“No, not exactly.”

“If you tell me the name of the member, I’ll see if a visit can be arranged.”

“Lawrence Cutlip.”

“Oh, my, isn’t Mr. Cutlip having a busy day. Sit down, Mr.” – she turned the book around to check my name – “Mr. Carl, and I’ll see what we can arrange.”

“Should we go to his room?”

“That won’t be necessary. Many of our members have private aides to help them during their event-filled days here at Desert Winds. Mr. Cutlip is one of the lucky ones.”

Lawrence Cutlip. It was a name in a file I had taken from Hailey’s safe-deposit box and put into my briefcase. I had taken a lot of things from that box. I had taken old photographs; I had taken letters, love letters not addressed to me; I had taken a maroon folder with the medical file of Juan Gonzalez, surprise, surprise; I had taken cash – not all the cash, and there was quite a bit there, over eighty thousand, but enough to provide a retainer for my defense of Guy. Taking the cash was only fair, I figured, since the money was undoubtedly part of the funds transferred out of Guy and Hailey’s joint account by Hailey’s unilateral act, but I left even more cash than I took to allay suspicion. When the detectives eventually searched the box, they’d have to assume nothing was taken. I mean, what kind of jerk would empty a safe-deposit box and accidentally leave fifty thousand dollars?

The file in which I had found Lawrence Cutlip’s name contained two life insurance policies, the very policies Guy had been searching for. One was made out in the name of Guy Forrest, with Leila Forrest as the main beneficiary. Accompanying that policy was a copy of a change-in-beneficiary notice that made Hailey Prouix the new beneficiary to the extent the law allowed, since some funds would still, by law, go to Leila, the wife. The other was a policy made out in the name of Hailey Prouix, with the sole beneficiary being not Guy Forrest, as Guy had expected, but one Lawrence Cutlip. Who was this Lawrence Cutlip, important enough to Hailey Prouix to be the sole beneficiary on her life insurance at the expense of her fiancé? Lawrence Cutlip. I had never heard the name before but I had a guess who he was. And I also had a guess as to exactly where I’d find him, a guess confirmed with a quick phone call. Which was why Beth and I had taken the convertible east on Interstate 215 to Henderson and the Desert Winds retirement home.

We were directed to one of the large buildings off to the side and then led through a hallway with a thick blue rug and no smell of piss or green beans. That was how you could tell for sure it was an upscale old-age joint. It smelled instead like a summer meadow, it smelled of daisies, it smelled like a preview of coming attractions.

“What exactly are we doing here?” asked Beth as we followed our guide.

“Hailey Prouix transferred the money missing from her and Guy’s account to the bank we visited this morning. In addition, she made a number of calls to right here, undoubtedly to this Lawrence Cutlip.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my sources,” I said. “They’re very flexible as to payments here at Desert Winds. You can either pay your exorbitant monthly bill in advance, or pay an even more exorbitant lump sum up front, which works like an annuity. My guess is that the Gonzalez money went into a lump-sum purchase of Cutlip’s spot at this lovely facility. And he’s the main beneficiary on her life insurance instead of Guy. I want to know why.”

“To what end?”

“To save Guy, we need to find a killer. To do that, we need to learn what we can about the victim, to see if there was something in her life that caused her death.”

“Blame the victim.”

“Or find someone else to blame, anyone but Guy.”

“We already have the mystery man she was sleeping with.”

“When it comes to suspects, it’s like the invitation list to a college keg party: the more the merrier.”

We were led outside the building to a little walled courtyard with a flooring of red brick. It was a sunny day, as relentlessly sunny as the staff was relentlessly cheerful, and Beth had put on her sunglasses, but with a few well-tended trees and bright umbrellas, much of the courtyard was in shade. We sat at a small table beneath the ethereal leaf network of a twisting mesquite tree and waited. It was quiet, remarkably so. No wind in the flora, no calls or hoots from the fauna. All of Henderson was quiet, I had noticed, as if exuberance had been outlawed by the city fathers as nonconducive to further growth. We sat at the table and waited until a swinging door swung open and a tall, snaggletoothed man with long blond hair and bad skin wheeled what was left of Lawrence Cutlip into the courtyard.

You could tell that at one point in his life Lawrence Cutlip had been an imposing man, tall of limb, broad of shoulder, with a heavy jaw and stern dark eyes, but he wasn’t imposing anymore. He slumped in his wheelchair like a sack of bones, his stockinged feet resting on the risers like lumps of clay. A thin plastic line lay just beneath his nose, feeding oxygen into his nostrils from a tank attached to the rear of his chair, and his mouth was perpetually open, as if the effort to close it was too much now to bear. In the ugly open maw could be seen irregular clumps of yellowed teeth. But despite his evident decay, his eyes were still stern and dark and very much alert. Hailey’s uncle, I assumed.

“Leave it here, Bobo,” said Cutlip in a gruff country voice, wheezing all the while, as the attendant placed his chair facing us.

Bobo, remaining behind the chair, began scratching at one of his wrists. Both of Bobo’s arms were covered with scabs from his fingertips to the short sleeves of his white shirt, as if he had a colony of chiggers breeding like crazy beneath his skin.

“You here to see me?” said Cutlip.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“What can I do you for?”

“We came to talk to you about your niece.”

“Which one?”

“Hailey.”

“Yeah, well, she’s dead, ain’t she?” Cutlip fought to catch his breath even as he spoke, and his wheeze grew louder. “What else is there to know?”

“I wondered if you were aware, Mr. Cutlip, that you were named beneficiary on her life insurance policy.”

His eyes widened for a instant and then he smiled. “Course I knowed. I was wondering when one of you clucks from the insurance company was going to show ’round here with the check. Hand it on over.”

“I don’t have your check.”

“What the hell’s keeping it, then? I been waiting days and days.”

“I suppose nothing’s going to happen with the check until they figure out exactly who killed her.”

“They arrested that bastard boyfriend of hers, didn’t they? I told her he was no good, I told her she was making a mistake.” He coughed and fought for a breath and his coughing calmed. “She wasn’t the marrying kind, Hailey. I don’t know what the hell she was thinking. Then again, I never did know with her. But I ain’t surprised that he kilt her. She could drive men crazy, Hailey could, drive ’em straight out of they right minds. I almost feel sorry for what he walked into. Almost. And now I hear he got himself some smart Jew lawyer that’s aiming to give him a walk.”

“That would be me,” I said.

“Son of a bitch.”

“My name’s Victor Carl, and yes I am.”

His face grew red and he struggled for air. “Let’s get out of here, Bobo.”

“I think you’ll want to talk to us, Mr. Cutlip.”

Bobo started to pull back the chair, but Cutlip raised his hand. “Why the hell is that?”

“With me is my partner Beth Derringer. We represent Guy Forrest, and we have some questions.”

“What makes you think I got any answers I’d be willing to share with a peckerhead like you?”

“Because I figure we’re both after the same thing, trying to find out who it was who really killed your niece and make sure he’s punished.”