"No buck-passing when it's yours," said Rob Ray. "Also, I don't travel well-my size. But so what? This had nothing to do with Claire's trip home or her problems. There'd be no reason for anyone to hate her; this had to be some maniac on the loose-somewhere from that place she worked." His skin had deepened to scarlet and his words emerged between rough inhalations. "I tell you, I find out anyone put her in danger, I'll- Let's just say a lot of lives are going to be made miserable."

"Darling," said his wife, patting his knee. To us: "What my husband's saying is, Claire was kind and generous and sweet. No one could've hated her."

"Generous to the nth," Rob Ray agreed. "Back in high school, she was always the first to volunteer to help others. Old people at the hospital, animals at the shelter-didn't matter, she was there at the head of the line. She loved animals especially. We used to have a dog, a little Scottie. You know how kids never take responsibility with pets, it's always the parents who end up with it. Not our situation. Claire did everything, feeding it, cleaning up after it. She was always trying to fix things-broken wings on bugs, anything. We knew she'd be some kind of doctor, I would've guessed a veterinarian, but psychologist was fine. She always got good grades-it doesn't make sense, Detective Sturgis. At the morgue-what we just saw-I just don't… It had to be a maniac-this Starkweather place is nothing but maniacs?"

"Yes, sir," said Milo. "It's the first thing we looked at. So far, no leads. Apparently the inmates never get out."

"Sure," said Rob Ray. "Isn't there always some screwup that lets someone out? Some stupid mistake?" Tears began coursing silently down the jelly of his cheeks.

"You're right, sir," said Milo. "But so far I haven't come up with anything."

His tone had gentled; suddenly he seemed like a much younger man.

"Well," said Rob Ray. "I can tell you're good people. Where you from originally? Your folks, I mean."

"Indiana."

Satisfied nod. "I know you're trying."

Suddenly one log-arm moved with astonishing speed, slamming upward to the big man's face, as he ground the handkerchief to his eyes.

"Oh, Rob," said his wife, and she was crying again, too.

Milo went into the bathroom and brought them water.

Rob Ray Argent said, "Thanks, I'm supposed to drink a lot, anyway. For my joints, keep them lubricated." Half a shrug made his sloping shoulders jiggle. He plucked shirt fabric out of a fat fold.

Milo said, "So Claire visited only on Christmas."

"Yes, sir."

"Is that since she moved to Los Angeles or since she went to graduate school in Cleveland?"

"Los Angeles," said Rob Ray. "When she was at Case Western she came home for Thanksgiving, Easter, summers. She helped us out in the store, summers."

"Once she moved to L.A., how often did she write?"

Silence.

"We're phoners, not writers," said Ernestine. "Long distance is so economical nowadays. We have one of those calling plans."

I remembered Claire's phone bills. No recent calls to Pittsburgh. Had she dialed her parents from the office? Or had she become a stranger to them? Adding them to the club of strangers we'd encountered at every turn?

"So she called," said Milo.

"That's right," said Ernestine. "Every so often."

Milo scribbled. "What about her marriage? And the divorce. Anything I should know about that?"

Ernestine lowered her eyes. Her husband took a long, noisy breath.

"She said she'd gotten married in Reno," he said. "Soon after. One of her calls."

"So she told you over the phone," said Milo. "Did she seem happy about it?"

"I'd say yes," said Ernestine. "She apologized for not telling us before, said it was one of those sudden things- love at first sight. She said the husband was a nice fellow. A lawyer."

"But you never met him."

"I'm sure we would've, but Claire didn't stay married to him very long."

Two years, no contact.

"So she visited on Christmas while she was married."

"No," said Ernestine. "Not during the marriage. Last Christmas she was divorced already."

Milo said, "Did she explain why she got divorced?"

"She called after it happened, said she was fine, everything was friendly."

"She used that word?" said Milo." 'Friendly.' "

"Or something to that effect. She was trying to reassure me. That was Claire. Take care of everyone else."

She glanced at her husband. He said, "I know this sounds weird to you-our not meeting him. No big white wedding. But Claire always needed her freedom. She- It was-That's just the way she was. Give her her freedom and she got straight A's. She was always a good kid-a great kid. Who were we to argue? You do your best, who knows how your kids are going to turn out? She turned out great. We gave her freedom."

Focusing on me during most of the speech. I nodded.

"We asked to meet him," he said. "The husband. She said she'd bring him by, but she never did. I got the feeling it didn't work too well from the beginning."

"Why's that?"

"Because she never brought him out."

"But she never actually complained about the marriage," said Milo.

"She never said she was unhappy," said Rob Ray, "if that's what you're getting at. Why? Do you suspect him of having anything to do with it?"

"No," said Milo. "Just trying to learn what I can."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely, sir. At this point, he's not a suspect. No one is, unfortunately."

"Well," said Rob Ray, "I know you'd tell us if it was different. The only mention she made of him was sometimes at the end of a conversation, she might say, 'Joe sends his regards.' She did say he was a lawyer, not a courtroom lawyer, a business lawyer. When she called he was never home. I got the feeling he was always working. She was, too. One of those modern marriages. That's probably what happened, they were too busy for each other."

Ernestine said, "She did send us a picture. Of the wedding- the chapel. So we knew what he looked like. A redhead.

I remember joking to Rob Ray about little ginger-haired grandchildren."

She started to cry again, checked it, apologized under her breath.

Rob Ray said, "You'd have to know the kind of girl she was to understand. Very independent. She always took care of herself."

"Took care of others, too," I said.

"Exactly. So you can see why she'd need to unwind. And she unwinds by going off by herself to the movies. Or reading a book. Privacy's a big thing with her, so we try to respect that. Mostly she does things by herself. Except when we go out to the movies together. She likes doing that with me- we're both crazy for the movies."

The lapse into present tense made my own eyes begin to ache.

He might've realized it, too. His shoulders lowered suddenly, as if someone had pushed down upon them, and he stared at the bedcovers.

"Any particular kind of movies?" I said.

"Anything good," he mumbled. His face stayed down. "It was something we did together. I never pushed her to do sports. Tell the truth, being large, I wasn't exactly ready to run around, myself, so I was glad she was that kind of kid, could sit still and watch a movie."

"Even when she was tiny," said Ernestine, "she could amuse herself. She was the sweetest little thing. I could leave her in her playpen, go about my housework, and no matter what was happening all around her, she'd just sit there and play with whatever you put in there."

"Creating her own world," I said.

Her smile was sudden, unsettling. "Exactly, Doctor. You put your ringer right on it. No matter what was happening all around her, she created her own world."

No matter what was happening all around her Second time she'd used the phrase within seconds. Did it imply some kind of family turmoil?

I said, "Privacy as an escape."