James pulled out a stool and sat down. He did not offer me a chair. ‘He came in the Friday before Christmas,’ he said. ‘I guess about four o’clock in the afternoon.’

‘This was a man?’

James gave me a disgusted look. ‘I do know the difference. Yes. He was a man.’

‘Please describe him.’

‘Five-ten, thin, sharp features. His cheeks were a little sunken. But I actually found him rather striking.’

‘What about his hair?’

‘He was wearing a baseball cap, so I didn’t see much of it. But I got the impression it was a really terrible red. A Raggedy Andy red. I can’t imagine who got hold of him, but he ought to sue for malpractice.’

‘And his eyes?’

He was wearing dark-tinted glasses. Sort of Armani-ish.’ He got amused. ‘I was so surprised you had a son like that. I would have figured your boy wore khakis, skinny ties and went to MIT …’

‘James, there is nothing lighthearted about this conversation,’ I abruptly said.

His face lit up and his eyes got wide as the meaning became clear. ‘Oh my God. The man I’ve been reading about? That’s who … My God. He was in my gallery?’

I made no comment.

James was ecstatic. ‘Do you realize what this will do?’ he said. ‘When people find out he shopped here?’

I said nothing.

‘It will be fabulous for my business. People from all over will come here. My gallery will be on the tour routes.’

‘That’s right. Be certain to advertise something like that,’ I said. ‘And character disorders from everywhere will stand in line. They’ll touch your expensive paintings, bronzes, tapestries, and ask you endless questions. And they won’t buy a thing.’

He got quiet.

‘When he came in,’ I said, ‘what did he do?’

‘He looked around. He said he was looking for a last-minute gift.’

‘What was his voice like?’

‘Quiet. Kind of high-pitched. I asked who the present was for, and he said his mother. He said she was a doctor. That’s when I showed him the pin he ended up buying. It’s a caduceus. Two white gold serpents twined around a yellow gold winged staff. The serpents have ruby eyes. It’s handmade and absolutely spectacular.’

‘That’s what he bought for two hundred and fifty dollars?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’ He was appraising me, crooked finger under his chin. ‘Actually, it’s you. The pin is really you. Would you like for me to have the artist make another one?’

‘What happened after he bought the pin?’

‘I asked if he wanted it gift wrapped, and he didn’t. He pulled out the charge card. And I said, “Well, small, small world. Your mother works right around the corner.” He didn’t say anything. So I asked if he was home for the holidays, and he smiled.’

‘He didn’t talk,’ I said.