I looked respectfully at the furnace for a few minutes before taking Mr. Whitby upstairs to collect his family. I persuaded Rita Murchison to give me her keys just a loan, I said, offering to pay her for the time she’d taken to come here. Money and keys changed hands while the family lingered in the living room.

While I drove the family back to the Drake, I tried to urge Mrs. Whitby to return to Atlanta. “There’s something serious going on here, and I don’t know how much time it will take before we can get it sorted out.”

“I know something’s serious,” she said in her leaden voice. “My son is dead.”

“But how he died-“

“I don’t care how he died.”

“Edwina,” her husband said. “Edwina, we’ve had all this out before now. Listen to the lady. What do you mean, Miss-I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Warshawski,” I said, “but people call me VI. All of your son’s papers are missing. I think someone came back to his house with his keys and scooped up all his notes and computer files. They even took time to wipe out his hard drive. This is a street where the kids at least notice who’s coming and going; I might be able to canvass the neighbors and see if anyone noticed a stranger here Sunday night. In the meantime, getting a proper autopsy performed is the most urgent task. We need to know how Marc died.”

In the seat next to me, Mrs. Whitby moaned but didn’t interrupt again. “I will be looking at everything your son was doing over the last few weeks,” I continued. “I don’t expect anything terrible to emerge about him, but-if it comes to that, I won’t hide evidence of a crime. Within that constraint, I will be working for you and-“

“My boy never did a criminal deed in his life,” Mr. Whitby growled. “If you’re trying to imply that he did, we’ll stop this business right now and take him home.”

“No, sir, I’m not implying that. I just want you to be aware that an investigation like this doesn’t follow a straight path.”

“I am not having any investigation done that frames my baby as a criminal,” Mrs. Whitby said. “That’s why I never wanted you to start your digging around in the first place.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Amy lean over to murmur something to Harriet. After a short dialogue, Harriet said, “VI. isn’t out to frame Marc. And if we don’t let her finish the investigation, we’ll always have that nagging worry about why he did die. And Mama, Daddy, you two should go home. We’re spending a fortune on that hotel. I can stay with Amy until-until things are cleared up: the office urged me to take all the time I need.”

“I just can’t bear to go home with my baby lying in a drawer in the morgue,” Mrs. Whitby fretted.

“Harry’s right; we can’t afford to stay in that hotel for God knows how long,” Mr. Whitby said. “But if you want to stay on, we could move into Marc’s house, I suppose.”