"No," I agreed. "He didn't."

But I had a pretty good idea who did.

When Jocelyn left I phoned Claudel. He was not in, but this time I hung up and dialed his pager.

Urgent enough, I thought, as I entered my number. When Claudel cal ed back I relayed Jocelyn's story. "Can she identify the man?"

"Never saw his face."

"Fantastique."

"It's Crease."

"How can you be sure?"

"The cap found in Desjardins' apartment had a USC logo. Crease went to school there."

"We've alread -- "

"Did Charbonneau tel you about the dandruff?"

"Yes."

"I had the pleasure of dining with Crease not too long ago. He has enough dandruff to open a ski hil ."

"Motive?"

I described what I'd seen in the photo.

"Holy Mother of Christ."

Rarely had I heard Claudel blaspheme.

"What's this woman's relationship to Dorsey?"

"She was not receptive to personal inquiries."

"Can she be trusted?" His breath sounded moist against the mouthpiece.

"She obviously has a habit, but I believe her."

"If she was terrified, why hang around?"

"She probably thought the intruder dropped drugs and she had a shot at a free score."

"Michel Charbonneau told me of your conversation." More breathing. "I think it's time to meet this Mr. Crease."

When we disconnected I phoned for air reservations. Wil ing or not, Kit was on his way to Texas. Until then, I wasn't going to let him out of my sight. I arrived home to find Kit in the shower.

"Have you eaten?" I shouted through the door when I heard the sound of the water stop.

"Not much."

O.K, podna. I, too, can cook pasta.

I made a run to Le Faubourg for scal ops and greens. Back home I sautéed the seafood with onions and mushrooms, then mixed and added a yogurt-mustard-lemon-dil sauce. I ladled the mol usk concoction over angel-hair pasta, and served it with a baguette and tossed salad.

Even Kit was impressed.

We talked as we ate, but said little.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"Pretty good."

"What did you do?"

"Not much."

"Did you stay here?"

"I rode the subway to some island and cruised around the parks."

"Ile-Ste-Hélene."

"Yeah. There's a beach out there and lots of trails. It's pretty slick."

That explained the skateboard in the entrance hal .

"How 'bout your day?" he asked, picking a crouton from the salad remains.

"Pretty good."

A cokehead security risk in our own lab accused me of indifference to bikers, and I discovered one of your Easy Rider playmates may be a kil er.

"Cool," he said. I took a deep breath.

"I made airline reservations today."

"Off on another trip?"

"The flight is for you."

"Uh-oh. The bum's rush." He kept his eyes on the salad bowl.

"Kit, you know I love you, and I love having you here, but I think it's time you went home."

"What is it they say about houseguests and old fish? Or is it relatives?"