The protector put my papers on his desk. "So, what do you want?"
"I'm investigating the murder of Greg Feldman."
"On whose authority?"
"My own."
"I see." He leaned back. "Why?"
"For personal reasons."
"Did you know him personally?" He delivered the question in a perfectly neutral tone, but the underlying meaning was all too clear. I felt happy to disappoint him.
"Yes. He was a friend of my father."
"I see," he said again. "Your father wouldn't be available for a statement?"
"He's dead."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be," I said. "You didn't know him."
"Do you have anything that might support your relationship with Greg Feldman?"
I could easily provide him with collaboration. If he was to look me up in his files, he would find that Greg had sponsored my application to the Order, but I did not want to go in that direction.
"Greg Feldman was thirty-nine years old. He was an intensely private man, and he disliked being photographed." I handed him a small rectangle of the photograph. "This is a picture of me and him on the day of my high school graduation. There is an identical picture in his apartment. It's located in his library on the third shelf of the central bookcase."
"I've seen it," the protector said.
How bloody nice. "Can I have that back, please?"
He returned the photo. "Are you aware that you're named as a beneficiary in Greg Feldman's will?"
"No." I would've welcomed a moment to deal with my guilt and gratitude, but the knight-protector plowed on.
"He bequeathed his financial assets to the Order and the Academy." He was watching me for a reaction. Did he think I cared about Greg's money? "Everything else, the library, the weapons, the objects of power, is yours."
I said nothing.
"I've checked on you with the Guild," he said. The blue eyes fixed me in place. "I've heard you're able but hurting for money. The Order's prepared to make you a generous offer for the items in question. You'll find the sum to be more than adequate."
It was an insult and we both knew it. I thought of telling him that if it wasn't for Oklahoman cowboys and Mexican whores having a bit of fun, there would've been no Texans, but that would be counterproductive. One didn't call a knight-protector a whoreson in his own office.
"No, thank you," I said with a pleasant smile.
"Are you sure?" His eyes took my measure. "You look like you could use some money. The Order will give you more than you'd get auctioning it off. My advice, take the money. Buy yourself a decent pair of shoes."
I glanced at my beat-up sneakers. I liked my shoes. I could bleach them. It took the blood right out.
"Do you think I should get some like yours?" I asked, looking at his boots. "Who knows, they might throw a cowboy shirt with a fringe in with them. Maybe even a girdle."
Something stirred in his eyes. "You got a mouth on you."
"Who, me?"
"Talk's cheap. What can you really do?"
Thin ice. Proceed with caution.
I leaned back. "What can I really do, Sir? I won't do anything to threaten or antagonize the knight-protector in his own office no matter how much he insults me. That would be stupid and highly hazardous to my health. I came here in search of information. I just want to know what Greg Feldman was working on when he died."
For a moment we sat there looking at each other.
The knight-protector sucked the air into his nose with an audible whoosh and said, "You know anything about investigative work?"
"Sure. Annoy the people involved until the guilty party tries to make you go away."
He grimaced. "You know that the Order's investigating this matter?"
In other words, run along, little lady, and let people who are more competent handle it. "Greg Feldman was my only family," I said. "I'll find who or what killed him."
"And then what?"
"I'll burn that bridge when I cross it."
He laced the fingers of his hands into a single fist. "Anything able to take out the knight-diviner is packing some power."
"Not for long."
He thought about that for a while. "So happens I could use you," he said.
That was unexpected. "Why the hell would you want me?"
He gave me what he must have considered his cryptic smile. It reminded me of a grizzly awakened in midwinter. "I have my reasons. Here's what I'll do for you. You get a Mutual Aid sticker on your ID, which should open you some doors. You get to use Greg's office. You get to look at the open file and police report."
Open file meant I would get the case as it came to Greg: bare facts and no or little findings. I would have to retrace Greg's steps. It was bloody more than I expected.
"Thank you," I said.
"The file doesn't leave the building," he said. "No copies, no quotes. You'll make a complete report to me and only to me."
"I'm bound by the Guild's disclosure of information act," I said.
He waved it aside. "It's taken care of."
Since when? This knight-protector was going far out of his way to help a worthless merc. Why? People who did me favors made me nervous. On the other hand, it was bad manners to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if you're getting it from an overweight cracker in a fringe shirt.
"Officially you have no status with me," he said. "Screw up and you're persona non grata."
"Understood."
"We're done," he said.
Outside the receptionist waved me over and asked for my ID. I gave it to her and watched as she affixed a small metallic Mutual Aid sticker to it, an official "stamp" of the Order's interest in my humble work. Some doors would open to me and more would slam in my face. Oh, well.
"Don't mind Ted," the receptionist said, returning my ID. "He's harsh sometimes. My name's Maxine."
"My name's Kate. Would you point out the late knight-diviner's office to me?"
"I'd be glad to. The last one on the right."
"Thank you."