A week later, there's a knock at your door. It's Loretta, and she's drunk. "Johnny's mudder's been dead three yearsh," she slurs. "And my mudder lives in Palm Beach. I don' know any Stewie."

She hands you the note.

She looks at you with frightened, glassy eyes. "So? Isse gonna kill me or not?"

You turn your head as she reaches under her skirt to adjust her stockings. "I'm sorry, Loretta, I just don't know yet. But you keep bringing me these messages, okay?"

"Worthless," she mumbles. You don't know if she's referring to her stockings, one of which has now ripped, or you - probably both. She storms out of your office.

Once she's gone, you call O'Malley. "Does the name Stewie Bones ring a bell?" you ask. "According to the latest message from Kahn, he's dead. Maybe been dead a while now."

"Nope," says O'Malley. "But I'll look into it."

"Thanks," you say. "Anything new the last couple days?"

"Related to Kahn? Hard to say," he says. "You know a gambler named Nimoy?"

"Leonard?" you ask. "Sure. What about him?"

"Turned up in the hospital last night. Someone roughed him up pretty bad. Won't say who, but word is he was in the hole with Kahn for a lot of dough."

Can you decipher the note?