Theobold must have heard me enter because he stuck his head out of me rear doorway. "Dr. Delaware? Come on in."

I'd met him a few years ago, and he hadn't changed much. Sixtyish, medium height and build, graying fair hair, white beard, large nose, close-set brown eyes behind aviator specs. He wore a wide-lapeled herringbone sport coat the color of iced tea, a beige vest checked with blue, a white shirt, a blue tie.

I followed him into his office. He was a psychiatry vice-chairman and a respected neurochemistry researcher, but his space wasn't much more generous than the secretary's. Haphazardly furnished with what looked like castoffs, it sported another collection of file cases, brown metal furniture, a storm of books. An attempt to freshen things up with a faux-Navajo rug had failed long ago; the rug's threads were unraveling, its color bands fading. The desk supported a turbulent swirl of paperwork.

Theobold squeezed behind the desk and I took one of the two metal chairs wrinkling the fake Navajo.

"So," he said. "It's been a while. You're still officially faculty, aren't you?"

"Courtesy faculty," I said. "No salary."

"How long since you've been down here?"

"Couple of years," I said. His attempts at cordiality were deepening the lines on his face. "I appreciate your seeing me."

"No problem." He cleared the area around the phone. Papers flew. "I had no idea you led such an interesting life- police consultant. Do they pay well?"

"About the same as Medi-Cal."

He managed a chuckle. "So what have you been up to, otherwise? Still at Western Peds?"

"Occasionally. I do some consulting, mostly legal work. A few short-term treatment cases."

"Able to deal with the HMO's?"

"I avoid them when I can."

He nodded. "So... you're here about poor Claire. I suppose that detective thought I'd confide secrets to you that I withheld from him, but thereTs really nothing more to tell."

"I think he felt it was more a matter of knowing the right questions to ask."

"I see," he said. "Persistent type, Sturgis. Smarter than he lets on. He tried to disarm me by playing to class consciousness-'I'm the humble working-class cop, you're the big smart doctor.' Interesting approach. Does it work?"

"He's got a good solve rate."

"Good for him.... The problem is, he was wasting his acting talents on me. I wasn't holding back. I have no inside information about Claire. I knew her as a researcher, not as a person."

"Everyone seems to say that about her."

"Well, then," he said, "at least I'm consistent. So no one has much to offer about her?"

I nodded.

"And here I thought it was me-the way I run my projects."

"What do you mean?"

"I like to think of myself as a humane administrator. Hire good people, trust them to do their jobs, for the most part keep my hands off. I don't get involved in their personal lives. I'm not out to parent anyone."