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it?"
    "Just do it."
    Rolf apparently decided not to defend his dignity and typed for Frick: I , Haley Walther, hereby admit that on this date I was trespassing at Sanker, having entered
    the premises unescorted by Ben Anderson and in violation of my agreement with Sanker; and
    that I was hiding in the radioisotope storeroom to avoid detection when someone locked the
    exterior bolt, inadvertently locking me inside. I was thereafter discovered by Deputy Frick. I
    am freely and voluntarily agreeing to answer questions posed by officers in their investigation, have been read my rights, and hereby waive my rights, including my right to
    remain silent. I have requested that I be allowed to remain on the premises during a portion
    of the investigation. I agree to answer all questions and to remain with a police officer at all
    times while on the premises, and I agree to surrender myself for arrest and booking for trespass upon request by any officer of the San Juan Island Sheriff's Department and I understand that a formal citation will be issued.

    Acknowledged by Haley Walther
    Rolf printed the document. "Now if I'm through with my secretarial duties, perhaps you can go entertain the lady while I work."
    Smart-ass. Frick hurried back to the Oaks Building and to Ben's office, where he had the safecracker working on Ben's wall safe. The moment he saw the pissed-off expression on the man's face, he knew he had a problem.
    "How long?" Frick asked.
    "I gotta do invasive stuff. I just can't do this in a few minutes with a stethoscope, like in old movies."
    "You can have ten more minutes," Frick said. "If you can't get it open in ten, I'll have to bring you back. I've got deputies out there—this is a crime scene—and there's no way I can hold people off much longer. It's already looking strange."
    Old man Henry Gardner Sanker sat in the bar off the grand-gathering room, which in smaller homes would be akin to the formal living room.
    His bar was nice, even by billionaire standards: gleaming hardwood and brass, with gorgeous mirrors to reflect the tawny colors of the various libations. He'd reserved the gold leaf for other areas. Sanker liked the warmth of all the fine wood—it spoke of comfort and class—and this was the place he chose to sit and hold court.
    He kept a small desk in the corner with a phone, for business was never far from his mind, and tonight he wore an old tweed sport coat and sipped a glass of 1927 Fonseca port.
    Sanker had a full head of silver gray hair and a long face that he thought looked like shattered safety glass, for all the wrinkles. His eyes, though, remained bright as new pennies, and his mind, in contrast to his body, was robust.
    Stu Rossitter, the president of Sanker, had come in the other entry, let in by the help.
    "I am concerned," Sanker said when Stu Rossitter approached the bar.
    "I share your concern. Shocked, actually. I was sure we'd find the goods in the escrow.
    We're lucky to have our Judas."
    The old man's eyes moved over Rossitter, noting that the shoes had just been shined. He wore a speckled gray cardigan and gray wool slacks—a little formal for Rossitter this time of night. Sometimes Rossitter didn't keep his shoes perfectly shined, but the old man had noticed that when Rossitter was worried, a new shine could be expected, sometimes even a new pair.

    Garth Frick, by contrast, let scuff marks accumulate on the toes of his shoes. It was no wonder he was a murderer.
    "Your Judas wanted a lot more than thirty pieces of silver, and even then I worry he'll stay bought," the old man said.
    "I'm counting on it," said Rossitter.
    "You're damn right you are. It's our families, the world, we're talking about."
    Rossitter wisely kept his counsel.
    "We all have a lot to lose." Sanker pressed the point. "Does Frick know the papers weren't left in the escrow yet?"
    "Maybe. If he doesn't, should we figure a way to tell him so he won't waste time?"
    "We don't dare," the old man said. "You don't