She parked the car in the drive and they walked past the front of the house to a flagstone path that worked through the high shrub to the house next door. This house was larger, a two-story dark brick rectangle of no identifiable style, perhaps thirty years old. A light was on in the kitchen. Norma went up the steps, tapped twice on the glass of the new aluminum storm door, and turned the knob. Leland followed her through the double doors, then through a small pantry to the kitchen, where Wendell Roberts rose from the table, dabbing at his mouth with a paper napkin.

“Right on time,” Norma said to him cheerily. “I was afraid we were going to get caught in the rush hour.”

“I didn’t expect to see you at all,” he said. He was a tall, long-limbed man, and he looked like the photograph Leland had seen. He reached across the table, almost past Norma, and took Leland’s hand. “Hi, I’m Wendell Roberts.” He had a solid grip.

“Joe Leland. Hiya.”

“I thought I was going to make some introductions,” Norma said. She put her purse on the counter and brought a chair nearer the table.

“I told you I was eager to meet him,” said Roberts. He pointed to another chair. “Sit down, Joe. I’m just having a sandwich before class. Some coffee?”

Leland sat down. “No, thanks. I know you’re in a hurry.” Roberts was having milk with the sandwich, which looked like sliced turkey. He had not shaved since morning and his beard looked like the first snow on a pavement. His skin still had a tan and he had the appearance of a man who spent every hunting season in the field, a gentleman sportsman. He knew it and completed the picture with a plaid tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. At first he seemed like a cheerful man who enjoyed life, but his eyes and the skin around them gave away a critical intelligence. His eyes had narrowed when he had looked at Leland in a nearly unconscious effort to take his measure, and the lines in the corners suggested to Leland that he did it very often. Now that Leland had made this observation about Roberts he wondered what observations Roberts had made about him. Leland felt himself becoming wary.

Roberts said, “Well, the coffee’s there if you want it. This afternoon when Norma called I told her I could pick up enough turkey for all of us, but she said it would give her heartburn.”

“I guess we can believe that,” Leland said. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve heard this, but I’ve never met a private detective before.”

Leland took an ash tray from Norma. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ve ever run into a psychiatrist.”

“Not even when you were on the force down here?”

“Just psychologists.”

“How’d they strike you?” He took a bite of his sandwich.