"That little squirt on TV?" the woman said.
"That's me."
"What the hell you doin' callin' here at three in the morning?" Her voice had gotten much friendlier since he'd explained who he was. Fortunately, or so she confided, she'd always preferred him to Richard Dunphy.
"You know that a man named Everett Sanderson was murdered."
A mournful pause. Sigh. "Yep."
"He was your husband?"
"Nope. Brother-in-law. His wife died twenty years ago or so and he never remarried. Ever since he lived upstairs in our youngster's room. Him and Merle, that's my husband, they ran the agency together."
"That's what I'm calling about."
"The agency?"
"About what Everett was doing on the cruise." Another pause. "You'd be wantin' to talk to Merle about that."
"Could you hand the phone over to him?"
"Can't."
"Asleep?"
"Gone."
"Where?"
Pause. "I really shouldn't be talkin' to you. Merle hates it when I talk to people about his business."
"When will he be back, Mrs. Sanderson?"
"Tomorrow morning sometime." Beat. "He's doin' a divorce case. One of those stakeout jobs. He'll be real tired. He'll want a big breakfast-three eggs and some sausages and some wheatcakes and some toast with peanut butter and jelly-then he'll want to roll right into bed."
"What would be a good time to call him?"
"Maybe two, three in the afternoon. Our time."
"All right." Then he thought of the newspaper clipping. "By the way, did your husband or Everett ever mention a man who died in a trailer fire named William Kelly?"
"How'd you find out about him?" She sounded suspicious.
"They have mentioned him then?"
"Of course they mentioned him. He was kin. A first cousin."
"What?"
"Sure. Hell, I was to his baptism. He was a good boy and then-"
"Then what?"
"Now I'm gettin' into agency business and that's where Merle can get mighty mad. You just call back like I told you to."
"But-"
"You just call back." And then she hung up.
He had just decided to light up a cigarillo when a heavy hand fell many times on his cabin door.
He was up off the bed, frightened and puzzled, in seconds.
Captain Hackett stood in the door. You could tell he'd been drunk and had then gotten sober abruptly.
He looked old and he looked miserable. "It's happened again."
"What's happened?"
"A killing."
"Who?"
"Kevin Anderson."
"My God."
"Come on," the captain said, "and hurry.”