“I was at the Home about an hour ago,” she said. “I saw the mess in his room, all those broken records. They were all Amelita Galli-Curci. The director—what’s his name? Walkman. Sol Walkman. He told me the story. He said Feldman was in love with her.”

“What broken records?” I asked.

“You don’t know?” Dee Richardson responded with surprise. “The old folks trashed his room.”

“They did what?”

“Trashed it. It looked like a war zone.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said.

“Trust me. I used to work in the city. I know trash when I see it.”

“I think I’d better go over there,” I told her. “Why don’t I meet you about three-thirty. Here, at the Pine Hill Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

I hung up and called the Highmount Home for Retired Citizens and asked to speak to Sol Walkman.

“I just got a call from a television reporter,” I told him. “What’s this about Avrum’s room?”

“You should see if for yourself,” Sol said tensely. “I would have called you, but I didn’t know where you were staying, and I’ve been busy trying to get to the bottom of things.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said.

Avrum’s room had been destroyed. The cheap, flimsy curtains at his window had been pulled away and torn, his bedcovering and mattress ripped with his own scissors. The foam stuffing of a pillow bloated open like the gut of a slaughtered animal. His phonograph, ancient and priceless, had been smashed. His clothing had been yanked from the closet and from the drawers of the dresser. Shreds of paper from my letters to him, and from articles he had clipped and saved, covered the floor like confetti. His prized collection of Amelita Galli-Curci recordings peppered the room in tiny, shining black shards.

I said to Sol, “What the hell went on here?”

“I don’t know, not at this moment.” His voice quivered. I knew he was either furious or fighting to control a bewildered hurt.

“My God,” I whispered. “These people couldn’t have done this. They’re too old. This is savagery.”

“You don’t work with them. It’s wrong to believe they’re too old. They’re never too old.”

“But why would they do this?”

“They were afraid of him,” Sol said softly. “It’s the only thing I can think of. They thought he was evil. A lot of them whispered about him. Maybe I can even understand that, because he was different, but I can’t explain this.”

“Everything?” I said. “Did they ruin everything?”

“I’m sure some of it was stolen. Some of our residents have very little and they steal when they think they can get away with it,” Sol answered. “But everything else, yes, they destroyed.” He paused. “No,” he corrected. “Not everything.”