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get to know her, you realized that she created her own little world in which she was the center. Kind of a messiah complex.”
    “That she’d be the one to save the situation?”
    “Right. And anybody who tried to rein her became part of the conspiracy.”
    “Do you think there was some conspiracy regarding Coyne’s death?”
    Rendall laughed. “Have you met Neil Hagan yet?”
    “No. Given Arbuckle’s time limit on me, I thought I’d start at the paper.”
    “Well, when the present chief retires, one of two captains will replace him. Hagan is new school, smart, professional, the kind of man who as chief will move this city into the twenty-first century.”
    “And Hogueira?”
    She nodded. “Done some homework, I see.”
    “Some.”
    “Extending the metaphor, Hogueira leads us from 1890 to 1892.”
    “Hagan’s conscientious?”
    “And then some. I don’t know how Jane could have thought he’d be involved in sweeping Coyne’s death under the rug.”
    “Maybe because of Schonsy, Junior being both Coyne’s target and the son of Hagan’s old partner?”
    “Your homework consists of talking with Mai Peete, right?”
    “Mainly.”
    “Peete’s a drunk, Mr. Cuddy. And about as screwed up in his perceptions of reality as Jane was.”
    “How’re you at perceiving reality?”
    “I may not be the best there is, but I’m probably the best you’ve got. Shoot.”
    “A couple of people have mentioned some real estate developer named Dykestra.”
    “Little Richard.”
    “Who?”
    “That’s what I call him. Richie Dykestra comes in at maybe five-five. Petty, I know, but he inspires that kind of thinking about him.”
    “If Coyne’s death happened as reported, but Jane’s death wasn’t an accident or suicide, could Dykestra have been involved?”
    “Boy.” She paused, chewing. “He’s into some shady stuff. And I’m not sure which way Bruce Fetch goes on that one.”
    “Who’s Fetch?”
    “Jane didn’t... no, of course she wouldn’t. Bruce and Jane were dating.”
    “Serious?”
    “He was. And three months ago, I would have said she was, too. But lately, I think the fire was mainly at his end.”
    “Fetch works for Dykestra?”
    “You could say that.”
    “Seems a little out of character, Jane dating a guy who works for the target she’s investigating.”
    “You haven’t quite got it. The local redevelopment authority floated Dykestra through this condo project he’s doing.”
    “Dykestra has a debt problem?”
    “Are you kidding? His file at the bank is probably thicker than Argentina ’s.”
    “And the Nasharbor Redevelopment Authority bailed him out?”
    “That’s right. And guess who’s executive director of the honorable NRA?”
    “Fetch.”
    “Gold star.”
    “You pick that up from Arbuckle?”
    “What?”
    “That expression, gold star.”
    Rendall smiled. “He picked it up from me. Know why he suggested you talk to me?”
    “Because he wanted me off his back.”
    “Partly. But he’s also afraid of me, and therefore he’d love to see me step in the shit some time soon.”
    “Why is he afraid of you?”
    “Because he thinks I’m after his job.”
    “Are you?”
    “You bet. With the right managing editor, that little printing press could be a real force in this town, not a dull, safe tabloid that keeps everybody looking rosy to the readers.”
    “Now you sound like Jane Rust.”
    “With one major difference. I know what I want and how to get it. Speaking of which, how about dinner at my place?”
    She threw me off a little. “I... I’m seeing somebody in Boston now.”
    “Exclusively?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    If Rendall was disappointed, she didn’t show it. “Does that mean you’re driving back tonight?”
    “No, I plan to stay down here for a while.”
    “Why?”
    “Jane paid me for three days’ worth. Still two to go.”
    “And if two more’s not enough?”
    “This is my slow season, anyway.”
    Rendall put her fork on the table. “In that case, at