the rusty boot-scraper attached to the side of the doorstep. "I bettercall Dad. Tomorrow's a Saturday, he ought to be able to come."

Footsteps approached from the direction ofthe main house. A big man in an alligator coat emerged from the fog, his baldhead gleaming in the light from the doorway. He greeted Bradshaw warmly:

"Hello, Roy. I enjoyed your speech,what I heard of it. You'll elevate us yet into the Athens of the West.Unfortunately a patient dragged me out in the middle of it. She wanted to knowif it was safe for her to see a Tennessee Williams movie all by herself. Shereally wanted me to go along with her and protect her from bad thoughts."He turned to me. "Mr. Archer? I'm Dr. Godwin."

We shook hands. He gave me a look oflingering intensity, as if he was going to paint my portrait from memory.Godwin had a heavy, powerful face, with eyes that changed from bright to darklike lamps being turned down. He had authority, which he was being careful notto use.

"I'm glad you called me. MissMcGee—Mrs. Kincaid needed something to calm her down." He glanced inthrough the doorway. "I hope she's feeling better now."

"She's much quieter," Alex said."Don't you think it will be all right for her to stay here with me?"

Godwin made a commiserating face. Hismouth was very flexible, like an actor's. "It wouldn't be wise, Mr.Kincaid. I've made arrangements for a bed in a nursing home I use. We don'twant to take any chances with her life."

"But why should she try to kill herself?"

"She has a lot on her mind, poor girl. I alwayspay attention to suicide threats, or even the slightest hint of them."

"Have you found out just what she does have onher mind?" Bradshaw said.

"She didn't want to talk much. She's very tired.It can wait till morning."

"I hope so," Bradshaw said. "TheSheriff wants to question her about the shooting. I did my best to hold himoff."

Godwin's mobile face became grave. "Thereactually has been a murder then? Another murder?"

"One of our new professors, HelenHaggerty, was shot in her home tonight. Mrs. Kincaid apparently stumbled on thebody."

"She's had dreadful luck."Godwin looked up at the low sky. "I sometimes feel as though the gods haveturned their backs on certain people."

I asked him to explain what he meant. Heshook his head: "I'm much too tired to tell you the bloody saga of theMcGees. A lot of it has faded out of my memory, mercifully. Why don't you askthe courthouse people for the details?"

"That wouldn't be a good idea, underthe circumstances."

"It wouldn't, would it? You can seehow tired I am. By the time I get my patient safely disposed of for the nightI'll have just enough energy left to make it home and to bed."

"We still need to talk, doctor."

"What about?"

I didn't like to say it in front of Alexbut I said it, watching him: "The possibility that she committed thissecond murder, or let's say the possibility that she'll be accused of it. Sheseems to want to be."

Alex rose to her defense: "She wasout of her head, temporarily, and you can't use what she said—"

Godwin laid a hand on his shoulder."Take it easy, Mr. Kincaid. We can't settle anything now. What we all needis a night's sleep—especially your wife. I want you to come along with me tothe nursing home in case I need help with her on the way. You," he said tome, "can follow along in your car and bring him back. You'll want to knowwhere the nursing home is, anyway, because I'll meet you there tomorrow morningat eight, after I've had an opportunity to talk to Mrs. Kincaid. Gotthat?"

"Tomorrow morning at eight."

He turned to Bradshaw. "Roy, if Iwere you I'd go and see how Mrs. Bradshaw is feeling. I gave her a sedative,but she's alarmed. She thinks, or pretends to think, that she's surrounded bymaniacal assassins. You can talk her out of it better than I could."

Godwin seemed to be a wise and carefulman. At any rate, his authority imposed itself. All three of us did as he said.

So did Dolly. Propped between him andAlex, she came out to his car. She didn't struggle or make a sound, but shewalked as though she was on her way to the execution chamber.

chapter10

An hour later I was sitting on one of thetwin beds in my motel room. There was nothing more I could do right now, exceptpossibly stir up trouble if I went for information to the local authorities.But my mind kept projecting on the plaster wall rapid movies of actions I couldbe performing. Run down Begley-McGee. Capture the man from Nevada.

I shut off the violent images with aneffort of will and forced myself to think about Zeno, who said that Achillescould never traverse the space between him and the tortoise. It was a soothingthought, if you were a tortoise, or maybe even if you were Achilles.

I had a pint of whisky in my bag. I wasgetting it out of its sock when I thought of Arnie Walters, a Reno colleague ofmine who had split more than one pint with me. I put in a long-distance call tohis office, which happened to be the front room of his house. Arnie was athome.

"Walters Detective Agency," he said in areluctant midnight voice.

"This is Lew Archer."

"Oh. Good. I didn't really want to go to bed. Iwas only modeling my pajamas."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009