Hal glanced around the Westing. “It always feels so cramped in here. I told Nelson to buy on the East Side when he could have gotten a hangar for the price of this, and he didn’t listen.” His eyes landed on me again, his gaze hang-dog and sorrowful. “You always miss the L.A. you don’t have, right?”

“You’ve helped make L.A. what it is,” I said, prim and sincere. “For artists, anyway.”

He dipped his chin, a little nod of acknowledgment. “Eh,” he said, but he looked pleased.

“I just saw a lot of LAAC artists out in Wonder Valley,” I added. “Amazing work.”

“Did you?” he said. “I couldn’t get there this year, but we always have a good showing.”

“People could not stop talking about Packing. Such a tragedy.”

Hal blinked. “Oh yes,” he said in a reedy voice. “Brenae was a great loss for us. Terrible shame.”

Hal didn’t look sad. He didn’t look afraid. He didn’t look triumphant. It was as if part of him had completely drained out at the mention of Brenae’s name, and the emptiness was talking instead of Hal.

“I couldn’t believe it,” I said. “She had so much going for her.”

“A terrible shame,” Hal repeated. He opened his folder, glanced at something inside, and then closed it again. “I’ll give this to Nelson later. Will you tell them to ring me when they return?” He turned to leave, then took one last look at me. “Nice suit, by the way,” he said, and pushed his way out the glass door.

PEARSON RETURNED, ALONE, ALMOST AN hour later, with a heavy mallet in his hand. He ignored me as he strode past to the shoes. With quick jerks of his body, he plucked a handful of shoes from the piles, set them on a patch of bare floor, and raised the mallet. Slam. Slam. The floorboards rang from the blows, the noise reverberating through the gallery, amplifying on the bare walls. Pearson’s muscled arms rose high, and the mallet came down. The shoes split, seams popping, tongues sliding out. A clog snapped in two with a loud crack.

I sat at my desk, still and silent, my hands near my cell phone and the landline.

Pearson kept hammering until his first pile broke to pieces, and then found more, his face purpled and intent. The mallet swung. The floor thudded and echoed. The shoes shattered to chunks and shards.