Houseman looked exactly the same as the last time, the tired posture, the hint of a moustache and the thin hair; actually that looked a little thinner than I remembered. He had received us with an abrupt nod, directed us to a pair of chairs in a tiny office and then left.

"Where is he?" Karen fidgeted uncomfortably.

"He'll be back," I assured her.

"It didn't look like he knew you at all." Her voice rang with doubt.

A ruffle of papers, a slight cough and Housemen swept into the room, circling the desk and arranging several papers and a crisp new file folder. He sat, pulled his chair in, clasped his hands and smiled benignly.

"Mr. Wallace. What's it been, three years, six months, three weeks, four days and several hours I believe?"

"Or so." I returned his smile. "This is Miss Karen Winsett, the woman I mentioned when I called."

Houseman drifted his eyes across to Karen and nodded pleasantly. "Pleasure." He sat back and opened the folder. "Rory Smith. Age forty-four, five foot two, dark hair, blue eyes, one hundred and forty-six pounds... plus a few grams since the doctors tell me that they can't remove one of the bullets that's buried deep inside him just yet." He looked at me and waited.

"Is there a question there?"

"Mr. Smith was accosted at his place of employment, the bar in the lounge in the Howden Hotel, where he suffered three gunshot wounds from an unknown assailant. Two of the wounds were superficial—the flesh of the upper arm and one love handle. The third—"

"Love handle?" I blurted. "Rory isn't fat enough to have a love handle."

Houseman dropped the folder. "I just wanted to see if you were paying attention, Wallace. Last time you were quite ready to ignore my initial assistance and several people paid various costs for that decision. I want you to know that this time what I say goes - no questions, no deviations. Clear?"

Karen gave me a doubtful glance.

"I came to you, remember." I countered. "Miss Winsett and I are willing to present all the evidence we have in this matter in exchange for your protection and unbiased understanding."

"I'm not a counsellor, Wallace. I'm a cop and I make my judgments based on the crime and how the participants are involved."

I glanced at Karen. "See, I told you he would listen."

She frowned.

"And I will. Am. Please begin."

Days later, or at least it seemed like that, I finished my tale as I knew and suspected it and, as agreed to with Karen, held back the involvement of Ellington, and the fact that the envelope of photographs supposedly received from Nicole, didn't really exist. Our reasoning was that if Houseman refused to help and turned us out, the threat would still provide moderate protection until we came up with another plan.

Houseman made copious notes but never interrupted even when Karen and I quarrelled over a few details, and then sat very silently as he studied what he'd written. There was a noisy rumble as the window air conditioner kicked in and wisps of Houseman's hair lifted feebly from his head, fingers of light gossamer waving half-heartedly.

Karen asked if she could use a washroom and without comment, Houseman buzzed the pool in the large office outside his and a moment later a square little woman in a crisp, sharply creased uniform opened the door and beckoned to Karen. Houseman never said a word and I wondered if his phone had a buzzer marked bathroom on it. Curious.

"I want to speak to you without Miss Winsett." Buzzer secret solved.

"Shoot," I said, and blushed.

"You realize that besides these pictures you claim to have, the only people to corroborate your story are the very ones you're accusing. It's unlikely an actual shooter will ride to your rescue."

"But you know I didn't do any killing, and neither did Karen" I stated, nervously. How did he find out about the fake pictures? Rory? I decided to try and cleverly pry that bit of information out of him. "Who told you I had any pictures?"

"Do you?"

"Huh?"

"Do you have any pictures that incriminate these people?"

"What people?"

"Fine, Wallace. We can do this the hard way if you like."

"I don't like the hard way; I just want to know who told you."

"Let's just say a little birdie. So back to support for your story."

"What about Rory?"

"Getting shot doesn't prove anything you've told me."

"It's them!" I said, showing exasperation.

"Unknown assailant. And don't speculate, Wallace. Without proof it's unconnected. As far as any killing goes, it's your word against theirs."

"Hey, Houseman." I started getting angry fast.

My whole involvement was incidental and accidental. What happened would have happened with or without me in the picture and I shouted that fact into the annoyingly calm face of my inquisitor.

"Are you done? I didn't say that I didn't believe you, but this is not solid ground if you get into a trial -in whatever capacity." He stopped me with his addendum. "I just can't get over the fact that you are involved with Bernie Bonducci again, and under such similar circumstances. Some people learn from experience. Others have to experience to learn."

"I wasn't guilty then either, and thanks for the dime store philosophy," I pouted.

"And the players are equally weird. Not the deepest end of the gene pool." Houseman placed his notes inside the folder. "I am going to need the source of these pictures."

"I have no idea," I lied.

"Then the photographer."

"I don't know that either."

"You just found them, like on the sidewalk."

"No." I averted his eyes. "I can't reveal that information. Client privilege."

"Oh right... Doctor Wallace. You want my help, you play by my rules."

"You're the police! You're supposed to help me... people like me... like us." I shook out my arms. "You can't be God you know."

"I help those who help themselves," he said pontifically.

Karen returned and sat without a word, trying to read the expression on my face.

"Detective Houseman has decreed that for any assistance I- we... must give up the source of the photos."

"Nicole Kirkland." Karen said immediately.

"Karen!" My shock was complete. She gave up our new alliance without batting an eye.

"And where can I find this Nicole Kirkland?" He slid a wry smile toward me.

"I have absolutely no idea, detective. When we left her she was packing to leave on a trip."

"This was when?"

"Three days ago."

"Mr. Wallace?"

"Truth. I don't know where she went." Dejected.

Houseman pushed a pad across the desk along with a pen and pointed to Karen. "Address, telephone, description and any other information you have on this woman."

"So now what?" I asked.

"Until I verify certain points in your story and track down this Nicole Kirkland, you're free to go. I'm not pressing any charges until I have the whole story, if there even is a story."

"Press charges!"

"But what about protection?" Karen stopped writing, overriding my exclamation.

"You sound like your friend here. I don't provide sanctuary, Miss Winsett. Without a specific or direct threat, I can't justify assigning officers as bodyguards."

"What do you call Rory!" I shouted.

"Mr. Smith is being protected because in his case there was definitely a direct threat."

"So if we get shot we get protection?" Houseman shrugged and stared calmly. "Let's go, Karen. We'll find another way."

"Nothing foolish, Wallace. Keep it legal." Houseman warned as he stood to see us out.

"I'm so glad that you and the cop are like this." She held up crossed fingers. "I can't imagine why I worried about my safety." I trailed after her murmuring hopefully logical answers.