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looking into Hawk River’s billing practices. Care to guess what comes next?”
    â€œJoan Richmond was scheduled to testify?”
    Terry shot me with his finger. “Bull’s-eye. She was scheduled to testify this month, in a closed-door hearing. But now she’s been murdered.”
    â€œPeople get murdered all the time,” I said.
    â€œWhich brings us to Steven Zhang,” said Terry. “Not much on him, but once I knew about Joan Richmond and Hawk River, my curiosity was piqued. Checked Zhang’s tax records.”
    â€œAnd he worked for Joan at Hawk River,” I guessed.
    â€œDon’t know if she was his boss, but he worked at Hawk River. Seventeen weeks.”
    â€œOdd number,” I said. “He was an IT guy. Contracts are usually three months, six months, one year. Seventeen weeks?”
    Terry shrugged, “Maybe he was hired for six months, but he was efficient. Or three months but he was slow. Or maybe he quit or got fired. His tax records showed seventeen weeks. Anyway, it would seem that his contract ended, however it ended, about a month before JoanRichmond quit. Point is, he worked there when your victim worked there and he killed her just in time to keep her from testifying before Congress. And you know how I hate coincidences.”
    I hated them, too.
    As my cigar burned down to the band, I heard the doorbell ring inside the apartment. Terry said, “Oh yeah, Angela invited a friend from work. Diane. She’s great, you’ll like her.”
    I left my cigar to die in the ashtray. “You have got to be shitting me. A blind date?”
    â€œRelax, you’ll like her—”
    â€œYou already said that. What I don’t like is being ambushed.”
    â€œIt’s no big deal.”
    â€œTo me it is. And I don’t appreciate it.”
    â€œJust come inside and be nice.” Terry stood up. “It’s not a blind date. It’s just Angela and me, each inviting a friend for dinner.”
    â€œA couple of single, heterosexual friends of the opposite sex. That’s what we call a blind date.” I fished a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lit one.
    â€œFine, call it a blind date if you want. I’m not asking you to propose marriage to the girl. Angela had her heart set on introducing you, and—”
    The balcony door swung open and a perky brunette stepped out, pulling a pack of Dunhill Lights from her purse. As I stood, she flashed a mouthful of perfect teeth at me and extended her hand and said, “Oh, you smoke! Me, too!”
    â€œWe’ve got that in common,” I said. “Wanna get married?” I went for dry humor, barely suppressed the sarcasm. It could’ve been taken either way.
    And that pretty much set the tone for the evening.
    I wasn’t rudeness personified but I put little effort into hiding my disinterest and my humor was more caustic than usual. And throughout dinner, I seemed to find ways of turning conversation into debate. I tried not to notice the uncomfortable glances between Diane and Angela, Angela and Terry.
    Suffice it to say, I acted like an ass and by 9:30 we all suddenly remembered that we had early starts in the morning and we’d better pass on coffee and call it a night. I told Diane that it had been a pleasure meeting her, reiterated my joy over Angela’s pregnancy, thanked everyone for a lovely evening, and got the hell out of there.

CHAPTER SIX
    I t was warm for late September and the sky was clear and I felt like walking. Terry and Angela lived in Andersonville, a hip, recently gentrified neighborhood on the north side. I walked the clean, tree-lined streets and counted the FOR SALE signs until I lost count. Most of the rentals had gone condo. Which was happening all over Chicago, including my neighborhood south of the Loop.
    The week before, I’d gotten another letter from my landlord—just a friendly reminder that time was running out. The