More commands from the rich and powerful. I didn’t snarl at her, because I wanted to find out some things myself, like whether Renee had been on the scene Friday night, and what kinds of questions the sheriff was asking. Above all, I wanted time alone with Edwards Bayard.

Out in the hall, I leaned against the wall next to the door, but the murmurs within didn’t reach to me. The guard stared at me. I hoped he was memorizing my face as someone with unquestioned access to Catherine’s room.

I strolled to the window at the end of the corridor. As I’d expected, the private wing commanded a view of the lake, but directly below the window an apartment building was being deconstructed so the hospital could add yet another building to its gargantuan operation. They were taking the building apart slowly, instead of blowing it to bits-I suppose a blast would shock the cardiac pavilion. Where the outer wall had come down, I could see dangling pipe and a bed that someone had left behind.

After ten minutes or so, Renee Bayard came out of the room with her son. With a pointed look at me, she told the guard no one was to be allowed into the room except the private nurse, the two doctors whose names the guard had and herself and Edwards. No volunteers carrying flowers, no private investigators and absolutely no officers of the law. If any o? the above tried to force their way past, the guard was to beep Renee at once: Was that clear?

When he agreed that that was clear, she beckoned to me to join them and sailed down the hall. Edwards and I were about the same height, a good four inches taller than Renee, but we almost had to jog to keep up with her.

In the elevator going down Renee kept the conversation casual: the doctor felt strongly that they should discontinue the morphine pump by the end of the day today; she hoped Edwards agreed? Catherine would be in the hospital a few more days; they should bring her laptop over so she could chat with her friends; they needed to decide when they could let her friends visit.

At the bottom, Renee led us out the front, into a waiting car. She told the driver to take us home. “The Banks Street house, Yoshi. Miss Catherine is very weak, but she is conscious and alert; we’re pleased with the progress she’s making.”

I felt a reluctant sympathy for Edwards, who hadn’t been able to edge in anything since saying, “Yes, I didn’t want her on the morphine a second day, anyway.” It would have been hard to grow up with such a strong personality rolling over you. Perhaps that’s why he’d sought refuge in the rightwing causes anathema to his parents.

CHAPTER 37

A Boy’s Best Friend

At the Banks Street apartment, Renee stopped to tell Elsbetta she wanted coffee in her study, then swept down the hall without looking to see if her son and I were following. Edwards stalked after his mother, not wanting to talk to me-sulking because Renee had reduced him to eight-year-old status. I stared curiously into the rooms we passed, especially at a long sitting room with a baby grand, and walls hung with paintings. The hall was lined with curio cases. Edwards tapped his foot ostentatiously when I stopped to inspect a Greek-looking pot. I asked how old it was, but he only told me to come along and took me into a room overlooking the back garden.