Lamar parked illegally at the curb, right in front of the Hermitage night door. Nashville’s only “AAA Five Diamond Award Recipient” was a gorgeous heap of Italian marble, stained-glass skylights, insets of Russian walnut carved exuberantly, restored to 1910 opulence. Locked up after eleven, the way any sensible downtown hostelry should be.

Baker rang the night bell. No one responded and he tried again. It took three more tries for someone to come to the door and peek around the side windows. Young black guy in hotel livery. When the detectives flashed I.D., the young guy blinked, took awhile to process before unlocking the door. His badge said WILLIAM.

“Yes?”

Lamar said, “Is Mr. Jack Jeffries the rock star staying here?”

William said, “We’re not allowed to give out guest- ”

Baker said, “William, if Mr. Jeffries is staying here, it’s time to switch to ‘was.’ ”

No comprehension in the young man’s eyes.

Baker said, “William, Mr. Jeffries was found dead a couple of hours ago and we’re the guys in charge.”

The eyes brightened. A hand flew to William’s mouth. “My God.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, he’s registered here.”

“Yes…sir. Oh, my God. How did it- what happened?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Lamar. “We’ll need to see his room.”

“Sure. Of course. Come in.”

They followed as William sped across the monumental lobby with its forty-foot coffered ceiling inlaid with stained glass, arched columns, brocade furniture, and potted palms. At this hour, dead-silent and sad, the way any hotel gets when stripped of humanity.

Baker remembered more motels than he could count. He thought to himself: Doesn’t matter what the tariff is, if it ain’t home, it’s a big fat nowhere.

William nearly flew behind the walnut reception desk and set about playing with his computer. “Mr. Jeffries is- was- in an eighth-floor suite. I’ll make you a key.”

“Was he staying alone?” said Baker.

“In the suite? Yes, he was.” The kid wrung his hands. “This is horrible- ”

“Alone in the suite,” said Lamar, “but…”

“He arrived with someone. That person’s staying on the fourth floor.”

“A lady?”

“No, no, a gentleman. A doctor- I guess his doctor.”

“Mr. Jeffries was sick?” said Baker.

William said, “I didn’t see any symptoms or anything like that. The other guest is a doctor- I really couldn’t tell you what it’s all about.”

“Anyone else arrive besides this doctor?”

“No, sir.”

“A doctor,” said Lamar. “Did he and Mr. Jeffries seem to be hanging out?”

“I recall them leaving together. At the end of my first shift- I do doubles when I can. Paying for college.”

“Vanderbilt?”

William stared at him. The absurdity of the suggestion. “ Tennessee State but I need to pay room and board.”

“Good for you, education’s important,” said Lamar. “What time we talking about, Mr. Jeffries and his doctor leaving?”

“I want to say eight thirty, maybe nine.”

“How was Mr. Jeffries dressed?”

“All in black,” said William. “A Chinese-type shirt- you know, one of those collarless things.”

Same outfit they’d just seen.

Baker said, “So he and this doctor went out at eight thirty or thereabouts. Did either of them return?”

“I couldn’t say. We were pretty busy, and mostly I was checking a large party of guests in.”

“Anything else you can tell us about this doctor?”

“He did the checking in for Mr. Jeffries. Mr. Jeffries just kind of stood back. Over there.” Pointing to a towering palm. “He smoked a cigarette and turned his back on the lobby like he didn’t want to be noticed.”

“And let the doctor check him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When the two of them left, what was their demeanor?”

“You mean were they in a good mood?”

“Or any other kind of mood.”

“Hmm,” said William, “I really couldn’t say. Nothing stands out in my mind one way or the other. Like I said, it was busy.”

Baker said, “But you noticed them leaving.”

“Because he’s a celebrity,” said William. “Was. I don’t know much about his music, but one of our bookkeepers is in her fifties and was really excited he was staying here.”

“Any idea why Mr. Jeffries was in Nashville?”

“Actually, I do,” said William. “I believe there’s a benefit concert at the Songbird, and he was going to sing. The performance list, according to the same bookkeeper, is quite impressive.” Deep sigh. “I know he brought his guitar with him. Bellboys were competing to carry it.”

William’s eyes rose to the glass coffers. “The doctor brought one, too. Or maybe he was just carrying Mr. Jeffries’s spare.”

“A doctor roadie,” said Baker. “What’s this person’s name?”

More fooling with the computer. “Alexander Delaware.”

“Another state of the union heard from,” said Lamar, cuffing Baker’s shoulder lightly. “Maybe he’s from The Nations.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” William was humorless. “He lists his address in Los Angeles. I can give you the zip code and his credit card information if you like.”

“Maybe later,” said Baker. “Right now, give us his room number.”

3

Room 413 was a short walk from the elevators, down a silent, plush hallway. The corridor was empty save for a few room-service trays left outside doors.

Nothing outside Dr. Alexander Delaware’s door.

Baker knocked lightly. Both detectives were surprised when a voice answered right away. “One second.”

Lamar checked his watch. It was close to six in the morning. “Guy’s up at this hour.”

Baker said, “Maybe he’s waiting for us so he can confess, Stretch. Wouldn’t that be nice and easy?”

Muffled footsteps sounded behind the door, then a blur washed across the peephole.

“Yes?” said the voice.

Baker said, “Police,” and placed his badge a few inches from the hole.

“Hold on.” A chain dropped. The doorknob rotated. Both detectives touched their weapons and stood clear of the door.

The man who opened was forty or so, good-looking, medium height, solidly built, with neatly cut dark curly hair and a pair of the lightest gray-blue eyes Lamar had ever seen. Wide eyes, so pale the irises were nearly invisible when they engaged you straight on. In the right light, that Orphan Annie thing. They were slightly red-rimmed. Boozing? Crying? Allergies brought on by Nashville ’s high pollen count? No sleep? Pick a reason.

“Dr. Delaware?”

“Yes.”

Lamar and Baker stated their names and Delaware offered his hand. Warm, firm shake. Each detective checked for fresh cuts, any evidence of a struggle. Nothing.

Delaware said, “What’s going on?” Soft voice, low-key, kind of boyish. “Is Jack okay?” He had a square jaw, a cleft chin, a Roman nose. Dressed for lounging around, in a black T-shirt, gray sweats, bare feet.

As Lamar peered past the guy, into the room, Baker had a second look at the hands: smooth, slightly oversized, with a faint spray of dark hair across the top. The nails of the left hand had been clipped short but those on the right grew just past the fingertips and were tapered to the right. Possibly a classical guitarist or some other type of fingerpicker. So maybe the second guitar was his.

No one had answered Delaware ’s question. The guy just stood there and waited.

Baker said, “Any reason Mr. Jeffries wouldn’t be okay?”

“It’s six in the morning and you’re here.”

“You’re up,” said Baker.

“Trouble sleeping,” said Delaware. “Jet lag.”

“When’d you get in, sir?”

“Jack and I got in at eleven yesterday morning and I made the mistake of taking a three-hour nap.”

“May we come in, sir?”

Delaware stepped aside. Frowning as he ushered them in.

Smallish, standard room, nothing fancy about it. A neat-freak, Lamar decided. No clothes in sight, every drawer and closet door shut. The only way you’d know the room was occupied was the guitar case near the bed, pillows propped up against the headboard and the comforter slightly mussed- indented where a body had reclined.