“My son was at home all evening, Mike,” he said, perhaps a bit too casually, arms folded as he leaned back on the plush over-stuffed sofa.”

“Is it possible he slipped out while you were asleep?”

His shrug was brief. “I’ll tell you what I told the police. I have trouble sleeping some nights, and last night was one of them. I was up till dawn watching television and reading, and would have known if he left. I wound up sleeping till noon, coming in late. Good thing I’m the boss.”

“Good thing.”

He gestured with an open hand. “If you’d like the name of the films I watched on American Movie Classics, I can provide them. And the book was Bonfire of the Vanities.”

Somehow that made his alibi for his son seem only that much more negligible.

“No,” I said, “I’ll take your word for it.”

That was a lie, but he was my client, and I’d banked his check.

“Several servants can back me up,” he said, “if need be.”

That was marginally better than the names of movies TV Guide could give him and a book he probably read months ago. But a guy with that kind of bread could spare however much it took to make a loyal servant even more loyal. That could mean good money in a murder case.

“Anyway, Mike—Vincent’s medication at night puts him into a deep sleep. Almost a sedative.”

I leaned forward. The flames were making abstract, flickering designs on his face, where his lingering thin-mustached smile seemed sickly to me.

I said, “Mr. Colby…Vance…if you no longer wish to engage me in this matter, I will understand. I will even return your retainer, minus a few expenses.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because there have been three murders since I undertook this job,” I said, “including this call girl who died while you say your son was sleeping last night. And I’m old-fashioned—murders on my watch piss me off. Plus, they’re bad for business.”

“Your point eludes me, Mike.”

“The point is that if you’re lying to me about Vincent being home last night, all night…or if I discover that your son is responsible for these killings, any of these killings…I intend to turn him over to Captain Pat Chambers.”

He was nodding. “Of the Homicide Division. Yes, I spoke with him earlier. Well, I would expect you to.”

“Captain Chambers was a close friend of Lt. Shannon’s. Pat will make sure that—if your son is guilty—Vincent will spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“That doesn’t worry me.”

“Really.”

“Yes, my son is innocent.” His brow tensed. “And I very much want you on the case, Mike, clearing my boy.”

I sighed. Patted my knees. Stood.

“So be it,” I said.

He stood, too, and offered his hand and I shook it. A firm shake, but moist. The old man’s smile looked like a sculptor slipped with his chisel and hadn’t quite pulled it off.

I went out, winked at the Ice Lady, whose pursed-lipped, crinkled-chin reaction was at least technically a smile, and started to head out. Earlier, I’d again noticed that Vincent’s office appeared empty.