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Grapefruit screwdriver. Are you interested? Or is it too early for you?”
    “I’m interested. But it’s half-eleven in the morning. The only people it isn’t too early for are sitting in doorways with cuts on their heads.”
    “Is that a yes or a no? There’s a pot of coffee freshly brewed.”
    “I’ll have the coffee, please. Milk, no sugar.”
    Linda poured a large slug of Stolichnaya into her glass and brought me a mug of coffee. She sat on a cream-colored sofa that ran along the back glass wall, tucked her bare legs beneath her and gave me a smile. Her eyes looked out of focus somehow, as if this was not the first drink she’d had, or she’d scarfed some tranquilizers, or both. Her black robe probably had a lot of uses, but keeping her soft brown body covered was not one of them.
    “So tell me, Ed: what do you want from me?”
    “No, tell me what you want from me. Are you sure you want me to find your husband?” I said, trying to keep my eyes fixed on hers and failing.
    “I told you last night. Of course that’s what I want.” She smiled again, aware of the effect she was having. “It’s not all I want though.”
    “It’s not all I want either. But as I’m going to be working for you, I’m afraid it’ll have to do. Because if I’m sleeping with a man’s wife, I tend to lose interest in her husband. So maybe you could put some clothes on. Then we can talk about Peter.”
    Linda’s smile vanished in an instant. She flushed, and seemed to flinch, as if she’d been slapped. She stood up and left the room without a word. I wished for a moment that I’d had that drink.
    Out in the bay, the first few sails dotted the sea. They gleamed pearl white in the powder blue haze. Seagulls swooped down the cliffsides and skimmed across the rippling tides. It was going to be another glorious day.
    Linda returned wearing a black trouser suit. She sat down on the sofa again and said, “I hope this is sober enough for you. All my dun-colored sacks are at the cleaners.”
    She took a long hit of her drink. She looked frightened again, but there was defiance in the set of her red mouth, and a flash of anger in her eyes. Before I had a chance to, she brought up the subject of money.
    “Since you are going to be working for me, I suppose we better sort the practical side out first. What is it they used to say in the movies, twenty-five dollars a day plus expenses?”
    “That must be the silent movies you’re thinking of. Last job I worked, I got a thousand dollars a day.”
    “A thousand dollars? I thought you said you were the monkey. You helped the organ-grinder out.”
    “That’s how it started.”
    “And then what happened?”
    “The organ-grinder died, and the monkey took his place.”
    Linda’s hand went to her throat, and her eyes widened.
    “You didn’t tell me that. How did your boss die?”
    “He was murdered.”
    “Did you get the guy who killed him?”
    “His wife killed him.”
    “His wife?”
    “It’s nearly always the wife. And yes, I got her.”
    Linda finished her drink and lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking. She made them stop.
    “Weren’t we talking about money?” I said.
    “How does seven-fifty a day sound?”
    “It sounds fine. All right then. Did you get those records?”
    “They’re all gone,” Linda said. “I checked his home office this morning. Bills, correspondence, personal photographs, they’ve all been taken.”
    “I thought you said they were here.”
    “I thought they were.” She gestured toward a pile of box files on the kitchen table. “Everything is on file with Peter, right back to his birth cert. But these boxes have been cleaned out.”
    I looked at the four box files. Each one was clearly labeled: Bank — Statements/Cheque books; Eircom/Vodafone; Property; Shares. And each one was empty.
    “There’s no sign of a break-in, so…”
    She waved a hand in the air and shrugged, as if to suggest that it was a mystery, or that Peter must have taken