"For one day's-or rather night's-work. He's satisfied that Wallace and Koller are responsible for Sandra's death."

"Are you?"

His eyes were firmly fixed on his brandy snifter. "They do seem to be tailor made for the part, and their violent response to Adrian's intrusion was most incriminating.

Since Wallace is not powerful enough to challenge Gordy directly, their motive for murder could be a form of reprisal against Evan Robley."

"Shaky, Charles."

"I know. From what you've told me, they would have been more likely to want to frighten the Robleys and thus intimidate Evan into continuing payment on his canceled debt. Murdering his prime source of income is certainly carrying things too far. Wallace and Koller are denying all knowledge of it."

"They'd have to. Any news on the old geezer from the garage?"

"The police located him later that morning, he's a.s.sisting in their inquiries-oh yes, they also found the other fellow, Tourney."

"Yeah?"

"He'd taken Adrian's coupe around to a certain garage to sell to the less-than- honest operators there. They have, or rather had, a highly lucrative stolen-car business. The police alert to pick up Adrian included a description of his vehicle and its license number, and a pa.s.sing patrol car happened to be in the right place at the right time. Several birds were annihilated with the casting of that particular stone."

"So Adrian's off the hook with the cops?"

"Yes, for the time being."

"You think he did it?"

"I think we lack information." He'd stare a hole in that brandy snifter if he wasn't careful.

" And you figure I should talk to him?"

He nodded once, but remained silent, letting me think. d.a.m.n the son of a b.i.t.c.h.

The Mozart stuff ended and was replaced by some kind of modem vocal piece that sounded like stuttering, lovesick cats. I heaved to my feet.

"I'll see you later."

I didn't take a direct route but dropped by Bobbi's hotel to check on her. I'd tried calling from Escott's, but her phone was busy.

Piano music came through the walls, which meant Marza was visiting. I grimaced, but then no one ever said life was fair, and knocked on the door. The music faltered over a few notes and then continued on with determination. She usually kept the mute pedal down for the sake of the other hotel tenants, but shifted her foot from it as Bobbi let me in.

We hugged h.e.l.lo and Bobbi asked her to stop playing so we could talk.

Marza put on a sweet smile, utterly lacking in sincerity. "I'm sorry, was I disturbing anyone?" She pretended to busy herself by lighting one of her noisome little cigars. To protect my own sanity, I grabbed Bobbi and dragged her out into the hall and firmly shut the door behind us.

"Rude, isn't she?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she answered, and then we gave each other a proper kiss.

"Your phone's been busy," I said when she came up for air.

"It started ringing when the papers came out this morning. I'm just famous enough locally to bring every crank out of the woodwork, so I had to take it off the hook. Did you see one of those rags? 'Singer Stumbles Over Slaying.' I just hope they don't cancel my spot this Sat.u.r.day." She pulled me tight, needing rea.s.surance. "This is awful, thinking about myself with all this going on."

"No, it's not. You couldn't be awful if you tried, unlike some people I know." I nodded significantly at the door and Marza's direction and eventually got a smile.

"I'm sorry about that, she thinks you've dragged me into a situation that will hurt me. Marza's terribly protective."

"She's terribly something. Are you doing all right?"

"Yes, I'm just fine, really. Did you have anything to do with finding Alex?"

I gave her the quick version of events and covered the points all the papers missed. "Anyway, the heat's off him for now."

"What about poor Evan? I've tried calling the hospital, but they just said he was stable, whatever that means."

"Charles says he's all right, he just doesn't remember much from last night."

"Probably just as well. Look, I'm going to kick Marza out so we don't have to hang around the hall."

"Sorry, baby, but I have to go talk with Alex about some things."

"Like whether he-"

"Yeah, that and some other stuff."

"I don't know whether to wish you luck or not. Can you come back by later?"

"As soon as I'm free."

"Good. I'm still going to kick Marza out. She's been with me almost all day and I need a break."

"Attagirl."

At the hospital, the nurse on Evan's floor told me only thirty minutes were left for visiting.

"Is he still under medication?"

"Yes, a mild sedative to relax him."

That was convenient. "Has he had any other visitors?"

"Some of his friends are with him now." Her phone rang before I could ask which ones.I opened his door quietly and was not too surprised to see Reva Stokes and Leighton Brett. Reva was concentrating on her talk with Evan and didn't notice me, but Brett looked up in time. He was a big man, but still managed to ease out soundlessly, heaving a relieved sigh as he joined me in the hall. He smiled grimly and pumped my hand.

"Good of you to come by like this," he said. "I hope you don't mind waiting, but Reva's just gotten him to talk a little about Sandra, and an interruption now might spoil the mood."

"I understand. How's he doing?"

"Better than he was last night. I forgot to thank you for your help. When he started to go off the deep end-"

"We were just lucky that doctor was still hanging around. Is Evan's memory any better?"

" 'Fraid not. I'm hoping Reva can help him, but if it comes to it I'll be looking around for some kind of psychiatrist. I don't know about you, but that breakdown he had last night scared me to death, and I'm still worried about him."

"How so?"

"He might do something crazy if we don't watch him. He und Sandra were very close. They genuinely liked each other. Now, I like my own sister, but if she got killed-G.o.d forbid-I wouldn't do anything desperate to myself out of grief. Anyway, that's how Evan's worrying me."

"Does his doctor know about this?"

"I've talked to him. He's keeping Evan sedated for the most part, but whether that's doing him any good..." Brett finished with a shrug.

"How long will he be here?"

"He gets out tomorrow and then he's coming to our house. I'm not letting him go back to that apartment and stay there alone."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I thought since he's known Alex for so long..."

He snorted, but not unkindly. "Alex is hardly fit to take care of himself, much less Evan."

"He's survived."

"At the cost of his soul, if you ask me. He gave up when his wife died. All we're seeing now is the walking corpse."

Brett had a point there. The first time I met Adrian I thought the same myself.

"He seemed pretty lively last night.""Oh, he still has some anger in him. That's what sent him off half-c.o.c.ked and nearly got him killed. I think anger is all that's really keeping him going these days, which is not a good way to live. I'd like to get him to a psychiatrist, but you can't cure a man's mind unless he wants help in the first place."

"I can understand him being angry about Sandra, but-"

"About his wife? It's been there, all mixed up with his grief. The man can twist himself up so much he could meet himself coming around a corner. Alex was working in his studio the night Celia-the night she died."

"And if he hadn't been painting, he might have stopped her?"

Brett nodded. "He's angry with himself and sometimes it's thick enough to cut with a knife. Evan was able to put up with it because he's known him for so long and is so easygoing he can't stay mad at anyone for more than a minute."

"Has Alex been in to see him?"

"I don't know. He was released earlier today and isn't answering his phone."

That sounded familiar. Brett excused himself to look in on Reva and a few minutes later they both emerged.

"I'm glad you've come by," she told me, taking my hand briefly. "He's still very sleepy."

"I won't stay long," I promised, and wished them a good night. When they were well down the hall, I went into Evan's room.

He was motionless on the high metal bed, his lank, ash-colored hair clinging damply to his pasty gray forehead. One lamp burned in a corner, its shade tilted so the light wouldn't bother him. He didn't notice I was in the room until I sat down next to him and lightly touched his hand.

He started slightly and his eyes dragged open. "Wha... ?"

"Hi, remember me?"

Recognition tugged wanly at the comers of his mouth. "Where's that pretty lady of yours?"

"I had to leave her home, I've heard of your reputation."

"You and all the nurses on this floor. Any water around?" found a gla.s.s on the bedside table and filled it for him. He sat up for a sip and fell back, exhausted. "They pumped me full of something I don't like. Everything tastes awful, even the water."

"How do you feel?"

"Dunno... wrapped up in cotton, all over. When I'm out of here I'll find something else to do the job."

Brett's fears were still fresh in my mind, but I had the feeling Evan was referring to the kind of emotional painkiller you get from a bottle of booze. "Cops give you a hard time?"

His eyes went vague for a second. "I don't think so, it's all so fuzzy."

"I know."

"This is real, isn't it? She's gone, isn't she?"

I nodded.

His hands formed into helpless fists and went slack again. "Why?"

"I don't know, Evan. I'm very sorry."

Not unexpectedly, tears started out of his eyes and trailed down the sides of his face. He was unaware of them.

I'd seen him start up like this before and neither of us would he the better for a repeat performance. "Evan... listen to me..."

First I calmed him down and then we had a quiet talk. It didn't take long to reach through to his blocked memory and find out he'd told the complete truth to the police. At least I had my own private confirmation that he hadn't killed Sandra and knew nothing about it. The last thing I did before sending him off to sleep was to make sure he had no thoughts about suicide.

I stood and turned to leave-and stopped short. Adrian was standing just inside the door. His mouth was slightly open and he was twisting his wedding band around.

I'd been focused entirely on Evan and had heard nothing.

"h.e.l.lo," I said, hoping it didn't sound as awkward as I felt.

"I was wondering if you might show up," he stated neutrally. He was casually dressed, his shirtsleeves rolled back to accommodate all the bandaging on his wrists.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Well enough."

"Been there long?"

"Oh, yes."

"I'd like to talk to you."

"I rather thought you might. Shall we find a more comfortable place to do so?" .