perspiration had already risen above the dark band. Not far away, a small pond glimmered motionlessly in the moonlight. A ghostly cloud of steam hung heavily over the water A tired old mallard could be seen drifting through it, its dark beak lifted slightly, as if it were drinking from the air.
A maid opened the door, short and stocky, her body draped in a white apron. ‘Yes, sir?’ she asked.
Ben took out his identification. ‘I spoke to Mr Davenport once before. He said it’d be all right for me to come by if I had any more questions.’
The woman stepped back quickly and flung open the door. ‘Come on in,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Ben said as he stepped into the house.
‘Just wait here,’ the maid said. ‘I’ll get Mr Davenport.’
Davenport appeared almost immediately. He looked far less formal than at his office. He wore a plaid sports shirt and large, baggy trousers, pleated at the front. A golf club dangled from his right hand.
‘I was just doing some indoor putting,’ he said as he offered Ben his hand. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’
‘No, thanks,’ Ben said.
‘Well, let’s go talk then,’ Davenport said. ‘Come on in here. We can have some privacy.’
Ben followed him into a small, wood-paneled office. Its walls were covered with fox-hunting scenes and animal heads.
‘The place makes me look like the great white hunter, doesn’t it?’ Davenport asked jokingly.
Ben said nothing.
‘Truth is, I didn’t bring down a one of them,’ Davenport added. ‘Not the bobcat or the leopard, and certainly not that ugly wildebeest.’ He laughed again. ‘They all belonged to my brother-in-law, and when he died, they ended up here. My wife didn’t want to part with them, so this room is the result.’ He strode over to a dark-red leather sofa and sat down. ‘Please have a seat,’ he said, pointing to a matching chair. ‘You must be pretty tired if you’re still up working this late in the day.’
Ben sat down.
‘Have you learned anything about what happened to Doreen?’ Davenport asked immediately.
‘A little,’ Ben said.
‘Well, how can I help you?’
Ben leaned forward slightly. ‘When I talked to you in your office, you said that you drove Doreen all the way to the ballfield.’
‘That’s right,’ Davenport said casually.
‘And that you let her out because she saw another little girl playing, and she wanted to go play with her.’
Davenport nodded.
Ben stared at him intently. ‘Is that the only reason you stopped, Mr Davenport?’
Davenport’s eyes grew taut. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m having a little trouble with that idea.’
‘What idea?’
‘That you only stopped to let her out,’ Ben said flatly.
‘Why else would I stop before I got her back home?’ Davenport asked.
‘Maybe you got pulled over,’ Ben said.
Davenport lifted his head slightly. ‘Go on.’
‘By a police car.’
Davenport drew in a long, slow breath.
Ben looked at him piercingly. ‘We got a couple of guys who work Bearmatch – you ever heard of them?’
Davenport did not answer.
‘They ride around in a prowl car made up to look like a big black cat.’
Davenport remained silent.
‘It’s even got a cat painted on the front,’ Ben went on. ‘Have you ever seen a car like that, Mr Davenport?’
For a moment Davenport seemed to resist the question, draw away from it. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve seen it. They pulled me over, just like you said. But I had already let Doreen out.’
‘Why did they pull you over?’
‘For speeding,’ Davenport said. ‘At least that’s what they said.’
‘Were you speeding?’
‘I may have been,’ Davenport said. ‘Like I said before, I was in a hurry to get back home. I had a very important meeting.’
‘They didn’t give you a ticket,’ Ben said.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I checked their summonses. They gave one speeding ticket out in Bearmatch that day. But it wasn’t to you.’
‘Then how did you know that they stopped me at all?’ Davenport asked.
‘Someone saw them pull over a dark-blue Lincoln,’ Ben said.
‘And you assumed that it was mine?’
‘Yes.’
‘What else do you know?’ he asked finally.
‘It might be better if it came from you,’ Ben said.
Davenport looked at him almost sadly. ‘It can’t.’
‘It has to,’ Ben told him.
Davenport stared at him mutely, his eyes fixed, stony and yet oddly rocked by agitation, squeezing and un- squeezing like two white fists.
‘A little girl is dead,’ Ben added after a moment, ‘and everybody wants me to get to the bottom of it.’
‘Maybe not everybody,’ Davenport said. ‘There may be people who don’t want you to get to the bottom of it at all.’
‘Like the Langley brothers?’ Ben asked tensely, a steely edge creeping into his voice.
Davenport said nothing.
‘All of you were together when she disappeared,’ Ben said.
‘There’s no law against that.’
‘There’s a law against lying about it in a criminal investigation,’ Ben reminded him. ‘You’re a lawyer, you must know that. We’re talking about murder.’
‘We’re talking about a colored girl,’ Davenport said hotly. ‘And I might add that you would be very wise not to forget that, Sergeant Wellman.’
Ben could feel a wave of heat shoot up his back. ‘Mr Davenport, I was raised by people who believed in manners. I don’t want to lose control of mine.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Yes,’ Ben said icily, surprising himself. ‘I surely am.’
Davenport laughed. ‘Don’t make me insult you, Mr Wellman,’ he said.
‘I’m going to find out what happened to Doreen Ballinger,’ Ben told him resolutely. ‘And whatever I find out, everybody’s going to know it.’
Davenport shook his head. ‘Do you honestly believe that I had something to do with Doreen’s murder?’
‘All I know is that you’ve told a few lies.’
‘Maybe I had reasons for doing that.’
‘What reasons?’
‘Reasons that are my own,’ Davenport replied stiffly.
‘Not anymore they’re not.’
Davenport turned away slightly.
Ben stood up, and as he did so, Davenport’s eyes flashed back to him.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he snapped.
Ben shrugged casually. ‘I thought I might head on back to the station. The Langleys ought to be coming back
