"And that's because…?"

"There's a grace period, a waiting period if you will, on life insurance policies so that someone can't just buy one and then kill himself the next day.

The waiting period on Brian's existing policy wasn't up. He didn't remember that. Anyway, I answered all his questions and he thanked me for my time. Brian had always been a gentleman and he was that day as well. He was a gentleman right up until the very end, I would say."

"Do you think he was thinking that he might die while he was doing whatever he was planning to do at the Welles' ranch? Do you think that's why he wanted the additional life insurance?"

"Don't see any other possible conclusion. Do you?"

"No sir," I said, "I don't."

It all made more sense than it had before.

At least a week before he made his way out to the Silky Road Ranch, Brian Sample had already decided to seek his revenge on Raymond Welle. He assumed that his plan for vengeance might result in his death. In fact, he judged it to be enough of a risk that he endeavored to increase the insurance on his own life prior to kidnapping Gloria Welle.

In our recent meeting, Kevin Sample had been eager to view his father's optimism and relative ebullience the morning he died as a sign that his depression had abated. The exact opposite might have been true. The reality is that the mood of a suicidal individual often brightens after he has decided on a plan that will end his life. Many families and many psychotherapists are fooled by the improvement in mood and lulled into believing that self-destructive danger has ameliorated. It appeared likely that the morning Kevin Sample had breakfast with his father, Brian Sample was more talkative because he had already settled on a plan that was likely to end his life.

Kevin, ever hopeful, wanted to believe that what he saw that morning was evidence that his father was getting better.

But that morning over a breakfast of pancakes and sausages with his surviving son, Brian Sample wasn't less depressed because he had found a solution to his grief. Nor was he brighter because he had discovered a way to escape from his depression. Brian Sample was simply relieved.

He knew that his pain was almost over because he had arranged a standby seat on the next flight off the planet.

The only thing I didn't understand was why he wanted to take Gloria Welle on the ride along with him. I was assuming I would never know the answer to that question. Then I recalled that the night before I'd promised Kevin Sample that I would review his father's psychotherapy history with Raymond Welle.

Maybe I would learn something about Brian Sample's motives after all.

PART FIVE. The Houseguest

I wasn't too surprised that Kimber Lister didn't immediately return my call after I'd left him a message asking for an update about A. J."s health. I knew from experience how reticent she was to discuss her illness, and Kimber had already informed me that she wanted the facts of her current condition handled with discretion.

When Kimber finally did phone, he didn't mention A. J. at all. The purpose of his call was to inform me that he was coming to Colorado to coordinate Locard's search of Gloria's Silky Road Ranch. He understood that we had a pleasant guest room and wondered if he could impose upon Lauren and me to stay in our home for one night before he headed into the mountains.

Initially, I was surprised by his request. After a moment's contemplation, I was shocked by it. Kimber Lister did not strike me as the guest-room-of-an-almost-complete-stranger type of traveler. I would have suspected him to be someone who assiduously counted guidebook stars prior to choosing his hotels.

I stammered out an invitation and told him we would be delighted to have him as our guest.

He thanked me, said he would be arriving late in the afternoon on Thursday, and asked that I send him directions to our house. I promised I would and wondered aloud if anyone else from the team would be coming to Colorado.

"Yes," he said.

"Others will be arriving. Given the political ramifications of our next move, we are proceeding with utmost caution."

"Because of the potential involvement of Dr. Welle?"

"Yes, because of the potential involvement of Dr. Welle."

Kimber arrived via Lincoln Town Car about a half hour after I got home from my office. The car was a deep navy in color and the windows were tinted as dark as the law allowed. A driver in a polo shirt and khakis deposited Kimber's luggage-two small honey-leather cases-on our tiny front porch. No money changed hands. The Lincoln kicked up a lot of dust as it exited the lane.

I'd prepared for Kimber's arrival by depositing Emily at Adrienne and Jonas's house. The sounds of her determined barking nevertheless pierced the quiet lane.

I concluded that I had been wise in deciding to introduce the dog to our guest later in the evening.

Kimber's handshake was meaty and moist. I noticed that he was sweating; tiny beads of moisture dotted his upper lip and his brow. He kept raising his chin into the air as though his collar were too tight. It wasn't. The top button of his denim shirt wasn't even closed. I worried that he was having an acute reaction to the altitude change.

"Do you mind if…?" he asked, swallowing.

"Maybe we… can-would it be all right if we moved inside your home?" He forced a smile. His usually sonorous voice was oddly hollow.

"Of course," I said.

"Please come in." I led him to the western side of the house and settled him onto a chair in the living room. The weather was putting on a show that afternoon. The sky directly to the west was a brilliant blue, but immense thunderheads had flared near the Continental Divide and were flanking Boulder to both the north and the south. Lightning jumped up from the mountainsides and lit the gray walls of the storms as the rumble of thunder shook the house.

Kimber didn't seem to notice any of it. He actually rotated on his chair so that his back faced the glass. I excused myself to get him a big glass of water.

Dehydration is often a major factor inhibiting altitude adjustment. By the time I returned to the living room Kimber was breathing through his open mouth, his chest rising noticeably with every inhale. One of his eyelids seemed to twitch as he blinked.

I sat down across from him and placed the water close by.

"Kimber," I said softly in my office voice, "are you all right?"

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"No. Not really." He swallowed again.

"I'm wondering, although I hate to impose further… but… do you have a room where I can rest for a… few minutes.

Someplace that's maybe… oh… not quite so bright? Darker would be great.

Ideal even." I stood and asked him to follow me. I led him downstairs to the guest room, where I pulled the curtains across the windows. His bedroom was now cool and dark. I could almost feel his sense of relief as the room fell into shadows.

"This will be fine. I think I'll, um, I'll just rest for a little bit. The travel? I'm not accustomed anymore."

"I'll be upstairs, Kimber. No rush. Please rest as long as you would like.

Later we'll discuss dinner."

"You're so kind," he said. As I pulled the door closed I saw that he was already flat on his back on the bed, a pillow plopped over his face.

I wondered about migraines.

As Lauren arrived home from work, her car was being tailed by a Ford Taurus driven by Russ Claven. His front-seat passenger was Flynn Coe. The patch on Flynn's eye that day was egg-yolk yellow. From a distance I thought it looked like corduroy.

I'd been outside on the lane playing a game with the dog and Jonas that involved my alternately throwing tennis balls for Emily to run after and not retrieve and for Jonas to jump at and not catch. At the sound of the cars I scrambled to corral both the child and the dog.