January stood and set her glass, still half full, down on the coffee ringed tabletop. With a negligent gesture she stubbed out her cigarette and stood, smoothing her black dress over her thighs.

“Very good Mr Barker,” she told the PI before heading for the door. She paused when she reached it, her elegant figure framed by the frosted glass window. She paused in the act of opening the door and glanced back at Richard.

“One more thing Mr Barker,” she added with a smile as sweet as honeyed poison.

“I will be along for the ride for every detail of this case. Meet me at Carlito’s tomorrow at Noon. Do not be late.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped out into the hallway and was gone.

The New York sky was no happier for daylight. The tumultuous storm of the previous day had given way to a bleak day light, swept frequently by chilly cloudbursts. A veil of rain crowded chided the sun to a glow that made competition for the ubiquitous streetlights without truly supplanting them. Carlito’s was a small but very exclusive bistro whose chief claim to fame was its proximity to the Metropolitan Museum. January would have preferred the open air, but even beneath the dubious shelter of an umbrella that was a bad idea. Instead she sat at a booth by a window that overlooked the Museum, its imposing edifice a familiar sight. How many times had she passed through those concrete columns with her father for one museum event or another. So caught up was she in her reverie that she didn’t notice the men approaching her until two figures slid into the booth beside her.

“Ah Miss Endicott, a pleasure to see you again,” came the oily and familiar voice of Detective Golding. He was a slightly overweight man with a face that a weasel wouldn’t trust and demeanor to boot. He constantly ran his right hand through his oily looking brown hair in what he probably imagined was a smooth gesture. Beside him was another man with angular teutonic features and round wire frame spectacles whom she did not recognise.  Both men wore trench coats, although the latter fellow’s was a tailored affair which she doubted Golding could have afforded. 

“I did not ask you to sit down Detective,” January said in a voice which might have fogged a paine of glass with its chill disdain. The policeman chuckled greasily.

“Just a few questions for you Jan…”

“Miss Endicott,” January snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. How dare this grasping toad address her so? The silent man’s face twitched in what might have been either amusement or irritation. Golding spread his hands in placation.

“Miss Endicott… we are just trying to clear up a few matters regarding your fathers death,” he smirked. January arched a sculpted eyebrow.

“Grown tired of sitting on your behind wasting tax payer money?” she sneered.

“Now Miss Endicott, we have been working tirelessly to bring your fathers killers to justice,” Golding declared ironically, barely managing to contain a snicker.

“We?” she asked, turning her attention to the silent man in obvious demand. Golding cleared his throat and appeared momentarily nervous before his natural expression slid back into place.

“This is Mr Mueller a…. consultant of sorts I suppose you would call him, he is simply here to observe,” Golding explained. January cut her eyes between the two men before moving to stand.

“I think you can address any questions you have to my lawyers…” she began but before she could stand, Mueller, if that was his name reached across and seized her wrist.

“You vill answer our quvestions,” Muller snarled, the demeanor of icy politeness slipping from his face.

“You will take your hands off me at once,” January demanded, her anger blazing as hot as her icy calm had frozen0.

“Or vhat Frauline?” the German asked. There was a distinct metallic click from beneath the table as January drew back the hammer on the little deringer she had surreptitiously slipped from her purse. The German froze, clearly recognizing the sound for what it was, even if the gun was out of his immediate view.

“Or else all manner of unfortunate things might happen.. Mien Herr,” she simpered.