Rather than ring the bell, and risk waking more people than necessary, I knocked, gently. I had a hunch someone would be posted near the door. They were still in the mode of getting Bobby back, and time was a precious commodity. Yes it was—but one little boy’s had already run out.

The door cracked open. I’d been right—a guardian was at the gate, and once again that guardian was the other son, the adopted one, Paul. He was in a suit that looked slept in and lacked a tie—probably camped out on the living room sofa, should the door need him.

“Mr. Heller,” he said, blinking, making himself wake up more. He gave his head a shake. “Come in. Please.”

He opened the door for me and I stepped into that ballroom of an entryway, the stairs rising to darkness, its lion’s-head newel roaring with silence.

I said, “I don’t suppose your father is still up.”

“No.” Quickly he gathered my raincoat and hat, placing them on a chair nearby. “He went upstairs about eleven. Have you heard something?”

“Could we sit down for a moment, Paul? I’ll fill you in.” I gestured toward the living room, down the hall to the right.

He nodded and led the way. Then we were in the room where just days ago I’d spoken with his father while his young sister slept nestled to Daddy on the sofa that faced the fireplace, which was going now, giving off ironic warmth. A blanket was on the cushions—this was indeed where Paul had been bivouacked—and he picked the thing up quickly, folded it, set it on a chair.

We both sat.

“I do have news,” I said. “Most of it very bad.”

“Tell me.”

“I will, but I need to know whether you think we should wake your father up for it.”

“Oh, we should. Whatever it is. But…but not Mother.”

I nodded. “Listen first. Your brother is dead. The kidnappers took his life right away the first day.”

The blood drained out of his face and made a ghost of him. He swallowed. His lower lip quivered.

“The only good news,” I said, “is that the two who did it are in the custody of the St. Louis police.”

“What…what kind of people are they?”

“Possibly a married couple. They seem to have lived together, at least. A pair of drunken lowlifes looking to make a bundle.”

“They did this…together?”

“The woman picked your brother up at school. The man killed Bobby shortly after. Shot him to death. It was relatively quick. Bobby suffered, I won’t lie to you…but not for long.”

Tears came from his eyes and then trailed onto his cheeks like rain down a window. His voice wobbled. “What kind of man.…”

I shrugged. “You’ll know soon enough. He’s about your age and from your social class. His name is Carl Hall. From things he said, I’d gather he squandered his own fortune and looked for a way to…replenish it.”