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“I intend to,” Matt said.

She shook her head in disbelief.

“Do you know what happened when you put that briefcase under your desk?”

“No,” Matt said, curious and therefore serious, “what? I think it’s safe there, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “You had a choice to make, and you made one. Have you thought about that?”

“I didn’t have any choice,” he said. “You know that.”

“Could you put yourself in Jennifer’s shoes? Did she have any choice?”

“Oranges and lemons, Susan,” Matt said. “And how did Jennifer manage to intrude herself on what I thought until sixty seconds ago was going to be a nice lunch?”

“She called this morning. Just before I went to the bank.”

“And?”

“I told her I was busy and that she would have to call back.”

“How much of the conversation did your pal from the FBI hear? Or record?”

“All of it. But there’s nothing—”

“It was one more call in a series of recent calls. They’ll think that something is about to happen. If I were in charge, I would tighten surveillance. We don’t need that.”

“What do I tell her? She’ll keep calling until I talk to her.”

“Tell her to call you tomorrow,” Matt said.

“And what do I tell her tomorrow?”

“Between now and then, we’ll think of something.”

“What are you going to do with the mon—the briefcase?”

“Take it to my room.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been kicking the idea around that maybe we can—somehow, but don’t ask me how—use your returning the loot to our advantage. It would at least show a change of heart. I don’t know how much good that would do.”

She looked at him but said nothing.

“Eat your succotash, like a good girl,” Matt said. “An other option, of course, is to get rid of it. Then—”

“You mean destroy it?”

Matt nodded, and went on: “Then it would be your word against Chenowith that you ever had it.”

“His and Jennifer’s,” Susan said. “She’ll go along with whatever he says.”

“Against her faithful friend?” Matt asked sarcastically.

“Yes.”

“Then why do you give a damn about her?”