Dark Rivers of the Heart

know him. I don't understand what's happening here."
        "I believe you," he said. "Rest easy, Mary. I believe you, dear lady.
        I'm sorry it was necessary to resort to such crudity."
        Though the tone of his voice was tender and apologetic, a tide of rage washed through Roy. His fury was directed at Grant, who had somehow hoodwinked them, not at this woman or her daughter or her hapless husband in the Barcalounger.
        Although Roy strove to repress his anger, the woman must have glimpsed it in his eyes, which were ordinarily of such a kindly aspect, for she flinched from him.
        At the stove, where he had turned off the gas under the sauce and under a pot of boiling water as well, Vecchio said, "He doesn't live here any more."
        "I don't think he ever did," Roy said tightly.
        Spencer took two suitcases from the closet, considered them, put the smaller of the two aside, and opened the larger bag on his bed. He selected enough clothes for a week. He didn't own a suit, a white shirt, or even one necktie. In his closet hung half a dozen pairs of blue jeans, half a dozen pairs of tan chinos, khaki shirts, and denim shirts. In the top drawer of the highboy, he kept four warm sweaters-two blue, two black. While Spencer filled the suitcase, Rocky paced from room to room, standing worried sentry duty at every window he could reach.
        The poor mutt was having a hard time shaking off the nightmare.
        Leaving his men to watch over the Zelinsky family, Roy stepped out of the house and crossed the street toward his car.
        The twilight had darkened from red to deep purple. The street lamps had come on. The air was still, and for a moment the silence was almost as deep as if he had been in a country field.
        They were lucky that the Zelinskys' neighbors had not heard anything to arouse suspicion.
        On the other hand, no lights showed in the houses flanking the Zelinsky place. Many families in that pleasant middle-class neighborhood were probably able to maintain their standard of living only if both husband and wife held full-time jobs. In fact, in this precarious economy, with takehome pay declining, many were holding on by their fingernails even with two breadwinners. Now, at the height of the rush hour, two-thirds of the homes on both sides of the street were dark, untenanted; their owners were battling freeway traffic, picking up their kids at sitters and day schools that they could not easily afford, and struggling to get home t'o enjoy a few hours of peace before climbing back on the treadmill in the morning.
        Sometimes Roy was so sensitive to the plight of the average person that he was brought to tears.
        Right now, however, he could not allow himself to surrender to the empathy that came so easily to him. He had to find Spencer Grant.
        In the car, after starting the engine and slipping into the passenger seat, he plugged in the attache case computer. He married the cellular telephone to it.
        He called Mama and asked her to find a phone number for Spencer Grant, in the greater L.A. area, and from the center of her web in Virginia, she began the search. He hoped to get an address for Grant from the phone company, as he had gotten one for the Bettonfields.
        David Davis and Nella Shire would have left the downtown office for the day, so he couldn't call there to rail at them. In any case, the problem wasn't their fault, though he would have liked to place the blaine on Davis-and on Wertz, whose first name was probably Igor.
        In a few minutes, Mama reported that no one named Spencer Grant possessed a telephone, listed or unlisted, in the Los Angeles area.
        Roy didn't believe it. He trusted Mama. The problem wasn't with her.
        She was as faultless as his own dear, departed mother had been.
        But Grant was clever. Too damned clever.
        Roy asked Mama to search telephone company billing records for the same name. Grant might have been listed under a pseudonym, but before providing service, the phone company had surely required the signature of a real person with a good credit history.
        As Mama worked, Roy watched a car cruise past and pull into a driveway a few houses farther along the street.
        Night ruled the city. To the far edge of the western horizon, twilight had abdicated; no trace of its royal-purple light remained.
        The display screen flashed