was from. "I was with your wife—your ex-wife—shortly before she waskilled."

"It's a dreadful thing."

He stood absently in the doorway,forgetting to ask me in. He had a frowzy sleepless look as if he'd been up mostof the night. Though there was no gray on his head, white hairs glistened inhis day-old beard. His small eyes had the kind of incandescence that goes with conscioussuffering.

"May I come in, Mr. Haggerty?"

"I don't know if it's such a good idea. Earl'spretty broken up.

"I thought he and his daughter had been on theouts for a long time."

"They were. It only makes it harderfor him, I think. When you're angry with someone you love, you always expect atthe back of your mind there'll be a reconciliation some day. But now there willnever be anything."

He was speaking for his father-in-law butalso for himself. His empty hands moved aimlessly at his sides. The fingers ofhis right hand were stained dark yellow by nicotine.

"I'm sorry," I said, "thatMr. Hoffman isn't feeling well. I'm afraid I'll have to talk to him anyway. Ididn't come from California for the ride."

"No. Obviously not. What is it you have to discusswith him?"

"His daughter's murder. He may be able to help meunderstand it."

"I thought it was already solved."

"It isn't."

"Has the girl student been cleared?"

"She's in process of beingcleared," I said with deliberate vagueness. "You and I can go intoall that later. Right now I'm very eager to talk to Hoffman."

"If you insist. I only hope you canget some sense out of him."

I saw what he meant when he took methrough the house to "Earl's den," as Haggerty called it. It wasfurnished with a closed roll-top desk, an armchair, a studio couch. Through ahaze compounded of whisky fumes and smoke I could see a big old man sprawled inorange pajamas on the couch, his head propped up by bolsters. A strong readinglight shone on his stunned face. His eyes seemed out of focus, but he washolding a magazine with an orange cover that almost matched his pajamas. Thewall above him was decorated with rifles and shotguns and hand guns.

"When I recall the loss of all myperished years," he said huskily.

Old cops didn't talk like that, and EarlHoffman looked like no exception to the rule. His body was massive, and couldhave belonged to a professional football player or a wrestler gone to pot. Hisnose had once been broken. He had a clipped gray head and a mouth like bentiron.

"That's beautiful poetry, Bert," the ironmouth said.

"I suppose it is."

"Who's your friend, Bert?"

"Mr. Archer, from California."

"California, eh? That's where my poor littleHelen got knocked off."

He sobbed, or hiccuped, once. Then he swunghimself onto the edge of the couch, letting his bare feet fall heavily to thefloor.

"Do you know—did you know my little daughterHelen?"

"I knew her."

"Isn't that remarkable." He roseswaying and clasped my hands in both of his, using me to support him."Helen was a remarkable girl. I've just been reading over one of herpoems. Wrote it when she was just a teen-age girl at City College. Here, I'llshow you."

He made a fairly elaborate search for theorange-covered magazine, which was lying in plain sight on the floor where hehad dropped it. The name of it was the Bridgeton Blazer, and it looked like aschool production.

Haggerty picked it up and handed it tohim: "Please don't bother with it, Earl. Helen didn't write itanyway."

"Didn't write it? 'Course she wroteit. It's got her initials on it." Hoffman flipped through the pages."See?"

"But she was only translating fromVerlaine."

"Never heard of him." Hoffmanturned to me, thrusting the magazine into my hands. "Here, read this. Seewhat a remarkable gift poor little Helen had."

I read:

When the violins

Of the autumn winds

Begin to sigh

My heart is torn

With their forlorn

Monotony.

And when the hour

Sounds from the tower

I weep tears

For I recall

The loss of all

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009