The desk Sergeant signed for the delivery and trotted it upstairs to the squad room. Holt was closest to the door and that's where it wound up. He opened it and began reading, his body stiffening as he came to an upright position in his chair.

"Son of a bitch!" There was no address or signature on the note and he quickly called the messenger service, gathering a sketchy description of the person who left the message from the postal clerk but that was it.

Part of the letter's contents listed Grace's business address, home and that of her parents along with several clients she had dealt with in the last half year. Armed with a hastily secured warrant from a complacent judge, Holt and two uniformed officers visited all three addresses, leaving a trail of shocked and disbelieving people in their wake. They had to call family friends to come and stay with the parents.

Holt was a little shocked himself hearing that Grace was a prominent wedding planner with a solid reputation . . . it also explained the license plate, earning that a wry smile.

In her loft apartment, they found more information on trails they could follow like her bank, her lawyer and a prestigious list of wedding clients. Holt was taking the bit in his teeth and in another blitz he cowed the bank manager into divulging whether or not the account had seen any recent activity, learning it had been closed.

When he showed up at Arthur Fineberg's office and discovered he'd left early, he called for a car to get to the address immediately advising he would be right along. When Holt arrived at the lawyer's house he was dismayed to see the two cruiser officers stringing tape across the front entrance.

"What's happened?"

"Better look inside. Found it this way and we've called it in for the coroner and the wagon."

Holt ducked under the tape and stepped carefully into the front hall. He didn't have to go any further to know that Grace Purcell had beaten them to it and was wiping away all her tracks. Arthur Fineberg lay at the foot of the long staircase, one arm through the lower railing twisted at an impossible angle. From his salon cut hair a stream of blood wiggled down his neck and under his collar.

A couple of life-sized portraits mounted on the wall up the stairway looked past the carnage with bland expressions. He sighed and heaved his shoulders. There wasn't much to be gained doing a search, he figured, the forensic team could do that. Anything Grace wanted he was certain she got before she left for who knew where.

The thought occurred to him that she might even have Jones and Nevens on her radar. If Spataro had suffered an attack of verbal diarrhea before he was killed he might have told her he was following them and why. Then his thoughts ran to Lester Ward, Spataro's boss.

He went back outside as the coroner arrived, shared a few words then beckoned to his two officers and they piled back into their car and left the crime scene.

Holt ran the facts he had through his head once more, looking for some connection that would fit them all together. The most obvious was, Earl Barkluster owed Lester Ward money. Tabor was sent to collect and was seen by Nevens and then Jones. Purcell was hired to silence Tabor then made a bit of a mess by killing the motel owner as well.

He paused, realizing that if that hadn't happened they never would have found the camera set up at the motel or the pictures of Grace and her car. What he couldn't figure was how Mickey Spataro became involved and why was he following Nevens. His cell rang and he pulled it out, wincing at the still tender collarbone.

"Holt."

"Hello Detective. How goes the battle?"

"Avery. What's up?"

"I saw the report on the woman that busted your collarbone and the two dead guys in the theatre. Mickey Spataro was tight with my source, the one that gave us the dame's name."

"Yeah, go on."

"Got a call from the hospital, the idiot kept an old business card of mine in his wallet and they phoned to say he'd been admitted less one functioning knee. Turns out it was your favourite fugitive."

"Purcell?"

"Yep. His snitching days are over so you might as well know his name. It's Caleb Donnigan . . . Donny."

"Thanks, Avery."

The two detectives discussed events a little further then rang off; the dots suddenly connected and Holt thanked his friend and told the driver to step on it. Mickey told Avery's source about Purcell and he would only know if he or Lester had business with her, and it would be unlikely Mickey would be doing that kind of hiring for Lester.

Why he told him wasn't clear yet. Donnigan used the information to get points with Avery and when they had acted on the information it had tipped Purcell. Somehow she connected it to Donnigan and went after him.

The car sped around a construction road block and the sign holder raised an index finger in response.

"Don't kill anybody, officer. We have enough bodies to deal with today."

"Just trying to hurry, Detective."

"More haste, less speed." Holt offered absently, his mind still piecing facts together. Purcell must have learned what she needed from Donnigan and he was lucky just to lose a knee. Why Mickey became her target was still puzzling. Why not Lester? Maybe it still was. He looked at the driver and mentally urged him on against his earlier statement.

******

Lester looked like the proverbial head-lit deer. His fingers scrabbled for the cigar humidor and found only the bare spot where it once rested. Holt had arrived noisily and hadn't waited for an invitation, choosing instead to hit Lester with his accusation immediately upon arrival.

"I don't- I haven't-"

"Forget the tap dance, Lester, your nephew is toes up in the morgue and it was Grace Purcell, your favourite enforcer who put him there."

"M-Mickey's- Grace Purcell?"

"Put the cuffs on him, officer."

The uniform moved to the desk and Lester began blubbering rapidly. Mickey had gone to collect a debt from Earl Barkluster and was told to get lost. He hired Tabor to get the money and Tabor screwed it up by killing Earl. Mickey must have tried to fix things by hiring this Grace person to warn Tabor.

The words spilled out like overflow from a plugged toilet. Holt listened for a bit then nodded to the officer.

"No! I didn't do anything! You can't do this."

"Can and have, Lester. Let's go."

******

Grace watched Lester being shoved into the back of the cruiser and made an angry sound. Lester was the last link to her in the whole mess and she just knew he would burn his own mother before taking a fall. Grace's world was disintegrating more with every passing minute. She left the store and hailed a cab, not sure where to go.

By now she suspected that the police would have discovered her lawyer and started looking for connections to the others. It wouldn't take long to learn about the wedding fiasco and figure she was on a mission to eliminate any and all links to her recent activities.

She directed the taxi to a section of the city rife with small hotels, hostels and shelters, paid the fare and began walking with an eye to a safe accommodation. Cash and a terse retort to the clerk's bawdy assumption got her a front room on the top floor of the three storey hotel where she kicked of her shoes, top and skirt and flopped on the bed, sighing deeply.

A chronological sequence of events paraded across her mind's screen and she mentally ticked off various acts, links and assumptions.The parade jerked to a stuttering halt and she stopped breathing as she focused on the thought.

Mickey hired Tabor to collect from Barkluster. He was seen by some employees and lammed after failing to clean up his mess. Mickey knew about the witnesses and started snooping after them. Mickey got cold feet, divulged all his information to Donny and that led back to her and her current predicament.

The cops were after Mickey because they learned he was following the witnesses. That could mean they had information that Mickey needed to know. She should find out just what that was in case there was another door that needed closing. The cops weren't at the theatre for her, they were there for Mickey.

Grace sat up and stared out the dirt flecked window up at the sky.

******

The phone call to Frederick Kaiser gave no indication that there had been a very traumatic killing at the theatre. He was bubbling on about the revival and who was already on board and now that she had called they were ecstatic with visions of Broadway again.

Des barely got to speak. He ran through a schedule with times and dates too fast for her to take in and she had to interrupt several times. When she finally hung up she sagged against the wall and gave Parker a bleak, disbelieving look.

"So?"

"He wouldn't stop talking! They act like nothing happened at all. It's all just like you said, the show must go on."

"And you're going to take part?"

She pressed her tongue against her upper lip and looked at him. "I- I think I am, Parker. Oh, I don't know- what do you think? Never mind, I know what you think." She pushed off the wall and began wandering around the kitchen. "I don't know what to think."

He threw his arm over the back of the sofa and smiled at her. "When it comes to thought, some people stop at nothing."

Her pacing stopped and he could see her mouthing his remark then she stared at him and her eyes squinted. "So help me, Parker . . . "

He laughed and she dropped the annoyed posture and hung her head, laughing along with him.

"So when does all this take place?"

Des held out the scrap of paper where she had scribbled Frederick's rapid fire data. "Two days from now they want a full cast meeting with the new backers and all the show's management."

"Wow a summit."

"I'm a little scared, Parker. It's been so long . . . "

"Nuts. You don't forget how to ride a bike, you don't forget how to dance- and you can dance. Des."

"Yeah, but I haven't danced like that for years; I'll be a laughing stock."

"Laughing stock? Isn't that cattle, enjoying a joke? Nobody's going to laugh at you."

She came from the kitchen so quickly he didn't have time to react and the sofa throw cushion caught him on the side of the head before he felt the full weight of her body crash down onto him.