Myron and Win walked south down Park Avenue toward the high-rise of Lock-Horne Investments amp; Securities. Win's family owned the building. The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor. Myron stepped out. Win stayed inside. His office at Lock-Horne was two floors up.

Before the elevator closed Win said, "I knew her."

"Who?"

"Valerie Simpson. I sent her to you."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"No reason to."

"Were you close?"

"Depends on your definition. She's old money Philadelphia. Like my family. We were members of the same clubs, the same charities, that sort of thing. Our families occasionally summered together when we were kids. But I hadn't heard from her in years."

"She just called you out of the blue?" Myron asked.

"You could say that."

"What would you say?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

"No. Do you have any thoughts on who killed her?"

Win stood perfectly still. "We'll chat later," he said. "I have some business matters I must attend to first."

The elevator door slid closed. Myron waited for a moment, as though expecting the elevator to open again. Then he crossed the corridor and opened a door that read MB SportsReps Inc.

Esperanza looked up from her desk. "Jesus, you look like hell."

"You heard about Valerie?"

She nodded. If she felt guilty about calling her the Ice Queen moments before the murder, she didn't show it "You have blood on your jacket."

"I know."

"Ned Tunwell from Nike is in the conference room."