‘Even just one would be good.’

‘Oh, Lord. I … I don’t normally shop at his stores—Lamar’s, I mean. We’re in Sherman Oaks, but my mother, she’s in Modesto, they’ve got a big one there. It’s very nice, apparently. Very good soups.’

Vincent said, ‘Does he have family he could be staying with?’

She started to say something—a couple of false starts—and then gave up on it. Then some heavy breathing—crackle on the line—and she said, ‘You know what he told me as he was leaving? He didn’t say—he didn’t say they’d had problems at work: he didn’t put it like that. He said they’d “encountered setbacks”. I mean, what sort of man, been married thirty-eight years, prides himself as a straight-talker, speaks to his wife like he’s doing some kind of, I don’t know, a press conference? I thought: You’ve been lying awake trying to decide how to say it. So he can take time off and … well. Feel young again with some twenty-year-old he found on the internet. Probably what it is.’

He was getting a picture now: the woman home alone, forming conspiracies. Coital speculation. Snatching up the phone when it rang. He didn’t want to tell her his own theory—that maybe the guy sensed trouble and was running. It might stop her talking.

He said, ‘Where does he work?’

He could hear her wondering whether or not to trust him.

She said, ‘Well, it changes, doesn’t it? Depending where they film. Last week he was at a motel in Palm Springs. Some horror thing, I don’t know. Maybe he’s telling the truth and they did have problems. I just get a feeling he’s doing something less than honest. That’s my read on it anyway, and I’ve seen his whole spectrum. Thirty-eight years, I’ve seen every colour he has.’

He wondered if she was going to change her view any time soon—consider that her husband might be hiding from someone’s gun sights. Maybe not. He knew that some people formed a bad opinion and then it didn’t ever change—other than to grow darker and darker, like a melanoma on the brain.

He said, ‘I didn’t get your name.’

‘It’s Deborah. Deborah Forsyth.’

‘Deborah, is there anyone on the street?’

‘Excuse me?’

He said, ‘With the shooting this morning, there could be a lot of media interest. Is there anyone on the street?’

‘No, no, I’m at a friend’s in Redondo Beach. I’m not going to wait around on the chance … Anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m not there, is what I’m trying to say. I’ve got Gillian across the street feeding the cat.’

Safe for now, then.

Vincent said, ‘What about the lawyer that came by?’

‘What about him?’