A buzzer sounded, and the secretary stopped ignoring Dzinski long enough to press the button.
“Where’s that file,” a voice said, cutting through the static.
“On your desk,” she said. “Where you told me to leave it.”
“What? Oh, all right, I see it. Thank you.”
Dzinski figured they must be married. He coughed, just to bother her.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“Says he’s a private investigator.”
“What does he want?”
“Ask him yourself,” she said, disconnecting their conversation.
The door to the office opened, and a man stepped out, straightening his tie.