by great bursts of throaty noise. It was the kind of laughter a rude man in an audience makes when a juggler drops one of his tenpins. Barker leaned forward, his hand on his chest; he was wheezing with laughter. He put his delicate hands on the desk before him to steady himself. Eventually, his face relaxed.
'Thank you,' he said, leaning back, 'for saying what I'd hoped you would.'
Paine started to get up.
'Sit down, Paine,' Barker said.
Despite his anger, Paine released the hand rests and sat back down.
'I don't like you at all,' Barker said. 'In many ways, you're the biggest loser I've ever taken on. A failed police career, failing marriage, in and out of alcohol treatment centers and psychological counseling.' Barker held up a manicured finger, searching for the phrase he wanted. 'And yet here you are, working for me, because no one else will have you. Isn't that marvelous?'
Paine said, 'I don't like it much, either.'
Barker smiled, threatening to break into his laugh again. 'Paine, I couldn't care less if you like me or not. To me you're just another of my-'
'Cripples?' There was something hot inside Paine that wanted to boil out. But that was what Barker wanted. With effort Paine let the moment of heat pass.
'Perhaps one day you'll clean my toilets,' Barker said, swiveling his chair toward the invisible speakers that were now bringing the Rachmaninoff Third Piano Concerto to a muted halt, 'but now you do other things for me. While you were playing with Jimmy Carnaseca I took a telephone call of yours, from a Ms.'-he looked down at a slip of paper in front of him-'Meyer. One of Grumbach's daughters, as you
FOUR
'Y ou have a letter for Mr. Paine?'
The lobby of the Mallard Hotel was crowded, but the desk clerk recognized him, anyway. 'Aren't you Mr. Johnson?'
'My name is Paine.' He showed the clerk his driver's license and a credit card.
The clerk was gone a minute, then returned emptyhanded.
'Sorry, nothing for Mr. Paine. But there's another letter for Mr. Johnson.'
'I'll take it.'
'But you said-'
'Now I'm Mr. Johnson. Get the letter.'
He held a five-dollar bill out on the end of his fingers like a Christmas ornament. The clerk returned with an envelope. He hesitated before taking the money.
'The Mallard is a good hotel, Mr. Paine.'
'And I'm a good customer,' Paine said, taking the envelope firmly from him and dropping the five-dollar bill on the desk.
When he got to his car he opened the envelope and drew out three photographs. There was nothing else. He spread the photos out on the seat. They were not the same as the others. These were three head shots of three different men. All of them looked like car salesmen. They looked like three salesmen for the same Plymouth dealership.
Paine put the photos back into the envelope, holding it in his hand for a moment before putting it into his jacket pocket and starting the car.
This time the Grumbach estate was alive with activity. There were two police cars parked at an angle in the circular drive, two vans with leading cables that could only be television crews. Two suicides in the same moneyed family in one week was obviously news. The gardener was nowhere to be seen. At the front door Paine waited for the ghostly maid to answer, but the door was opened by Rebecca Meyer.
She was again in tennis whites. But now there were red puffy patches under her eyes, and her short hair was in disarray. As Paine stood there she brought her fingers up to her hair and drew them through it, making a nervous motion with her other hand.
'Come in,' she said.
Paine took a step but she suddenly held her hand out and added, 'No, don't. Let's walk.' She stepped out quickly, closing the door behind her.
'I hope you don't mind,' she said as she brought him around the front of the house, across the manicured miniature garden and onto a flat-stoned path toward the side. 'I just can't stand it in there. The television people, the police, it's. . ghoulish.' Once again her hand made its way up to her hair, but this time a tremble ran down her arm and made her shiver. 'I'm sorry.'
Paine said nothing, because she wanted to talk.
'My father,' she said, 'I was not very close to. In all honesty, I can say that when he killed himself I. . wasn't very sorry about it. But Dolores. .' The name trailed off; her hand made a movement out in front of her.
She regained some of her poise. They had rounded the side of the house and were making their way through a copse of trees as pampered as the rest of the grounds; each branch seemed sculpted to fit with every other, and there was not a leaf or blade of grass out of place.
Rebecca Meyer said, 'I suppose that must sound hard, or something, my not feeling anything for my father?'
When Paine said nothing she added, 'You think I'm cruel.'
'I don't know you,' Paine said.
'That's true,' she said. 'But I wanted you to know that. . I was not very close to my parents.'
'Not many people are.'
'Dolores and I got along better when we were younger. She's been a troubled girl the past few years.'
'Lots of people are troubled.'
'You're mocking me.'
'No, I'm not,' Paine said.
Rebecca Meyer stopped for a moment. She looked like she was going to cry. 'I found her. She'd locked the bathroom door. She'd taken a bottle of sleeping pills and run a hot bath. She was dead when they got her to the hospital.'
Paine thought of Dolores Grumbach drinking in front of him, telling him she was going to take a bath, just before he left her.
'Did she leave a note for you, or anyone else?'
'Just that note for you, laid neatly on top of the signed contract for your agency.' She pulled a creased set of papers from the pocket of her windbreaker and handed it to Paine.
'Mr. Paine,' the note read, 'there is something for you at the Mallard Hotel. Enclosed are the signed contracts you requested. Give one copy to my sister Rebecca. The check attached will cover any initial expenses my father's money does not; I am sure my sister will give you whatever else you need.' It was signed in neat script, 'Dolores Grumbach.'
There was a check for five hundred dollars clipped to the contracts. Paine looked up at Rebecca Meyer. She was regarding him curiously, her eyes searching his face.
'This is all there was?' Paine asked.
'Yes. Will you tell me what my sister left for you at the Mallard Hotel?'
Paine handed the three new photographs to Rebecca Meyer. She turned through them slowly, more carefully than she had when looking over the first set of black-and-whites.
'Have you ever seen any of them before?'
