Kincaid spoke up from the far corner wherehe had been sulking: "It's the right caliber to fit the wound, and oneshell had been fired, recently. It stands to reason it's the gun sheused."

"Do you believe that, Alex?"

"I don't know."

"Have they questioned her?"

"They intend to. The Sheriff said something aboutwaiting until they nailed it down with ballistic evidence, Monday."

That gave me a little time, if I couldbelieve Alex. The pressures of the night and morning, on top of theuncertainties of the last three weeks, had left him punchy. He looked almostout on his feet.

"I think we all should wait," Isaid, "before we make up our minds about your wife. Even if she's guilty,which I very strongly doubt, you owe her all the help and support you can giveher."

"He owes her nothing," Kincaidsaid. "Not a thing. She married him fraudulently. She lied to him againand again."

I kept my voice and temper down, forcontrast. "She still needs medical care, and she needs a lawyer. I have agood local lawyer waiting to step in, but I can't retain him myself."

"You're taking quite a lot into yourhands, aren't you?"

"Somebody has to assume responsibility.There's a lot of it floating around loose at the moment. You can't avoid it bycrawling into a hole and pulling the hole in after you. The girl's in trouble,and whether you like it or not she's a member of your family."

Alex appeared to be listening. I didn'tknow if he was hearing me. His father shook his narrow gray head:

"She's no member of my family, andI'll tell you one thing for certain. She's not going to drag my son down intothe underworld. And neither are you." He turned to Alex. "How muchhave you already paid this man?"

"A couple of hundred."

Kincaid said to me: "You've beenamply paid, exorbitantly paid. You heard me fire you. This is a private roomand if you persist in intruding I'll call the management. If they can't handleyou I'll call the police."

Alex looked at me and lifted his hands,not very far, in a helpless movement. His father put an arm around hisshoulders:

"I'm only doing what's best for you,son. You don't belong with these people. We'll go home and cheer up Mother. Afterall you don't want to drive her into her grave."

It came out smooth and pat, and it was theclincher. Alex didn't look at me again. I went back to my own room and phonedJerry Marks and told him I had lost a client and so had he. Jerry seemeddisappointed.

chapter14

Alex and his father vacated their room anddrove away. I didn't go out to see them off but I could hear the sound of theirengines, quickly muffled by the fog. I sat and let my stomach unknot, tellingmyself I should have handled them better. Kincaid was a frightened man whovalued his status the way some previous generations valued their souls.

I drove up Foothill to the Bradshaw house.The Dean was probably another breakable reed, but he had money, and he hadshown some sympathy for Dolly, over and above his official interest in thecase. I had no desire to continue it on my own. I needed a principal,preferably one who swung some weight locally. Alice Jenks met this requirement,more or less, but I didn't want her for a client.

A deputy was standing guard at thegatehouse. He wouldn't let me in to look around but he didn't object to mygoing up to the main house. The Spanish woman Maria answered the door.

"Is Dr. Bradshaw home?"

"No sir."

"Where can I find him?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I think Mrs. Bradshawsaid he's gone for the weekend."

"That's queer. I'd like to talk to Mrs.Bradshaw."

"I'll see if she's busy."

I stepped inside uninvited and sat on agilt chair in the entrance hail while Maria went upstairs. She came down andtold me that Mrs. Bradshaw would be with me shortly.

It was at least half-an-hour before shecame limping down. She had primped her gray head and rouged her cheeks and puton a dress with lace at her slack throat held in place by a diamond brooch. Iwondered, as she made me the dubious gift of her hand, if all this had beendone for my benefit.

The old lady seemed glad to see me."How are you, Mr.—it's Mr. Archer, isn't it? I've been so hoping somebodywould call. This fog makes one feel so isolated, and with my driver gone—"She seemed to hear the note of complaint rising in her voice, and cut it off."How is the girl?" she said briskly.

"She's being taken care of. Dr.Godwin thinks she's better than she was last night."

"Good. You'll be glad to know,"she said with a bright ironic stare, "that I'm somewhat better myself thanI was last night. My son informed me this morning that I staged one of myexhibitions, as he calls them. Frankly, I was upset. Nights aren't my bestseason."

"It was a rough night for everybody."

"And I'm a selfish old woman. Isn't that whatyou're thinking?"

"People don't seem to change much as they getolder."

"That has all the earmarks of an

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009