I paused, wondering when Mooring had begun to speak so well. He had none of the southerner’s studied lapses—the “ain’ts” and “might coulds”—and his diction was clearly acquired. I guessed that he’d outgrown his wife and her decorator long ago. The house had begun to seem like a prison, with the woman its Mrs. Rochester. “I don’t think your wife’s insane,” I said finally. “I have it from other people that you and Mrs. Cantwell were close. If I can put that together, so can the police.”

He folded his arms, frowning as if puzzled. But in his stillness I sensed a subcutaneous tension. The conversation had begun oddly enough without my feeling that there was a wordless second conversation stranger than the first: that something he expected me to know kept him from inviting me out. “I’m a little unclear,” he probed, “as to what your interest is in this.”

“Roland Cade and I represent Henry Cantwell.”

Mooring’s face closed against me. “What are you after?” he said coldly. “A boyfriend?”

For a moment it threw me off. But his challenge seemed hollow and too late. “If you think I should be.”

“I don’t think anything. My ‘relationship’ to Lydia, as you put it, was confined to work we did jointly for the symphony. Jason saw us drinking tea. Whatever else he saw exists only in the mind of a confused and unhappy young man.”

“Yeah, I was curious about how that happened—the symphony work, I mean.”

“Lydia asked me.” His voice turned almost bored. “She was our largest stockholder. I’ve known her almost since I began at Maddox.”

“When was that?”

“About nineteen fifty-two.” He looked straight at me. “Please understand, Shaw, I’m sick about what happened. But I’m in no position to help you or the police.”

His voice had thickened. I kept sensing a split in him, a choked undercurrent of real feeling channeled as artifice. “You can’t be sure,” I answered. “For example, when was the last time you saw her?”

His eyes flickered toward the kitchen. “What makes that of interest?”

“Several things. Time of death, for instance. The police will be looking for anyone who saw Lydia so much as breathe after three P.M. on Friday.”

His stare turned frank and hard. “I’d better ask you something first. Does Cade know you’re here?”

“Not specifically.”

He placed his hands on his waist. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have let you impose like this. How do you think your questions would affect my wife?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Maybe I should ask her.”