"Boyfriend?"

"She's human."

I backed off inside and considered, bitten by sudden suspicion. She'd run into Morley's place when she was in trouble. She'd shown no sign of knowing him, but... No. He wouldn't. His need to take risks wouldn't push him that far. Would it?

The Dead Man intervened. Gentlemen, I sense the approach of persons I must interview. I will be at that all night. Garrett. I suggest you rest till morning. I may have suggestions for you then. Apparently he'd shuffled through Morley's head and had gotten what he wanted. If there'd been anything there.

Sometimes that was arguable.

I was wound up more than I realized. "I could start—" Like I was eager to get to work.

If I calculate accurately, we have eleven or twelve days before the killer acts again. That should be ample time. The wheels of the law and Mr. Contague's organization will grind every clue fine by then. There is no need to rush and risk doing ourselves harm.

What? He was going to stamp his approval on my loafing? I'm no fool. I hustled Morley out the front door, brought in the couple I ran into there, introduced them to the Dead Man as the parents of the first victim, then headed upstairs.

As soon as I was flat on my back I thought of fifty things I should have discussed with Morley. Like did he have any idea who those brunos were who stormed into his place after Chodo's brat? He would have tried to find out. I knew him. After he'd brooded awhile he'd have decided that booting them around and chucking them out in the rain wasn't good enough. He'd want a whack at the guy who'd sent them.

He might be miles ahead of me.

I let my thoughts drift back to what had happened, went over it, seeking a clue.

Nothing that special about the three men. If you had the money, you could recruit a thousand like them. Only thing remarkable was that they'd dared invade a place owned by Morley Dotes. Local professionals knew better. Those three hadn't had out-of-town accents. Therefore, they weren't professionals. Not streetside, anyhow. I didn't doubt they were professional thugs.

Which led me off blue-skying. Who had thugs on staff who wouldn't get into the streets much? Only priests and people on the Hill. The priest angle was so juicy I set it aside to look at the other first.

Off the Hill? A lunatic up there would be in a fine position to observe the movements of prospective victims. I tried to recall the appearance of the old geek with butterfly indigestion. That didn't match any Hill people I knew.

What about the coach? I recalled it, though details were getting vague. Big, black, and fancy. A custom four-horse job. Silver brightwork. The killer had money.

Couldn't be many coaches like it.

I fought it for fifteen minutes but it was a struggle foredoomed. Eventually I swung my legs off the bed, got up, and hunked downstairs. So much for good intentions. I donned a cloak and, marvel of marvels, a hat. The hat was Dean's. I didn't think he'd miss it.

Saucerhead came to see what I was up to. "I'm going out for a while. Shouldn't be long." I scowled at the closed door to the small front room. "Tell Dean that if that cat's still here when I get back, they both go out in the rain."

I went to see a friend. His name was Playmate. He was nine feet tall and black as coal, big enough to make Saucerhead nervous. But he was as gentle as a lamb and religious to boot. He was in the stable business. He owed me. Early in both our careers I'd saved him from human sharks.

He never ceased to amaze me. No matter what time I showed, no matter how inconvenient my appearance, he was always glad to see me. This time was no exception. "Garrett!" he boomed when I strolled into his stable. He dropped a curry comb and bounded toward me, swept me up in a ferocious hug. He turned me loose only after I started squawking like a bagpipe.

"Damn, Playmate, sometimes I wish you was a woman. Nobody else is excited to see me."

"Your own fault. Come around more often. Maybe you wear out your welcome."

"Yeah. It's been a rough year. I've been neglecting my friends."

" 'Specially that little bit, Maya."

I forgot my mission momentarily. "You've seen Maya? I thought she left town."

"Been a while, come to think. She used to come around, help out some, just 'cause she liked the horses."

"I knew there had to be something wrong with her."

The look he gave me told me more than he could have said in words. Maya had cried on his shoulder. I couldn't really look him in the eye. He said, "You've been having troubles all the way around, I hear. Miss Tinnie. Somebody named Winger."

He was implying it, so I said it. "Yeah. I have a way with the girls. The wrong way."

"Come over here and sit. I have a pony keg I've been nursing. Should be a sip or two left."

Which was all right by me, except it would be warm brew. Playmate liked his beer warm. I prefer mine just about ready to turn to chunks. But he was offering beer. Right then I had an inclination to surround several gallons. I settled on an old saddle, accepted a big pewter mug. Playmate plopped his behind on a sawhorse.

"Trouble is," he told me, "those gals all been growing up, getting interested in something besides fun."

"I know." It's hell, getting older.

"Don't mind me. It's the preacher getting out."

I knew that too. Back when I saved his bacon, he'd been thinking of getting into the religion racket on his own. He'd have done good but wouldn't have gotten very big. TunFaire has a thousand cults. Always there are plenty of disenchanted would-be believers eager to sign on with the thousand-and-oneth. Playmate had taken a look around, decided that he was insufficiently cynical and dishonest to make a real go of it. He may be religious personally, but he's practical.

"The preacher is right, Playmate. And it's maybe him I need to talk to."

"Problem?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so, soon as I saw you."

What a genius. With Playmate I commit the same sin as with Morley. I don't go around unless I need help.

I resolved to do better in the future.

Right, Garrett. Duck! Here comes a low-flying pig.

I laid it out for Playmate. I didn't hold back. My story upset him so badly I was sorry I hadn't softened it some. "Who'd want to go and do something like that, Garrett? Killing little girls."

They hadn't been little, but that was beside the point. "I don't know. I mean to find out. That's where I thought you might help. That coach outside Morley's wasn't any junker or rental. I don't think there's another like it. Nearest I've ever seen is Chodo Contague's coach. And it didn't have the gaudy silver brightwork."

Playmate frowned at every mention of Morley Dotes. He didn't approve of Morley. He frowned again when I mentioned Chodo. If Playmate was the kind to keep a little list, the first name on his would be Chodo Contague. He sees Chodo as a cause of social ills rather than as an effect.

"Custom coach?"

"I'd guess so."

"And similar to Chodo Contague's."

"A little bigger and even fancier. Silver trim and a lot of carving. Tell you anything? Know whose it is?"

"Don't know that, but I can make a good guess who built it. If it was built in TunFaire."

Bingo! I almost let out a whoop. Maybe I did let out a whoop. Playmate looked at me oddly for a moment, then grinned shyly. "Helped some?"

"As soon as you tell me that coachmaker's name."

"Atwood. Linden Atwood."

That name meant nothing to me. At my income level I don't buy many custom-built coaches. I don't hang out with those who do. "Where would I find Mr. Linden Atwood, coachmaker?"

"Tinkery Row."