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called from her office across the way.  
    “Yeah, what’s up?”  
    “I just got a call for you from your friend, Megan.   She seemed kind of upset.   She said she’d call back.”  
    Ben reached the door to her office as she finished, and she turned and handed him a note with Megan’s name and phone number on it.   “Any idea what that’s about?” she asked with a mock suspicious raise of her eyebrow.  
    Ben took the note and shrugged.   “Not a clue.”   He turned and headed for his office while repeating, “Not a clue.”   Ben called her back and found out.  
    “Megan, my dear, what could possibly be troubling you this fine morning?” he asked when she picked up.
    “What’s troubling me?   What’s troubling me is the police.   That’s who.”   Ben sat up.   “They’ve been asking me all sorts of questions about Greenfield’s death.”   She spoke frantically.   The words seemed to gush out of her like a water balloon with a hole in it.   “They came here unannounced.   They called me up on the telephone.   They have all sorts of questions.   They must think I know something.”  
    Ben was confused.   “Hold on, hold on, just hold on a second, will you please?” he said trying to slow her down.   “Now, I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about.   So why don’t you take a deep breath, maybe two deep breaths, and start from the beginning.”   He could feel her exasperation even over the phone.  
    She sighed and said, “Okay, okay.   I’ll try to explain it to you.   It started when they called me on the telephone.”
    “Okay,” Ben said, “just relax a second.   Start from the beginning like I said, but I need to know when, and how, and where these things took place, so don’t leave anything out.”  
    “Okay, okay.   It started on Friday.   I was at work, you know, then I went to lunch about eleven-thirty.   These two detectives stopped by at work while I was out to lunch.   Can you believe it?   They came looking for me.”  
    “I’m assuming they did that, Megan, because that’s where they expected to find you.   But wait a second.   We don’t even know how Greenfield died yet.   At least I don’t.   It wasn’t in the paper.   Did they tell you anything?”  
    “Well, no, they didn’t, but they came and asked for me in front of all the people I work with.   Do you know how that looks?”  
    “Not yet.   Go on,” Ben said.   His spider sense was tingling.   He didn’t like where this was heading.
    “Well, like I said, I wasn’t there, but they called back at about three.   They asked me if I knew Professor Greenfield and if I knew that he was dead.”  
    “When you say ‘they,’ who do you mean?   Who asked you about Greenfield?”  
    “It was a detective with the Chicago Police, a Detective Nelson.”  
    “Scott Nelson?” Ben asked.  
    “Yes, I think so.   Why?   Do you know him?”  
    “Yeah, maybe.”   Ben rubbed his forehead.   This wasn’t going to get any better.   Nelson was a homicide detective.   Greenfield must have been murdered, or at least may have been murdered.   The heart attack theory looked unlikely now.   “I had a couple of cases with Scott Nelson when I was a prosecutor.   So yeah, if it’s the same guy, I do know him.   He’s okay.   What else did he say?”  
    “Well, he acted like he was trying to be nice and reasonable, but I didn’t like it at all.   He started by asking if I knew Professor Greenfield.   Of course, I said that I did.   I had him as a professor in law school years ago.   Then he asked me if I knew that he was dead and, of course, I knew that too.   You know, Fran called me two seconds after she found out.   Also, it was on TV and it was in the newspaper, so how could I not know?”  
    “I’m sure,” Ben said, “that he wasn’t expecting that you wouldn’t know, nor do I think he probably read anything into the fact that you did