He fastened the chain on the door, rammed home the bolt, and lifted the phone out of its cradle as he passed. Shedding clothes, he stumbled into the bedroom. Flies buzzed heavily in and out of the open window. A bar of sunlight lay diagonally across the bed, as substantial as stone. Kincaid fell into it and slept before his face touched the rumpled sheet.

The temperature dropped quickly as the sun set and Kincaid woke with the draft of cool air against his skin. The bit of southern sky he could see through the still-open window was charcoal tinged faintly with pink. He rolled over and looked at the clock, swore, and stumbled out of bed in the direction of the shower.

Fifteen minutes later he'd managed to get himself into jeans and a pullover and was dragging a comb through his damp hair when the bell rang. All his expectations of a male version of Jasmine Dent vanished when he opened the door.

"Mr. Kincaid?" The man's question was hesitant, as if he were afraid he might be rebuffed.

Kincaid examined him, taking in the oval face and small bone structure, but there any resemblance to Jasmine ended. Theo Dent wore an extra layer of padding on his small frame, had a halo of curly brown hair shot with gray, round John Lennon specs, and eyes that were blue rather than brown.

"Mr. Dent." Kincaid held out his hand and Theo gave it a quick jerk. His palm felt damp and Kincaid had the impression that his hand trembled. "Do you have a key to your sister's flat, Mr. Dent?"

Theo shook his head. "No. No, I'm afraid not."

Kincaid thought for a moment. "You'd better come in while I hunt something up." He left Theo standing with his hands clasped in front of him, rocking on his heels, while he rooted around in the bedroom bureau drawer. When he'd worked Theft one of his regulars had given him a set of lockpicks which he had never had occasion to use.

He held up the ring of delicate wires as he returned to the sitting room, and Theo's eyebrows rose questioningly above the rims of his spectacles. "I didn't mink to look for a key when I locked up again earlier," Kincaid said in explanation. "These ought to do the trick."

"But how… I mean, it was you that found…" "Yes. I picked it a little less elegantly this morning, I'm afraid. With a paperclip." If Theo Dent wondered how Kincaid came by a set of lockpicks, he didn't ask.

They descended the stairs and Kincaid made short work of the cheap lock. As he opened the door and stepped aside, his arm brushed against Theo's, and he felt the tremor running through it. He paused and touched Theo's shoulder. "Listen. It's all right, you know. There's nothing to see. You don't even have to go in if you'd rather not. I just thought you might need to look through her papers."

Theo looked up at him, his blue eyes blinking earnestly. "No, I want to go in. I must. Forgive my being silly." He stepped past Kincaid into Jasmine's flat. His momentum carried him to the center of the sitting room, where he came to a halt, his arms hanging at his sides. He gazed at his sister's things, the jade and brass, the brightly colored silk hangings, and the neatly tucked hospital bed taking up more than its share of space.

To Kincaid's consternation tears began to slip beneath the gold spectacles and run unchecked down Theo's face. Standing among his sister's belongings he looked both pathetic and incongruous-the tweedy jacket over the pinstriped shirt and red braces seemed almost a parody of Englishness. He reminded Kincaid of the dressed-up teddy bears in shop windows.

"Here." He took Theo's arm and guided his unresisting body over to a dining chair. "Sit down." Kincaid hunted for some tissues on the table by the bed, and the sight of Jasmine's book and reading glasses sitting tidily next to the tissue box made him feel rather hollow himself. "Jasmine kept some whiskey in the cupboard," he said as he handed Theo the tissues. "We could both use something to drink."

Theo shook his head. "I'm not much of a drinker." He sniffed, took off his spectacles and wiped his face, then blew his nose. "But I suppose just a small one won't hurt."

Kincaid splashed a half-inch of whiskey in two glasses and handed one to Theo. "Cheers."

"Thanks. And please call me Theo. Under the circumstances anything else is rather absurd." They drank in silence for a few minutes, some of Theo's color returning. He buried his face in the tissues and blew, then pulled a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket and gently patted the tip of his nose.

"It's just that I didn't quite believe it," Theo spoke suddenly, as if continuing a conversation Kincaid hadn't begun, "until I came in and saw the flat empty, and the bed here in the sitting room. I didn't know about the bed."

Kincaid frowned. Jasmine had ordered the hospital bed several months ago. "How long since you'd seen your sister, Theo?"

Theo took another sip of the whiskey and contemplated the question. "Six months, I think. About that." He saw Kincaid's look of surprise. "Please don't get the wrong impression-what did you say your name was? I wasn't quite taking things in when you phoned."

"Duncan."

Theo nodded a little owlishly, and Kincaid thought he had not exaggerated his low tolerance for alcohol. "It's not that I didn't want to see my sister, Duncan, but that she didn't want to see me. Or rather," he leaned forward and waved his glass at Kincaid in emphasis, "she didn't want me to see her. After she knew she was ill she didn't en-courage me to visit." Theo leaned back in his chair and sighed. "God! She could be so stubborn. I rang up every week. Once, when I phoned and begged her to let me come she said, "Theo, I'm losing my hair. I don't want you to see me." I can't imagine her without it. Was she-"

"She did lose her hair, but it grew in again when they stopped the treatments. Quite thick and dark, like a boy's."

Theo considered this, nodded. "She always wore it long, since she was a girl. She was quite proud of it." He fell silent and closed his eyes for so long that Kincaid began to think he had dozed off. Kincaid had reached over to take the tilting glass from Theo's hand when he opened his eyes and continued as if he hadn't paused.

"Jasmine always looked after me, you see. Our mother died when I was born, our father when I was ten and Jasmine fifteen. But Father wasn't much use. It was always just the two of us, really." Theo took another sip of his drink and patted his nose again with the handkerchief. "She told me that the treatments had helped, that she was doing all right. I should have known better." He leaned back and closed his eyes again for a moment. When he opened them and spoke, his words were surprisingly bitter. "I think she couldn't bear to be at a disadvantage, couldn't bear not to be in charge. She robbed me of my only chance to repay her, to look after her the way she looked after me."

"Surely she didn't want to distress you," Kincaid suggested gently.

Theo sniffed. "Perhaps. But it would have been easier than this… this leaving things unfinished."

Deciding it unwise to offer a refill, Kincaid gathered up Theo's empty glass along with his own and washed them out in the sink. He felt unexpectedly light-headed himself, and remembered that the last thing he'd eaten had been stale sandwiches at his desk in the early morning hours. Theo's voice interrupted his thoughts before they wandered too far in the direction of food.

"The really odd thing is that she phoned me yesterday- that was odd in itself as she almost always waited for me to ring her-and said she wanted to see me this weekend. I thought she must be improving. She really sounded quite well. We made arrangements for Sunday, as I couldn't close the shop on Saturday."

A cruel trick to play on her brother, Kincaid thought, if Jasmine had intended to kill herself. He hadn't thought her capable of malice. Still, what did he know of the relationship between them, or about Theo, for that matter? He turned around and leaned against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. "What do you sell, Theo? Jasmine never said."