“Must have been a strain on the corporation.”

“Yes,” he said, “but on the other hand, we had time to prepare. There were early signs- forgetfulness, wandering attention- but he’d always been an eccentric. His quirks concealed it for a while. Contacting Cross was the first thing that made me take notice- it was totally out of character. Leland had always been obsessed with his privacy, detested journalists of any sort. A change in habits indicated something seriously wrong.”

“Like the playboy phase that preceded his breakdown.”

“More serious. This was permanent. Organic. I realize now he must have felt his mind slipping away and wanted to be immortalized.”

I said, “The things that Cross described- the long hair and nails, the altar, defecating openly. They were true, then. Symptoms.”

“The book was a fraud,” he said. “Fictional trash.”

We drove on.

I said, “Convenient of Belding to die when he did. It spared him- and you- confronting Sharon and Sherry.”

“Ever so rarely Nature acts in benevolent ways.”

“If She hadn’t, I’m sure you would have figured something out. Now he can remain a benevolent figure for her. She’ll never know he wanted to kill her.”

“Do you think that knowledge would be good for her- therapeutic?”

I didn’t answer.

“My role in life,” he said, “is to solve problems, not create them. In that sense, I’m a healer. Just like yourself.”

The analogy offended me less than I’d have imagined. I said, “Taking care of others really has been your thing, hasn’t it? Belding- everything from his sex life to his public image, and when that got hard to handle, when he started going for the night life, you were there to assume executive responsibility. Your sister, Sherry, Sharon, Willow Glen, the corporation- doesn’t it weigh on you once in a while?”

I thought I saw him smile in the darkness, was certain he touched his throat and grimaced, as if it were too hard to talk.

Several miles later he said, “Have you reached a decision, Doctor?”

“About what?”

“About probing further.”

“My questions have been answered, if that’s what you mean.”

“What I mean is, will you continue to stir things up and ruin what’s left of a very ill young woman’s life?”

“Not much of a life,” I said.

“Better than any alternative. She’ll be well taken care of,” he said. “Protected. And the world will be protected from her.”

“What about after you’re gone?”

“There are men,” he said. “Competent men. A line of command. Everything’s been worked out.”

“Line of command,” I said. “Belding was a cowboy, never had one. But once he was dead, it was a different story. With no one to churn out patents, you had to hire creativity, reorganize the corporate structure. That made Magna more vulnerable to outside attack- you had to solidify your power base. Having all three of Belding’s daughters under your thumb was one big step in that direction. How’d you get Sherry to back off from her legal threats?”

“Quite simple,” he said. “I took her on a tour of corporate headquarters- our research and development center, the highest of high-technology enterprises. Told her I’d be happy to step down and have her run everything- she could be the new chairperson of Magna, bear the responsibility for fifty-two thousand employees, thousands of projects. The very thought terrified her- she wasn’t an intellectual girl, couldn’t balance a checkbook. She ran out of the building. I caught up with her and suggested an alternative.”

“Money.”

“More than she’d be able to spend in several lifetimes.”

“Now she’s gone,” I said. “No more need to make payments.”

“Doctor, you have an extremely naïve view of life. Money is the means, not the end. And the corporation would have survived-will survive, with or without me, or anyone else. When things attain a certain size, they become permanent. One can dredge a lake, not an ocean.”

“What is the end?”

“Rhythm. Balance. Keeping everything going- a certain ecology, if you will.”

A few minutes later: “You still haven’t answered my question, Doctor.”

“I won’t stir anything up. What would be the point?”

“Good. What about your detective friend?”

“He’s a realist.”

“Good for him.”

“Are you going to kill me anyway? Have Royal Hummel do his thing?”

He laughed. “Of course not. How amusing that you still see me as Attila the Hun. No, Doctor, you’re in no danger. What would be the point?”

“For one, I know your family secrets.”

“Seaman Cross redux? Another book?”

More laughter. It turned into coughing. Several miles later the ranch came into view, perfect and unreal as a movie set.

He said, “Speaking of Royal Hummel, there’s something I want you to know. He’ll no longer be functioning in a security capacity. Your comments on Linda’s death gave me quite a bit of pause- amazing what a fresh perspective will do. Royal and Victor were professionals. Accidents needn’t happen with professionals. At best, they were sloppy. At worst… You brought me insight late in life, Doctor. For that I owe you a large debt.”

“I was theorizing, Vidal. I don’t want anyone’s blood on my conscience, not even Hummel’s.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, will you please stop being melodramatic, young man! No one’s blood is at stake. Royal simply has a new job. Cleaning our chicken coops. Several tons of guano need to be shoveled each day. He’s getting on in years, his blood pressure’s too high, but he’ll manage.”

“What if he refuses?”

“Oh, he won’t.”

He aimed the vehicle at the empty corral.

“You gave the silent-partner photo to Kruse,” I said. “The girls were photographed over there.”

“Fascinating the things one dredges up in old attics.”

“Why?” I said. “Why’d you let Kruse go on for so long?”

“At one point, until recently, I believed he was helping Sharon- helping both of them. He was a charismatic man, very articulate.”

“But he was bleeding your sister before he met Sharon. Twenty years of blackmail- of mind games.”

He put the buggy in idle and looked at me. All the charm had dropped away, and I saw the same cold rawness in his eyes that I’d just witnessed in Sharon’s. Genes… The collective unconscious…

“Be that as it may, Doctor. Be that as it may.”

He drove quickly, stopped the buggy and parked.

We got out and walked toward the patio. Two men in dark clothing and ski masks stood waiting. One held a dark piece of elastic.

“Please don’t be frightened,” said Vidal. “That will come off as soon as it’s safe for both of us. You’ll be delivered safe and sound. Try to enjoy the ride.”

“Why don’t I feel reassured?”

More laughter, dry and forced. “Doctor, it’s been stimulating. Who knows, we may meet again one day- another party.”

“I don’t think so. I hate parties.”

“To tell the truth,” he said, “I’ve tired of them myself.” He turned serious. “But given even a slim chance that we do come face to face, I’d appreciate it if you don’t acknowledge me. Invoke professional confidentiality and pretend we’ve never met.”

“No problem there.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve comported yourself as a gentleman. Is there anything else?”

“Lourdes Escobar, the maid. A true innocent victim.”

“Compensation’s been made in that regard.”

“Dammit, Vidal, money can’t fix everything!”

“It can’t fix anything,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, during the time she lived in the States, half of her family was wiped out by the guerrillas. Same death, no compensation. Those who survived were tortured, their homes burned to the ground. They’ve been granted immigration papers, brought over here, set up with businesses, given land. Compared to life itself, admittedly feeble, but the best I can offer. Any additional suggestions?”