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That’s the simple part. I suspect my real reason for wanting to contact Merissa is to hear about Diantha. Has the former told the latter about our little tryst, thereby giving Diantha justification for carrying on with her slanging troubadour? Merissa, for all her feather brains, would sniff out my intentions immediately. And laugh. God, why does love reduce us, big grown-up people, to little more than adolescents?

For all that, there have been a few dim bright spots. If I wasn’t in such danger of losing all that I cherish, I might have enjoyed the anomaly of being out on bail on a charge of accessory to murder while working hand-in-glove with the police on two cases, including my own. That strange state of affairs was no more evident than in my meeting with Lieutenant Tracy at police headquarters, a meeting at which we both had significant developments to relate.

Indeed, for the first time in what is becoming a history of close cooperation with the SPD, I was taken into the office of Chief Murphy. He is a busy man of my years with a pear-shaped head, stem up, the hard eyes of a lifelong cop, and a brusque, friendly voice.

He stood upon our entry, extended a hand, and shook mine warmly. “I want to thank you personally, Mr. Ratour, for your help in the Sterl case. I am distantly related to the Sterls through marriage. I can tell you the pressure that came from all quarters has been … memorable.”

I thanked him in turn and took a chair with the lieutenant in front of the man’s big desk.

He knit his hands together. “Just so that you know, Mr. Ratour, I am pulling every string and chain I know to get Jason Duff to drop those charges against you. But Jason’s like a bulldog once he gets a bone in his mouth.”

“He says just because you’re helping in one case doesn’t mean you aren’t involved in the other,” the lieutenant put in.

“It would help me considerably,” I said. “I appreciate very much what you’re doing for me.”

“Bribe me with a bottle of good bourbon when I get it done.”

We settled down to business. “This is strictly off the record, Norman,” the lieutenant said, “but we arrested Andrijana Jakovich yesterday. She’s been singing like an opera star ever since.”

“So it was murder.”

“As clean a case as we’ve ever had,” the chief said.

“What about Branko?”

The chief leaned forward. “His face is plastered in so many places, you’d think he was running for office.”

“He was last sighted in Pittsburgh,” the lieutenant said. “We don’t expect him to get far.” He paused. “We’ll need affidavits from you and your people as to the authenticity of the video you sent us. Routine stuff.”

I allowed as that would not be a problem. I then opened a large manila envelope I had been holding in my hand. “These are the coins from the boat that you allowed me to have tested. These are results.” I spread out a couple of the photos. “It seems the coins on the boat are also fakes. In fact, identical to those given to the museum.”

The two policemen inspected the samples and photographs. “Fascinating,” the chief said. “Who does it point to?”

“Max Shofar,” I said, but without much conviction.

They waited. I said, “He might know who does this sort of thing, but I don’t think he deals in fakes. He’s got too much to lose.”

“All right.”

“But if Heinie … von Grümh took the originals, the real coins … to a forger, then Max might know where to look. I wouldn’t mind talking to him again.”

The chief glanced at his lieutenant, who said, “It’s okay with me. But, Norman, if you find or suspect anything incriminating, we’ll take it from there.”

We parted on friendly terms. I drove home with such a sense of elation that I ran an orange light before I could stop. I was pulled over and given a warning by a crew-cut woman cop who could have been a bodybuilder.

People have gotten used to me showing up at the museum with Alphus in tow. For the sake of appearances, I keep him on a leash attached to a collar around his neck. I know it makes me appear