Mickey Spataro, one of the theatre victims, was a gopher for Lester Ward, a high profile and well known bookie."

"Which?"

"Huh? Which what?"

"High profile or well known. They mean pretty much the same thing, Detective."

"You know, Nevens, some of your stuff was funny but you're growing a mouth that is beginning to irk so if you want to be kept in the loop how about shutting it,"

The sentence was followed by silence and Parker felt he was expected to reply.

"Okay, sorry. You were saying."

"The fact that this Grace Purcell also whacked Tabor, the guy that killed your boss, makes Lester a person of interest and we will be looking at him very hard. Meanwhile I imagine your worries are over since you had no contact in any way with Purcell."

"Thanks, I'll pass that on to Miss Jones. How's the collarbone?"

"I'll live. The officer is not in good shape though, she crushed his windpipe."

"Shit. That's a tough break." Parker twisted the phone cord. "Look, I uh- I want to thank you for what you've done. I know I was a pain in the ass calling all the time and not sounding very grateful."

"Yeah, well, so it goes. We will be in touch down the road I expect when this is resolved and the courts get involved.'
"Sure. Whatever. Thanks again."

"Yeah . . ."

They hung up and Parker knew that Holt had hoped to speak with Des. It was petty not to put her on, he thought, but then he could live with that.

"What did he say? I heard you sounding rather contrite."

"He says he thinks our worries are over since there was nothing connecting us to this Purcell dame."

"Well what about that Mickey person? He was following you, wouldn't that be a connection?"

"Not any more."

"Don't be so glib, Parker, you don't know what he might have said before- before he died."

"Des, that's the Kevin Bacon syndrome. This woman can't just go around knocking off everybody remotely connected to the case." He walked over and sat down beside her, patting her calf and smiling. "You should be thinking about that offer you got. It could be another chance."

"I wonder if they're even considering it now. The stage guy was shot too, that has to be a little traumatic for the gang that was still in the theatre."

"Only one way to find out."

"Oh no. It's only been a day for god's sake."

"What do they say, the show must go on?" He tipped his head forward awaiting a response.

She looked back. "So what, you want me to call now."

"You know what they say about gift horses, Des."

She twisted her fingers for a minute then got up and went to her purse, dug out the business card she'd been given and then to the phone.

******

Arthur made arrangements to begin the liquidation of Grace's assets. The investments posed no real problem; personal and business could be transferred as cash to her tax haven account. The real estate and personal property were going to be difficult, particularly since she was on the police radar.

He weighed his responsibility and loyalty to a client that he new, but would not admit was a contract killer, and chose self preservation.He redirected a sizeable sum for his fee then drafted an anonymous lawyerly report to the police disclosing enough material on Grace Purcell to see her straight to the gallows.

He closed and locked his office and headed to the local post office where he arranged to leave his letter for pick up from a local messenger service, then home to begin packing for a swift departure to safer climes.

When Grace called and learned that Arthur wasn't in she began a slow burn, considering the possibility that she was being cut loose. A quick call to her investment broker and a long distance call to her bank in the Caribbean vindicated her feelings; Arthur had liquidated the investments all right and had helped himself to nearly fifty-five percent of their value.

She immediately located his home address and phone number and hired another taxi.