"Derek, I can't speculate about what Glen might do. Talk to her."

"Well, I guess I will when she gets back."

"I'm assuming the money was put in some kind of trust fund since Kitty's just seventeen. Who was named executor? You?"

"No, no. The bank. I don't think Bobby had a very high opinion of me. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about how this might look. Bobby claims someone's trying to kill him and then it turns out Kitty inherits all this money when he dies."

"I'm sure the police will have a chat with her."

"But you don't think she had anything to do with Bobby's accident, do you?"

Ah, the subtext of his visit.

I said, "Frankly, I'd find it hard to believe, but Homicide might see it differently. They might also want to take a look at you while they're at it."

"Me?!" He managed to pack a lot of punctuation into one syllable.

"What if something happens to Kitty? Who gets the money then? She's not exactly in the best of health."

He looked at me uncomfortably, probably wishing he'd never come in. He must have harbored the vague notion that I could reassure him. Instead, I'd only broadened the basis for his anxieties. He wound up the conversation and got up moments later, telling me he'd be in touch. When he turned to go, I could see that the golf shirt was sticking to his back and I could smell the tension in his sweat.

"Oh, Derek," I called after him. "Does the name Black-man mean anything to you?"

"Not that I know. Why?"

"Just curious. I appreciate your coming in," I said. "If you find out anything else, please let me know."

"I will."

Once he was gone, I put in a quick call to a friend of mine at the telephone company and asked about S. Blackman. He said he d check into it and call me back. I went down to the parking lot and hauled out the cardboard box I'd picked up from Bobby's garage. I went back up to the office and checked the contents, taking the items out one by one. It was all just as I remembered it: a couple of radiology manuals, some medical texts, paper clips, ballpoint pens, scratch pads. Nothing of significance that I could see. I hauled the box back out and shoved it into the backseat again, thinking I'd drop it back at Bobby's house next time I was there.

What to try next? I couldn't think of a thing.

I went home.