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of this static."
    I followed him down an aisle that ran past the front
desk to a back wall lined with doors. Segal opened one with his name
on it and ushered me in—this time without laying a hand on me.
There was a small bright window at the back of the room, with an air
conditioner rattling in it like a card in a bicycle wheel. A desk and
long file took up the left-hand wall. The right had a couple of
chairs parked against it and several framed commendations with
Segal’s name on them.
    "Have a seat," the man said, settling in
behind the desk. Reaching into his mouth, he pulled out the wad of
gum and deposited it in a glass ashtray.
    "I quit smoking last year," he said, wiping
his fingers on his pants leg. "The wife kept hounding me about
it. First I couldn’t light up in the bedroom, then it was the
living room. Before I knew it, I was out on the porch every time I
wanted a butt. It got to be such a hassle, I just said fuck it. Now
I’m a sugar junkie." He patted the paunch that gathered above
his belt. "Gained twenty-nine pounds, teeth hurt. It’s like
they got it set up so whatever you need to make it through the day is
going to kill you. You know?"
    "It’s a tough world," I said, pulling a
chair up across from him.
    "I wasn’t kidding when I asked about the money
you make. I got two more years to retirement, and then I gotta find
something to do. I was thinking security, maybe. You do any of that?"
    I shook my head. "Just PI work."
    "What’s that, divorce mostly?"
    I didn’t feel like going into it. "About
Greenleaf?"
    "Got it right here." Segal spun in his
chair and opened the long file. "I guess Jack already told you
that we didn’t come up with a whole lot," he said, pulling out
a folder and scanning it as he turned back to me. "Greenleaf
spent a few hours in a bar called Stacie’s, left alone around
eleven-thirty, checked into the Washington a little before midnight.
And you know the rest."
    "How’d you place him at the bar?"
    "His car. He left his Saab in Stacie’s lot.
After a couple of days the bar owner got tired of seeing it sit there
and called us. We hauled it to the impoundment lot on Gest Street, by
the way, so somebody ought to pick it up before they start stripping
it for parts."
    "McCain said Greenleaf was seen with some people
at Stacie’s."
    Nate Segal reached into his coat pocket and pulled
out a fresh stick of gum. "Yeah, he had company," he said,
peeling the foil from the stick. "A couple of adult white males,
according to the bartender and one of the waiters. For what it’s
worth, the bartender said he didn’t recognize any of them,
including Greenleaf. All he remembered was that the three of them
came in together, ordered a lot of booze, and got shit-faced."
    I thought about the empty bottle of Chivas in Mason’s
condo.
    "Did he give you a description of Greenleaf ’s
friends?"
    "The older one was your generic middle-aged GWM.
Slacks, sports shirt. Gray hair. Maybe six feet, skinny. The other
one was short and blond. A good deal younger than Greenleaf and the
gray-haired fag. Late twenties, early thirties maybe. He didn’t
drink as much as Greenleaf and the older guy."
    "Jack said the three of them had words at some
point?"
    "Yeah. A lot of loud talk between Greenleaf and
the gray-haired guy. Nobody at the bar remembered what about—or
claimed not to. The younger guy, the blond, supposedly tried to make
peace. But Greenleaf got up and left. The other two stayed in the bar
for an hour or so. Waiter said the gray-haired guy was fairly upset.
Like close-to-tears upset." Nate Segal shook his head. "Queers,
you know?"
    "You didn’t do any follow-up on these two?"
    "Why?" Segal said, folding the fresh stick
of gum into his mouth. "Why jerk some guy out of the closet that
don’t want to come forward on his own? I mean, this thing was all
over the papers and TV, so there was plenty opportunity to be a good
citizen."
    He had a point. "You said Greenleaf left the bar
at eleven-thirty