"But then you turn around and accuse me—"

"A question isn't an accusation, Mr.Haggerty."

"It carried that implication,"he said in an aggrieved and slightly nagging tone. "I thought the man inReno was your suspect."

"He's one of them."

"And I'm another?"

"Let's drop it, shall we?"

"You brought it up."

"Now I'm dropping it. Getting back to the man inReno, can you remember his name?"

"I was introduced to him, of course,but I don't recall his surname. The women called him Jud. I'm not sure whetherit was a given name or a nickname."

"Why did you refer to him as Mrs.Burke's alleged brother?"

"They didn't strike me as brother andsister. They acted toward each other more like—oh—intimate friends who weresimply going along with Helen's gag. I intercepted a couple of knowing glances,for example."

"Will you describe the man in detail forme?"

"I'll try. My visual memory isn't too good. I'mstrictly the verbal type."

But under repeated questions, he built upan image of the man: age about thirty-two or -three, height just under sixfeet, weight about 175; muscular and active, good-looking in an undistinguishedway; thinning black hair, brown eyes, no scars. He had worn a light gray silkor imitation silk suit and pointed low black shoes in the Italian style.Haggerty had gathered that the man Jud worked in some undetermined capacity forone of the gambling clubs in the Reno-Tahoe area.

It was time I went to Reno. I looked at mywatch: nearly eleven: and remembered that I would gain time on the flight west.I could still have a talk with Luke Deloney's widow, if she was available, andget to Reno at a reasonable hour.

I went into the house with Haggerty,called O'Hare Airport, and made a reservation on a late afternoon flight. ThenI called Mrs. Deloney. She was at home, and would see me.

Bert Haggerty offered to drive me out toher house. I told him he'd better stay with his father-in-law. Hoffman's snoreswere sounding through the house like muffled lamentations, but he could wake upat any time and go on the rampage.

chapter21

Glenview Avenue wound through the northside of the north side, in a region of estates so large that it almostqualified as country. Trees lined the road and sometimes met above it. Thelight that filtered through their turning leaves onto the great lawns was thecolor of sublimated money.

I turned in between the brick gate-postsof 103 and shortly came in sight of an imposing old red brick mansion. Thedriveway led to a brick-columned porte-cochêre on the right. I was hardlyout of my car when a Negro maid in uniform opened the door.

"Mr. Archer?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Deloney is expecting you, in the downstairssittingroom."

She was sitting by a window looking out ona countryside where red sumac blazed among less brilliant colors. Her hair waswhite, and bobbed short. Her blue silk suit looked like Lily Daché. Herface was a mass of wrinkles but its fine bones remained in all their delicacy.She was handsome in the way an antique object can be handsome without regard tothe condition of the materials. Her mind must have been very deep in the past,because she didn't notice us until the maid spoke.

"Mr. Archer is here, Mrs.Deloney."

She rose with the ease of a younger woman,putting down a book she was holding. She gave me her hand and a long look. Hereyes were the same color as her blue silk suit, unfaded and intelligent.

"So you've come all the way fromCalifornia to see me. You must be disappointed."

"On the contrary."

"You don't need to flatter me. When Iwas twenty I looked like everybody else. Now I'm past seventy, I look likemyself. It's a liberating fact. But do sit down. This chair is the mostcomfortable. My father Senator Osborne preferred it to any other."

She indicated a red leather armchairpolished and dark with use. The chair she sat in opposite me was a ladderbackedrocker with worn cushions attached to it. The rest of the furnishings in theroom were equally old and unpretentious, and I wondered if she used it as aplace to keep the past.

"You've had a journey," shereminded herself. "Can I give you something to eat or drink?"

"No thanks."

She dismissed the maid. "I'm afraidyou're going to be doubly disappointed. I can add very little to the officialaccount of my husband's suicide. Luke and I hadn't been in close touch for sometime before it occurred."

"You already have addedsomething," I said. "According to the official account it was anaccident."

"So it was. I'd almost forgotten. Itwas thought best to omit the fact of suicide from the public reports."

"Who thought it best?"

"I did, among others. Given my latehusband's position in the state, his suicide was bound to have business andpolitical repercussions. Not to mention the personal ugliness."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009