He parked the car in an empty lot near the north end, turned the heater up full, then killed the motor and sat quietly. There was a heavy breeze that caused the car to shake; the breeze came over from the bay and blotted out the crashing of the sea. He did not think about the case. Slumping down in the seat, he put his head against the cold glass of the window and smoked another cigarette. His arms and legs went faintly numb, the pre-sleep sensation, but he fought it enough to stay aware of his surroundings. He thought again that this had been MacIver’s car, but it was like looking at a picture of the idea rather than feeling it. It did not matter. He could feel himself trying to reconstruct MacIver’s sensations and emotions—that wasteful, misleading trick. He tried to empty his mind, but things—a dozen little things, some far from his business in Port Smith—kept pressing in, leaving him uneasy and no better for having tried to rest.

Another car rolled into the lot. The headlights swept through the Cadillac, then went out as the car continued toward the shoreside curb. Leland sat up, jolted; then, even as he realized that the lights-out was a romantic’s courtesy, he watched the car come to a stop a hundred yards off, at the other end of the lot. No one got out, which was normal. Leland started the Cadillac and turned it around. A quarter of a mile up the highway he swung into the next lot He. waited, lights out. Nothing came by for fifteen minutes. It was time for dinner. He would eat at a diner he knew that was near headquarters. The food was substantial and cheap, and at this hour there would be a place to park.

Norma opened the door, brushing her hair back. “Oh. I fell asleep waiting. Wendell called. I told him when you’d be back.”

“Any idea of what he wanted?”

“No. We chatted. He likes you.” She pushed her feet into a pair of slippers. “Would you like some coffee? I have to have it to wake up. Come on.” She shuffled toward the kitchen. “All this sleeping is supposed to be good for me, but I tell you, I feel awful. Did your wife worry about her legs?”

“All the time. Just keep your feet up and you’ll have no trouble.”

“I’m getting a backache, too,” she said. “Don’t sit down. I want to get those sofa pillows under me.”

She carried the cups to the living room and he held them while she made herself comfortable. Being careful in his choice of words, he told her that the racetrack guard had been all but an eyewitness. The guard had given a plausible account of the delay in notifying her, which itself was unacceptable.