desktop. Behind the high-back desk chair, facing the door, was an oil portrait of a stern-looking man
with devilish eyebrows that curved up at the ends and unsympathetic eyes. I guessed from his dress
that the man in the painting was Seaborn?s old man. There was one other picture in the office which I
assumed to be of Seaborn?s family. Otherwise, the room was as sterile as a spayed bitch. He started to
object when I entered but I cut him off.
“DeeDee Lukatis? brother has been killed,” I said. “Lark is taking her home. I told them I?d tell you.”
“My Cod,” he said, “how frightful. What happened?”
“Boating accident,” I said, perpetuating the new lie. “He was in the water for a couple of days. The
predators made quite a mess of things.”
His face turned gray contemplating what I had just told him.
“What can I do?” he said, half-aloud, as though asking himself the question.
“Well,” I said, “a little tenderness and understanding would help.”
“Of course, of course,” he said. Seaborn seemed to have trouble saying anything once. After a
moment he cautiously asked, “Did this have anything to do with. . uh, the, uh. .
“Murders?” I said. He winced at the word. “Why would you think that?” I asked.
“Her brother?s been in trouble before, you know,” he said, as though letting me in on a secret.
“I?ve heard,” I said. “I can?t answer that question. Right now I?m more concerned about DeeDee than
why her brother died.”
“Of course, of course,” he repeated. And then, “What is she to you?”
“Just a friend,” I said. “We all need them, you know.” I left him sitting in his vast, sterile office,
wiping the thin line of sweat off his upper lip.
As I left the bank, a frenetic little man with sparse black hair and hyperactive eyes scurried past me,
hugging his briefcase to his side. Lou Cohen, making his daily deposit. Death didn?t change anything
in Doomstown.
56
DEAD HEAT
Driving out to the track, I kept thinking that it seemed like an awfully festive thing to be doing after
the events of the morning. For the first time in years I felt connected to someone else?s pain. I could
feel DeeDee?s, like psychic agony, but there was little I could do about it.
A cloud as dark as Tony?s future followed me most of the way to the track, then obliterated the sun
arid dumped half an inch of rain in about thirty seconds. it was one of those quick, drenching summer
showers that come and go quickly, but it made a mess of the traffic at the racetrack gate and made me
