"Nothing more than a dash of Tabasco sauce."

Not very original at all. "She was sick enough to leave. How many drinks did she have?"

"I did not count. Three, I believe. Although the Patron Silver is an excellent tequila, it is potent."

Probably enough alcohol to flatten an elephant. "Do you think someone could have added something to her drinks, Dr. Hayman? Something to make her ill?"

"There is no reason for anyone to do that, Agent."

"And what about your brother, Dr. Salazar? Whatever your own intentions toward Delsey, I got the impression the man is far more a hedonist than an ascetic. He uses his students, particularly the women, treats them like his own personal servants."

"A hedonist? Because he enjoys life and takes advantage of what life offers to him? Well, yes, he does take advantage and that isn't something I admire, but still, Rafael is a fine musician, no matter his small character flaws. He is both admired and respected. Have you ever seen him perform onstage?"

"I didn't ask you about his musical abilities, Dr. Hayman," Griffin said. "You don't seem to care for him much, and since he is your brother, you certainly know him. You are the director here, responsible for the behavior of faculty at an academic inst.i.tution. Why would you bring someone with such flaws in his personal life, someone who is something of a predator, to Stanislaus? Why would you take that risk?"

"Perhaps he has not behaved quite as I expected. At any rate, whatever his habits, his questionable behavior, this will be his last semester here."

"Why do both of you appear to want to get close to my sister? Is there some sort of compet.i.tion between you?"

"I am not at all like Rafael, and I do not compete with him."

"Did he pressure you into inviting him to Stanislaus for the year? Or did someone else?"

"He is my brother, Agent Hammersmith. I was not pressured, but perhaps it is true that I listened too kindly to our mother. She is never reticent about what she feels and wants. But Maria Rosa is a lovely lady who perhaps cares too much for Rafael. Perhaps she has indulged him too much over the years. After my parents divorced when we were boys, she took Rafael with her to Spain, her homeland, where she married a rich Spanish industrialist, Carlo Salazar, now happily pa.s.sed on."

"Why did she leave you behind?"

"It was my father's condition for a divorce, and so I grew up in New Jersey. If you wish to know more about Rafael or Maria Rosa's family, you can ask my brother. I expect him shortly."

He called his mother by her first name? Well, Griffin supposed it could be natural, given he didn't grow up with her.

"And why is Professor Salazar coming here this fine morning?"

"His lifestyle does not relieve him of his responsibilities here at Stanislaus. He is a colleague, Agent. We are to discuss the scheduling of his students' recitals for the coming semester."

Griffin pulled out his smartphone, scrolled to a photo of the dead man on Breaker's Hill, and held it up. "Have you ever seen this man before, Dr. Hayman?"

Hayman studied the photo. "No, I can't say that I have. Is this man involved with what happened to Delsey?"

"Perhaps," Griffin said. "We also know the man who struck Delsey was a young Hispanic. Were there any Hispanic men at the party?"

Hayman blinked. "There are perhaps a dozen Hispanic musicians at Stanislaus, though I don't recall seeing any of them at the party. Surely it was not one of them. They are all accomplished musicians, here to study and improve themselves, not rob houses. And perhaps that is what it was-a simple robbery, after all."

"Dr. Hayman, there is nothing at all simple about what happened to Delsey."

They heard the front doorbell ring.

"It is my brother, I believe."

Griffin said, "Do you have a music room, sir? Could you take me there, then send Professor Salazar in to see me?"

Hayman shrugged and walked out of the living room, Griffin on his heels. He opened a door on his right, motioned to Griffin. Griffin stepped into a small room filled with books, a huge grand piano, and a wall of shoulder-high mirrors set against it, all with ornate antique frames.

"I will ask Rafael if he wishes to speak to you," Hayman said and walked out. Griffin heard his footfalls toward the front door. Would Salazar agree to speak to him?

The music room was good-sized, with nothing out of place. Sheet music sat atop a small desk, neat and tidy. The concert-size Steinway was bare. And what about all those mirrors, some so old the gla.s.s was distorted and shadowed? Did Hayman stare at himself while he played the piano? Why? To perfect some special demeanor for his audiences?

He moved to the door, opened it a crack and listened. He heard voices, but they were speaking too quietly for him to make out what they were saying. Too bad.

Professor Rafael Salazar strolled into the small study, walked to the piano, and leaned against it-no, he lounged against it. He was wearing gray cashmere today, and looked very sharp indeed.

He said, "Agent Hammersmith, I understand you are concerned for your sister, but I have been more than generous with my time with you already. I have learned nothing more since we last spoke. I have a great deal to accomplish today, even on Sunday, and I ask that if you or the sheriff wish to speak with me again, you make an appointment through my office. From what my brother tells me, you have already formed an opinion of me. A hedonist, sir?"

Griffin smiled at him. "Tell me, Professor Salazar, do you dislike your brother as much as he appears to dislike you?"

Salazar blinked at him, then smiled with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. It changed him, made him seem real, but only for an instant. "Dislike my brother? He is a brilliant pianist, naturally, but he carries the burden of being a bourgeois-after all, he was raised here in the United States-who could expect him to simply appreciate some of the splendid diversions life offers? Ah, like a certain measure of hedonism."

"Unlike in Spain?"

"Very possibly. In Europe, the artist and his needs are better appreciated and valued, his needs for diversions understood and accepted."

"Is that what your mother, Maria Rosa, does? Understand you? She taught you to enjoy life's diversions?"

Salazar's mouth seamed. "My mother is a woman of infinite good taste and judgment. She certainly understands me. I will say, too, she has the good judgment to never interfere in my personal life, Agent. My brother should never have spoken of her to you. I do not understand why you wish to discuss such things."

"I ask because you appear to have no shortage of perceived self-worth, and I wondered how it was nurtured in you."

"You mock me, Agent? The truth is I have been blessed, but I also work incredibly hard. My life is not all pleasurable amus.e.m.e.nt, you know." Salazar shrugged. "So why pretend I am like everyone else when I am clearly not? As much as I've enjoyed this chat, Agent Hammersmith, if there is nothing truly pressing, I will ask you to excuse me."

Griffin showed Salazar the photo of the dead man, and after the expected demur, asked him, "Do you know any Hispanic males who might have hurt Delsey?"

Of all things, Salazar hummed. "Hurt her? Why? No, I'm afraid no name springs to mind."

"Why do you think Delsey was attacked in her apartment?"

"I do not know. It maddens and taunts me."

When Griffin left Dr. Hayman's lovely bungalow he looked back to see Professor Salazar and Dr. Hayman standing together in the open doorway; they appeared to be arguing. His interviews with the two men had been informative, but not particularly helpful. He found them strangely alien; he'd met many kinds of people, but none as self-absorbed as these two. Could he believe what either of them had said? And why this fascination with his sister?

Maestro, Virginia

Sunday afternoon