“It doesn’t mean anything. It is something. It’s a killer whale.”

Meadows, Hooper, and Whitman rose to go. “Good luck,” said Whitman. “I kind of envy you your trip. It should be exciting.”

“I can do without excitement,” said Brody. “I just want to get the damn thing over with.”

At the door, Hooper turned and said, “Thinking of orca reminds me of something. You know what Australians call great white sharks?”

“No,” said Brody, not really interested. “What?”

“White death.”

“You had to tell me, didn’t you?” Brody said as he closed the door behind them.

He was on his way out when the night desk man stopped him and said, “You had a call before, Chief, while you were inside. I didn’t think I should bother you.”

“Who was it?”

“Mrs. Vaughan.”

“Mrs. Vaughan!” As far as Brody could remember, he had never in his life talked to Eleanor Vaughan on the telephone.

“She said not to disturb you, that it could wait.”

“I’d better call her. She’s so shy that if her house was burning down, she’d call the fire department and apologize for bothering them and ask if there was a chance they could stop by the next time they were in the neighborhood.” As he walked back into his office, Brody recalled something Vaughan had told him about Eleanor: whenever she wrote a check for an even-dollar amount, she refused to write “and 00/100.” She felt it would be an insult, as if she were suggesting that the person who cashed the check might try to steal a few cents.

Brody dialed the Vaughans’ home number, and Eleanor Vaughan answered before the phone had rung once. She’s been sitting right by the phone, Brody thought. “Martin Brody, Eleanor. You called.”

“Oh yes. I do hate to bother you, Martin. If you’d rather—”

“No, it’s perfectly okay. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s … well, the reason I’m calling you is that I know Larry talked with you earlier. I thought you might know if … if anything’s wrong.”

Brody thought: She doesn’t know anything, not a thing. Well, I’m damned if I’m going to tell her. “Why? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to say this exactly, but … well, Larry doesn’t drink much, you know. Very rarely, at least at home.”

“And?”

“This evening, when he came home, he didn’t say anything. He just went into his study and—I think, at least—he drank almost a whole bottle of whiskey. He’s asleep now, in a chair.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Eleanor. He’s probably got things on his mind. We all tie one on now and then.”

“I know. It’s only … something is wrong. I can tell. He hasn’t acted like himself for several days now. I thought that perhaps … you’re his friend. Do you know what it could be?”

His friend, Brody thought. That’s what Vaughan had said, too, but he had known better. “We used to be friends,” he had said. “No, Eleanor, I don’t,” he lied. “I’ll talk to him about it, though, if you like.”