He was decked out in classic, though fairly understated, golf clothes. Ashworth shirt. Plain golf cap. Sky-blue pants with pleats.

"Will you be staying with us, Esperanza?" he asked in his most solicitous tone.

Esperanza looked at him, looked at Myron. Nodded.

"Wonderful. You can use the bedroom down the hall on the left." Win turned to Myron. "Guess what?"

"I'm all ears, Mr. Happy Face," Myron said.

"Crispin still wants to meet with you. It appears that your walking out last night actually made something of an impression on him." Big smile, spread hands. "The reluctant suitor approach. I must try it sometime."

Esperanza said, "Tad Crispin? The Tad Crispin'?"

"The very," Win replied.

She gave Myron an approving look. "Wow."

"Indeed," Win said. "Well, I must be going. I'll see you at Merion. I'll be at the Lock Home tent most of the day." Renewing the smile. "Ta-ta."

Win started to leave, stopped, snapped his fingers. "I

almost forgot." He tossed Myron a videotape. "Maybe this will save you some time."

The videotape landed on the bed. "Is this . . . ?"

"The bank security tape from First Philadelphia,"

Win said. "Six eighteen on Thursday afternoon. As per your request." One more smile, one more wave. "Have a great day."

Esperanza watched him go. " 'Have a great day'?"

she repeated.

Myron shrugged.

"Who the hell was that guy'?" she asked.

"Wink Martindale," Myron said. "Come on. Let's go downstairs and watch this."

Chapter I2

Linda Coldren opened the door before Myron knocked.

"What is it?" she asked.

Linda's face was drawn, accentuating the already high cheekbones. Her eyes had a lost and hollow look. She hadn't slept. The pressure was growing unbearable. The worrying. The not knowing. She was strong. She was trying to stand up to it. But her son's disappearance was beginning to gnaw away at her core.

Myron held up the videotape. "Do you have a VCR?"

he asked. .

In something of a daze, Linda Coldren led him to the same television he had seen her watching yesterday when they first met. Jack Coldren appeared from a back room, his golf bag on his shoulder. He, too, looked worn. There were sacks under his eyes, Heshy pouches like soft cocoons.

Jack tried to toss up a welcoming smile, but it sputtered up like a lighter low on fluid.

"Hey, Myron."

"Hey, Jack."

"What's going on?"

Myron slid the tape into the opening. "Do you know anybody who lives on Green Acres Road?" he asked.

Jack and Linda looked each other.

"Why do you want to know that?" Linda asked.

"Because last night I watched your house. I saw somebody crawl out a window."

"A window?" It was Jack. He lowered his eyebrows.

"What window?"

"Your son's."

Silence.

Then Linda asked, "What does that have to do with Green Acres Road?" .

"I followed whoever it was. He turned down Green Acres Road and disappeared either into a house or into the woods."