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Homicide Division office on First Avenue North occupied the second floor of police headquarters.
    Grubbs’ personal space was an eight-by-ten glass cubicle in the corner overlooking a dozen cops’ desks in a bullpen.  Grubbs was sitting in there behind his desk.
    Despite the fact that he’d been up investigating a homicide the night before, Grubbs appeared to have showered and shaved, and he was wearing a starched blue oxford-cloth shirt, a plaid tie, and pressed khakis.
    He also wore a Colt’s Government Model .45 semi-automatic pistol in a belt holster.
    I tapped on the glass and opened the door.  Grubbs nodded.  “So what do you know about this Kramer?” he said.
    “Good morning to you, too, Captain.”
    “ Yeah, right.  Pleasantries, et cetera.  So what do you know?  Were you working for him?”
    “ Not much and yes.”
    “ The girl?”
    I smiled a little.  Pleasant.  Innocent.  “What girl, Captain?”
    Grubbs lowered his eyes and slowly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.  “Not a good first inning for you, Slate.”
    “ Captain. . . .”
    Grubbs looked up.  “Nobody likes a smart ass, Slate.  Stop this ‘Captain’ shit and let’s talk straight.”
    I leaned over the desk, palms flat on the corners, my eyes inches from the top of Grubbs’ head.
    “ A client is dead.  Last night you asked me to identify the body.  As though you didn’t already have him identified.  This morning you ask about the girl.  I agree with you.  Let’s talk straight.  But maybe you should go first.”
    To his credit, Grubbs held still.
    “All right, Slate,” he said.  “Point made.  Now unless you intend to kiss the top of my nappy head, sit down over there and let’s see if we can do each other any good.”
    I sat in the vinyl and chrome chair in the corner and folded my arms.
    Grubbs said, “I assume, since he was your client, you know about Kramer.”
    I shrugged.  “Lawyer.  Downtown firm.  Used to be assistant AG.”
    Grubbs shook his head.  “You don’t know much, Slate.”
    I heaved a sigh and sat forward, elbows on my knees.
    “Kramer came to see me Saturday in Gulf Shores.  We talked for ten, fifteen  minutes.  He hired me to look for his daughter.  I visited the house yesterday and met his wife and two agents from the Bureau.  I was planning to spend some more time with him and his wife today.  What else should I know?”
    “ Nothing, considering it’s you.  No reason to expect much.”
    “ You’re right.  I live on a boat and run a bar.  You have the vast resources of the government at your disposal.  What is it you shouldn’t expect me to know?”
    Grubbs shook his head again as though he were having trouble hearing.  “You still planning to talk to Mrs. Kramer?”
    I nodded.  “Not a very good time, but I think I have to.”
    Grubbs nodded.  “That would be my view.”
    He stood, came around the desk and opened the door.  “I have a few more things to do before mid-morning.  I’ll pick you up at ten-thirty at your hotel.  I’ll tell you what I can on the way out to Mountain Brook.”
    I followed him out the door.  “Isn’t Mountain Brook out of your jurisdiction, Captain?”
    Grubbs dismissed me with a flick of his hand.  “We still make house calls,” he said.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
    Building security at Park Plaza would not have met New York standards.
    The first time I visited a New York lawyer’s office after 9-11, security in the building lobby outpaced the TSA at LaGuardia.  But here, an elderly fellow in a green blazer with a nifty gold identification badge on the left breast pocket sat inside a circular cubicle a few steps from the revolving doors, reading the sports section of The Tuscaloosa News .
    After I stood at the counter for a few seconds, he looked up reluctantly.  “Help you?” he said.
    “I think so.  I’m looking for Woolf White Waldstein.”
    “ They got three floors.  Seventeen, eighteen,