"Varden Talbot of Talbot and Smith. Why? You want to talk to him?"

"Ask him if he'd have copies of the police reports released to me. It would save me a lot of time."

"O.K. I'll do that."

"Oh, and I should probably start with your immediate family. They might have a theory or two about what's going on. Why don't I give you a call later and find out when people are free?"

Bobby made a face. On the way to my office, he'd told me his disabilities had forced him to move back into the family home temporarily, which didn't sit well with him. His parents had divorced some years ago and his mother had remarried, in fact, this was marriage number three. Apparently, Bobby didn't get along with his current stepfather, but he had a seventeen-year-old stepsister named Kitty whom he seemed to like. I wanted to talk to all three. Most of my investigations start with paperwork, but this one felt different from the outset.

"I have a better idea," Bobby said. "Stop by the house this afternoon. Mom's having some people in for drinks around five. My stepfather's birthday. It'll give you a chance to meet everyone."

I hesitated. "You sure it'll be all right? She might not want me barging in on a special occasion like that."

"It's fine. I'll tell her you're coming. She won't care. Got a pencil? I'll give you directions."

I rooted through my handbag for a pen and my notebook and jotted down the details. "I'll be there about six," I said.

"Great." He slammed the car door and moved off.

I watched him hobble as far as his car and then I headed for home.

I live in what was once a single-car garage, converted now to a two-hundred-dollar-a-month studio apartment maybe fifteen feet square, which serves as living room, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, closet, and laundry room. All of my possessions are multipurpose and petite. I have a combination refrigerator, sink, and stovette, a doll-sized stacking washer/dryer unit, a sofa that becomes a bed (though I seldom bother to unfold it), and a desk that I sometimes use as a dining-room table. I tend to be work-oriented and my living quarters seem to have shrunk, year by year, to this miniature state. For a while, I lived in a trailer, but that began to feel too opulent. I'm often out of town and I object to spending money for space I don't use. It's possible that one day I'll reduce my personal requirements to a sleeping bag that I can toss in the backseat of my car, thus eliminating altogether the need for paying rent. As it is, my wants are few. I don't have pets or houseplants. I do have friends, but I don't entertain. If I have any hobbies at all, they consist of cleaning my little semi-automatic and reading up on evidential documents. I'm not exactly a bundle of laughs, but I do pay my bills, keep a little money tucked away, and provide myself with medical insurance to cover the hazards of my trade. I like my life as it is, though I try not to boast overmuch about the fact! About every six or eight months, I run into a man who astounds me sexually, but between escapades, I'm celibate, which I don't think is any big deal. After two unsuccessful marriages, I find myself keeping my guard up, along with my underpants.