'I'm still on my feet, sonny boy.'
We moved toward the Ransoms.
Paul Fontaine came up to us and said, 'Four-thirty?'
'Sure,' I said. 'You want Alan there, too?'
'If he can make it.'
'I can make anything you can set up,' Alan said, not looking at the detective. 'This at the morgue?'
'Yes. It's a block from Armory Place, on—'
'I can find the morgue,' Alan said.
The hearse swung around the corner and parked in front of the Pontiac. Two cars filled with people from Ely Place completed the procession.
'I thought the mayor gave a wonderful tribute,' Marjorie said.
'Impressive man,' Ralph said.
We got to the bottom of the stairs, and Alan wrenched his arm out of mine. 'Thirty-five years ago, Merlin was one of my students.' Marjorie gave him a grateful smile. 'The man was a dolt.'
'Oh!' Marjorie squeaked. Ralph grimly opened the back door, and his wife scooted along the seat.
John and I went up to the front of the car. 'They turned my wife's funeral into a sound bite,' he snarled. 'As far as I'm concerned, fifty percent of their goddamned bill is paid for in publicity.' I let myself into the silent car and followed the hearse to the crematorium.
'Why do we have to go to the morgue? I don't see the point.'
'I don't either, Dad.'
'The whole idea is ridiculous,' said Marjorie.
'The cops at the service must have overheard something,' John said.
'Overheard
'About that missing student.'
'They didn't overhear it,' I said. 'I mentioned the student to Paul Fontaine.'
After a second of silence, John said, 'Well, that's okay.'
'But what was the
'There's an unidentified man in the morgue. It might have something to do with April's case.'
Marjorie and Ralph sat in shocked silence.
'The missing student might be the person in the morgue.'
'Oh, God,' Ralph said.
'Of course he isn't,' Marjorie said. 'The boy just dropped out, that's all.'
'Grant wouldn't do that,' Alan said.
'I might as well go to the morgue, if that's what the cops want,' John said.
'I'll do it myself,' Alan said. 'John doesn't have to go.'
'Fontaine wants me there. You don't have to come along, Alan.'
'Yes, I do,' Alan said.
There was no more conversation until I pulled up in front of John's house. The Ransoms got out of the backseat. When Alan remained in the passenger seat, John bent to his window. 'Aren't you coming in, Alan?'
'Tim will take me home.'
John pushed himself off the car. His mother was zigzagging over the lawn, picking up garbage.
Alan pulled himself across the sidewalk on heavy legs. Shorn grass gleamed up from the lawn. We went into the house, and for a moment he turned and looked at me with clouded, uncertain eyes. My heart sank. He had forgotten whatever he had planned to do next. He hid his confusion by turning away again and moving through the entry into his hallway.
He paused just inside the living room. The curtains had been pulled aside. The wood gleamed, and the air smelled of furniture polish. Neat stacks of mail, mostly catalogues and junk mail, sat on the coffee table.
'That's right,' Alan said. He sat down on the couch, and leaned against the brown leather. 'Cleaning service.' He looked around at the sparkling room. 'I guess nobody is coming back here.' He cleared his throat. 'I thought people always came to the house after a funeral.'
He had forgotten that his daughter lived in another house. I sat down in an overstuffed chair.
Alan crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at his windows. For a moment, I saw some fugitive emotion flare in his eyes. Then he closed them and fell asleep. His chest rose and fell, and his breathing became regular. After a minute or two, he opened his eyes again. 'Tim, yes,' he said. 'Good.'
'Do you still feel like going to the morgue?' He looked confused for only a moment. 'You bet I do. I knew the boy better than John.' He smiled. 'I gave him some of my old clothes—a few suits got too big for me. The boy had saved up enough to be able to pay tuition and rent, but he didn't have much left over.'
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs. Whoever was in the house turned into the hall. Alan blinked at me, and I stood up and went to the entrance of the room. A heavy woman in black trousers and a University of Illinois T-shirt was coming toward me, pulling a vacuum cleaner behind her.
'I have to say that this was the biggest job I ever had in my whole entire life. The other girl, she had to go home to her family, so I finished up alone.' She looked at me as if I shared some responsibility for the condition of the house. 'That's six hours.'
'You did a very good job.'
'You're telling me.' She dropped the vacuum cleaner hose and leaned heavily against the molding to look at Alan. 'You're not a very neat man, Mr. Brookner.'
'Things got out of hand.'
'You're going to have to do better than this if you want me to come back.'
'Things are already better,' I said. 'A private duty nurse will be coming every day, as soon as we can arrange it.'
She tilted her head and looked at me speculatively for a moment. 'I need a hundred and twenty dollars.'
Alan reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a flat handful of twenty-dollar bills. He counted out six and stood up to give them to the cleaning woman.
'You're a real humdinger, Mr. Brookner.' She slid the twenties into a pocket. 'Thursdays are best from now on.'
'That's fine,' said Alan.
The cleaning woman left the room and picked up the hose of the vacuum cleaner. Then she dragged the vacuum back to the entrance. 'Did you want me to do anything with that floral tribute thing?'
Alan looked at her blankly.
'Like, do you water it, or anything?'
Alan opened his mouth. 'Where is it?'
'I moved it into the kitchen.'
'Wreaths don't need watering.'
'Fine with me.' The vacuum cleaner bumped down the hall. A door opened and closed. A few minutes later, the woman returned, and I walked her to the door. She kept darting little glances at me. When I opened the door, she said, 'He must be like Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Heckel, or something.'
Alan was carrying a circular wreath of white carnations and yellow roses into the hallway. 'You know Flory Park, don't you?'
'I grew up in another part of town,' I said.
