"How about a pitcher of martinis? Just kidding. A Diet Coke will do, if you've got it."
Holly turned to Daisy. "Daisy, bring Harry a Diet Coke."
Daisy trotted to the refrigerator and, taking in her teeth a towel that had been tied to the handle, opened the door and gingerly fished out a Diet Coke, swung a hip against the door to close it, then trotted back to the living room and handed the Coke to an astonished Harry.
"You're a very handy dog, Daisy," Harry said, scratching her ears.
"She gets handier," Ham said. "She'll bring a beer, if you ask her politely."
Harry popped the can top and took a swig.
"What brings you up here?" Holly asked.
"I came up to make sure my people were doing a good job on your bank robbery."
"That's awfully nice of you, Harry. You didn't have to come yourself."
"I felt I should, owing you, and all."
"That's very kind."
"I also liked Jackson a lot."
"Me, too. Anything to report?"
"My people have done a first-rate job, just what I expect of them, except for one thing."
"What's that?"
"We don't have a thing to go on. I've never seen a cleaner crime- not a print, not a fiber, not a smidgen of DNA."
"Which crime are we talking about, the robbery or the murder?"
"Both. I don't think I've ever seen a case so completely free of anything to go on."
"I may have something," Holly said.
Harry looked at her blankly. "And you didn't tell my people?"
"I only got it this morning, Ham and I."
"Tell me."
"The robbers got unlucky just once, maybe."
"How?"
"There was an ex-cop from New York named Stone Barrington in the bank at the time of the robbery, standing next to Jackson, talking to him."
Harry screwed up his face. "Barrington? That's a familiar name, somehow. I can't remember, but it'll come to me."
"Anyway, when Jackson was shot, Stone tried to help him, and, later, when he came to the station to be questioned about the robbery, he mentioned something."
"He recognize one of the robbers, I hope?"
"Nothing as good as that. He remembered something from his time on the New York force, a bank robbery in some little town up the Hudson somewhere."
"Wait a minute, I've got it. Barrington was a homicide detective in the Nineteenth Precinct-this was, I don't know, seven or eight years ago. You remember the Sasha Nijinsky case?"