"Aren't they all," Plasky said boredly. "You like her, she's yours. After we've finished our business." He glanced at the swaying tail section of the girl as she retreated toward the cabanas, as though wondering if he'd missed something.

Bolan noticed that the bodyguards had settled down, apparently on some prearranged station. "Then let's get on with the business," he said, grinning.

Plasky cleared his throat and dropped his eyes toward his own drink. "Seymour and Turrin and I were business associates of Joseph Laurenti. One of the men who were murdered. And of course we knew all five-almost like family, you might say. We are very much interested in-helping the police bring the killer to justice. Have you talked to the police yet, Sergeant Bolan?"

Bolan was expecting the question, especially in view of the fact that he had been picked up that morning almost in the shadow of Plasky's office, and he was prepared for it. "Yes, they pulled me in this morning," he replied. "Right after I left your office."

"You went to them voluntarily," Seymour declared quietly.

Bolan grinned. "Not hardly."

"Why not?" Seymour wanted to know.

"Like I told Mr. Plasky, I didn't want to get tied up in something that would spoil my last few days at home." He broadened the smile. "As it turns out, I'm not going back to "Nam after all. I've been reassigned. I'll be staying right here in Pittsfield for a while."

"Why?" Seymour persisted.

"My kid brother. He's only fourteen. I'm his sole surviving relative."

That was very good of the Army," Plasky put in.

Seymour ignored the goodness of the Army. "So you decided to cooperate fully with the police," he commented. "After you left Mr. Plasky this morning and received word of your good fortune, you immediately contacted the police like any upstanding citizen would wish to do."