"Robert Ray Argent." A deep, wheezy voice, like a bass on reverb, issued from the echo chamber of his enormous body cavity. For a second, I imagined him hollow, inflated. But that fantasy faded as I watched him struggle to get to the nearer bed. Every step sounded on the thin carpeting, each limb seemed to shimmy of its own accord. His forehead was beaded, dripping. I resisted the urge to take his elbow.

His wife got up with the handkerchief and wiped his brow.

He touched her hand for an instant. "Thanks, honey."

"Sit down, Rob Ray."

Both of them with that soft, distinctive Pittsburgh drawl.

Moving slowly, bending deliberately, he lowered himself. The mattress sank down to the box spring and creaked. The box spring nearly touched the carpet. Rob Ray Argent sat, spread-legged, inner thighs touching. The gray fabric of his pants stretched shiny over dimpled knees, pulled up taut over a giant pumpkin of a belly.

He inhaled a few times, cleared his throat, put his hand to his mouth, and coughed. His wife stared off at the open bathroom door before walking over, closing it, sitting back down.

"So," he said. "You're a psychologist, like Claire." Dark circles under his armpits.

"Yes," I said.

He nodded, as if we'd reached some agreement. Sighed and placed his hands on the apex of his abdomen.

Ernestine Argent reached over and handed him the handkerchief and he dabbed at himself some more. She pulled another white triangle from her purse and pecked at her own eyes.

Milo said, "I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Argent about the course of the investigation."

Ernestine gave a small, involuntary cry.

"Honey," Robert Ray said.

She said, "I'm okay, darling," almost inaudibly, and turned to me. "Claire loved psychology."

I nodded.

"She was all we ever really had."

Rob Ray looked at her. Parts of his face had turned plum-colored; other sections were pink, beige, white-apple-peel mottle caused by the variable blood flow through expanses of skin. He turned to Milo. "Doesn't sound like you've learned much. What's the chance you find the devil who did it?"

"I'm always optimistic, sir. The more you and Mrs. Argent can tell us about Claire, the better our chances."

"What else can we tell you?" said Ernestine. "No one disliked Claire; she was the nicest person."

She cried. Rob Ray touched her shoulder with his hand.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "This isn't helping. What do you need to know?"

"Well," said Milo, "let's get a basic time frame, for starters. When was the last time you saw Claire?"

"Christmas," said Rob Ray. "She always came home for Christmas. We always had a nice family time, no exception last Christmas. She helped her mother with the cooking. Said in L.A. she never cooked, too busy, just ate things out of cans, takeout."

Consistent with the kitchen at Cape Horn Drive.

"Christmas," said Milo. "Haifa year ago."