"If you think of anything useful about Delroy, or anything else, I'm at the Holiday Inn for the nonce," I said.

"The what?"

"Nonce. But you can always leave a message on my answering machine in Boston."

"I'd just as soon our conversation was private," Mickey said.

"Me too," I said. "Mum's the word."

"Not nonce?"

"Mum," I said.

"You talk really funny," Mickey said.

"It's a gift," I said.

FORTY-SIX

WHEN I GOT back to the motel Herb's car was gone.

The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, Becker was sitting in the lobby, reading the paper, with his legs stretched out, so that people had to swing wide when they walked past him.

"Morning," Becker said.

"Morning."

I walked to the door of the lobby. Across the parking lot I could see Herb's car. My personal tail. On the job. I turned back to Becker.

"Breakfast?" I said.

"Had some, but I can have some more," Becker said. "I like breakfast."

We went into the dining room and sat in a booth.

"Fella outside sitting in his car with the motor running," Becker said. "Know about him?"

"Yeah. He's been assigned by Security South to follow me."

"And by luck you happened to spot him," Becker said.

"They could have tailed me with a walrus," I said, "and been better off."

The waitress brought juice and coffee. We ordered breakfast.

"You know why he's tailing you?"

"He's supposed to make sure I don't go near Three Fillies-house or stables."

"And if you do?"

"He calls for backup and they restrain me."

Becker made a little grunt that was probably his version of a laugh.

"Be my guess that you don't restrain all that easy," he said.

"Maybe it won't come to that," I said. "So far, I've been outthinking them."

Becker added some cream to his coffee, and four sugars, and stirred it carefully.

"Got some stuff back on Delroy," Becker said. "He's got a record."

"Good."

"He used to be a cop. Then he wasn't. After he wasn't he was busted twice for scamming money from women. Once in Dayton. Once in Cincinnati. Did no time-in both cases the women changed their minds at the last minute and wouldn't testify against him."

" 'Cause they still loved him?"

"Don't know," Becker said. "But here's a clue. He served three years for assault in Pennsylvania."

"Think he might have threatened the witnesses?"

"Been done," Becker said.

"It has," I said. "Where was he a cop?"

"Dayton. I called the chief up there. Chief says Delroy was shaking down prostitutes. There was a police pay raise being debated by the city council. So they let him resign quietly. Which he did."

"They get the pay raise?"

Becker drank some coffee and put the cup down and smiled.

"No."

"Bet they're glad they let him walk," I said.

"They are," Becker said. "We don't like to go public on bad cops."

"Sure," I said. "Who'd he assault?"

"Don't know," Becker said. "Probably some nosy Yankee private eye trying to get the goods on him."

"Anyone would," I said. "You know what I'd like to see?"

"I've always wondered," Becker said.

The waitress brought our breakfast. Becker really did like breakfast-he had eggs and bacon and pancakes and a side of home fries. I had a couple of biscuits.

"I'd like to see Clive's last will and testament."

"Thought you talked to Vallone."

"I did. But I don't think Vallone says everything he knows all the time. In fact, call me crazy, but I don't think Vallone tells the truth all the time."

"And him an officer of the court," Becker said.

"What it looks like is that somebody in his family killed Clive to keep him from changing his will to include his illegitimate son."

After some work, I got a little grape jelly out of one of those little foil-covered containers and put it on my biscuit. Becker signaled the waitress for more coffee.

"They'd kill him to keep somebody from getting a quarter of what they were going to split three ways? Unless there was a lot less than we think, that doesn't make a lot of sense."

"It doesn't seem to. But what else makes any sense? He was killed two days after his DNA test confirmed Jason. Is that a coincidence?"

"Could be a coincidence," Becker said.

"And it could be a coincidence that the horse shooting stopped when Clive died."

"Or the shooter figured there was too much heat and went on vacation," Becker said.

"Sure, and the whole thing about the horse shootings and Clive being shot is just another coincidence."

"Or Clive caught the horse shooter in the act and got shot instead," Becker said.

"Which happened two days after he found out about his son?"

"It had to happen on some day," Becker said.

"Well, aren't you helpful," I said.

"I like your theory," Becker said. "But you know and I know that's all it is, a theory. You can't arrest anybody on it, and if you could, their defense lawyer would chew up our prosecutor and spit him into the street."

"Well, yeah," I said.

"So you need some goddamned evidence," Becker said. "Something for the DA to hold up in court and wave at a jury and say look at this. You know? Evidence."

"That's why I want to see that will."

"I'll get you a copy," Becker said. "It'll give me something to do."

"Here's something else you can do," I said. "I want to go out to the Clive house and rattle the cages, and I'd rather they weren't expecting me."

"I'm pretty sure I spotted several violations of the motor vehicle code on that car that's tailing you."

"Kid's name is Herb. If I was a fox I'd want him to guard the chicken coop."

"I can keep him busy for a while," Becker said. "Be kind of fun, almost like being a cop. Maybe I'll bully him a little."

The waitress put the check on the table. I paid it.

"You think this can be construed as a bribe?" Becker said.

"Sure."

"You want a receipt?"

"It'll be our secret," I said.

FORTY-SEVEN

AS I PULLED out of the hotel parking lot I could see Becker swaggering over to Herb's car, looking very much like one of those small-town southern sheriffs we fellow-traveling northerners learned to loathe during the civil rights sixties-except that he was black. I smiled at the image and then it disappeared from my rearview mirror and I was out on the highway alone in the Georgia morning, heading for town.

I found Pud and Cord eating a late breakfast together in the coffee shop downstairs from their apartment.

"I'm going out and talk to your wives," I said. "Either of you care to join me?"

"They won't let you in," Cord said.

"Security South?"

"Yes."

"I'm a little tired of Security South," I said. "I think I'll go in anyway."

Pud was wiping up his eggs with a piece of toast. He stuffed the toast in his mouth and smiled while he chewed and swallowed. His complexion was more tanned than I remembered it. His eyes were clearer.