“I never reveal the names of my clients,” Tim replied. “Joe Carter wants to remain anonymous.”

“Carter!” Hoover muttered. He gave Tim an ugly look. It wasn’t difficult. “I could have guessed this. Yes! He came here, asking all his questions as if Fiona and me . . .” He stopped himself. “There was not one thing suspicious about his death, Mr. Diamond. It was an accident. We know. Why? Because we were there! You think someone killed him? Poppycock! Who would wish to kill him?”

“Maybe he had enemies,” Tim said.

“Everybody loved Lenny,” Fiona retorted. “Even his enemies loved him. All he did his whole life was give away money and help young people. That man built so many orphanages, we had to advertise for orphans to fill them.”

“What else can you tell us about him?” I asked.

“It’s hard to describe Lenny to someone who never met him.”

“Try. Where did he live?”

“He rented an apartment on Welles Road. Number seventeen. He didn’t buy anywhere because he hated spending money on himself.” She took out a tiny handkerchief and dabbed the corner of her eye. “It is true that he liked to be on his own a lot.”

“Why?”

“Because of his allergies.”

I remembered now. Carter had said he was sick.

“What was he allergic to?” I asked.

“Many, many things,” Hoover replied. “Chocolate, peanuts, yogurt, animals, rubber bands, insects . . .”

“If he was stung by a wasp, he would be in the hospital for a week,” Fiona agreed.

“He was also allergic to hospitals. He had to go to a private clinic.” Hoover stood up. Suddenly the interview was over. “Lenny Smile was a very unique man. He was—as you say—one in a million. And you have no right . . . no right to come here like this. You are wrong! Wrong with all your suspiciousness.”

“Yes.” Fiona nodded in agreement. “His death was a terrible accident. But the police investigated. They found nothing. Mr. Hoover and I were there and we saw nothing.”

“You can say to your ‘anonymous’ client, Mr. Carter, that he should go back to Chicago,” Hoover concluded. “And now, please, I think you should leave.”

We left. The last thing I saw was Rodney Hoover standing next to Fiona Lee. The two of them were holding hands. Were they just coworkers, friends . . . or something more? And there was something else. Hoover had said something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I was certain he had told me something that in fact he didn’t want me to know. I tried to play back the conversation but it wouldn’t come.

Tim and I left the offices of Dream Time together. Rodney Hoover and Fiona Lee had given us both the creeps. Neither of us said anything. But we both looked very carefully before we crossed the road.

*  *  *