He married Stanford classmate KatherineAnn Steth-son, daughter of a Palo Alto department store owner, in 1933. She died in 1969. A son, Henry Ardullo, Jr., died in a mountain climbing accident in Nepal, in 1960. The senior Ardullo is survived by his other son, Scott Stethson Ardullo ofTreadway, vice president ofBestBuy Produce.

The farm is the soul of California.

It had taken the rampage of a madman to bring Henry Ardullo's nightmare home.

A family obliterated. An entire town wiped off the map. Once sentimentality had been taken care of, high real estate values had done the rest.

Sad, but I couldn't see any connection to Claire or the demons hissing in Ardis Peake's head.

Could she have had a family connection to the Ardullos? Her parents hadn't mentioned it. There seemed no reason for them to conceal history. Still, people often hid their reasons. I found a pay phone just outside the reading room, phoned the Flight Inn, and asked for the Argents' room. Rob Ray's familiar rumble said, "Yes?"

"Mr. Argent? Dr. Delaware."

"Oh. Hello."

"Sorry to bother you again, sir, but I had one more question."

"Lucky you caught us," he said. "We're on our way out the door and back home."

"I'll be quick, Mr. Argent. Do you have any relatives in California? Specifically, in the farming business?"

"Farming? Nope."

"Does the name Ardullo mean anything to you?"

"No again. I thought you might be calling about some progress-what's this all about?"

"The Ardullos were a family Claire showed some interest in-she'd read up on them, held on to some newspaper clippings."

"Were a family?" he said. "Something happened to them?"

"Unfortunately, they were murdered. Fifteen years ago, and Claire seemed to be interested in the case."

"Murdered. The whole family?" He nearly choked on the last two words. "So what- I don't mean, so what they were murdered. So what about Claire? No, I don't know them, never did. It was probably just something… professional. Doing her work. Have to go, good-bye."

"Have a good flight," I said.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "It's going to be a great flight-at least I'm getting out of your lousy city."

His anger rang in my head and I hung up feeling foolish and intrusive. What had I hoped to accomplish? What did big money and land deals have to do with Claire's murder? Now that I was thinking straight, I realized there was a simple explanation for the clippings: knowing she was transferring to Starkweather, Claire had plugged the hospital's name into some data banks, come across the description of Peake's bloody night. Once she got there, she looked him up, found him near vegetative. A challenge.

So many madmen, so little time.

After all those years in the lab, she was hungry for clinical raw meat-for a firsthand look at astounding criminal madness. Maybe she'd even intended to write Peake up, if she made some kind of progress.

She'd entered the world of madness, but-Milo's enthusiasm for Wendell Pelley aside-I wondered if that had anything to do with her death. Right at the beginning, my gut had told me someone organized-twisted but sane-had cut her throat, stashed her in the car trunk, made off with the bit of cash in the as yet undiscovered purse. Left no clues.

Maybe the same person who'd bisected Richard Dada, maybe not. Any similarities between the two cases could be explained by abnormal psychology: psychopaths weren't that original. Confront enough evil and you smell the same garbage over and over.

No voices in the head here. Maybe Pelley was now sane enough to pull it off, maybe not. In any case, I couldn't help thinking we were up against something coldhearted, orchestrated.

Murder for fun. A production.

There was nothing more I could do, so I drove home, spent some time outdoors, weeding, pruning, feeding the fish, netting leaves out of the pond.

Just before five, my service patched Heidi Ott through.

"Doctor?" She sounded buoyant. "I can't believe it, but Peake's talking again, and this time Swig can't accuse me of being hysterical. I got it on tape!"

"Tuh."

"What's that, Ardis?"

Tape buzz. I clocked it. Twenty-two seconds-

"What did you say, Ardis…? You just said something… because you want to talk to me, right, Ardis…?" Thirty-two seconds.

"Ardis? Could you open your eyes… please? " A minute. Ninety seconds, a hundred… Heidi Ott held up her finger, signaling us to be patient.

It was just before midnight, but her eyes were bright. She and Milo and I were in an interrogation room at the station- a hot, Lysol-smelling yellow closet barely large enough for the three of us. Heidi's hair was tied back and styled with a shark clip. She'd come straight from Starkweather and the clip of her I.D. badge protruded from a breast pocket. The recorder was a tiny black Sony.

"Just a bit more," she said, tapping her fingers on the steel table.

Her voice on the tape said, "Okay, Ardis. Maybe tomorrow."

Thirty-three seconds. Footsteps.

"Tuh."

"Tuh, Ardis? Two? Two what? "

Twenty-eight seconds.

"Ardis? "

"Tuhguh."

"Togo?"

"Tuh guh choo choo bang bang."

"Togo choo choo bang bang? Whatdoes that mean, Ardis? "

Fifteen seconds.

"Choo choo bang bang, Ardis? Is that some sort of game? "

Eighteen seconds.

"Ardis? What's choo choo bang bang? "

Thirty seconds, forty, fifty.

"What does it mean, Ardis? "

Eighty-three seconds. Click.

She said, "At that point, he turned away from me, wouldn't open his eyes. I waited awhile longer, but I knew it was all I was going to get out of him."

" 'Choo choo bang bang,' " said Milo.

She colored. "I know. It's pretty stupid, isn't it? I guess I shouldn't have gotten so jazzed. But at least it's something, right? He's talking to me. Maybe he'll keep talking."

"Where'd you keep the recorder?" I said.

"In my pocket." She pointed to the navy photographer's vest she'd draped over her chair. "I tried yesterday, too, but nothing happened."

" 'Choo choo bang bang,' " said Milo. " 'Bad eyes in a box.' "

"I've been trying to figure out some connection," said Heidi. Suddenly, she looked very tired. "Probably wasting your time. Sorry."

"No, no," said Milo. "I appreciate your help. I'd like to keep the tape."

"Sure." She popped it out of the machine, gave it to him, placed the recorder back in the vest pocket, collected her purse, and stood.

Milo held out a hand and they shook. "Thanks," he said. "Really. Any information is helpful."

She shrugged. "I guess.… Want me to keep taping?"

"I don't want you to do anything that violates regulations."

"Never heard of any regulation against taping."

"It's generally illegal to tape anyone without their knowledge, Heidi. Jail prisoners lose the presumption of privacy, but whether or not that applies to the men at Starkweather, I don't know."

"Okay," she said. "So I won't do it anymore." Shrugging, she moved toward the door. "Kind of strange, isn't it? Protecting them. That's another reason I don't want to stick around."

"What's that?"

"Swig talks all the time about humane care, how they're human beings, too. But I just can't find much sympathy for them, and I'd rather work with people I care about. -At least they can't leave. I guess that's the main thing."

"Speaking of which," said Milo. "One of them did get out."

Her knuckles whitened around the purse handle. "I never heard that. When?"

"Before you came on staff."

"Who? What was his name?"

"Wendell Pelley."

"No," she said. "Never heard of him-why, is he some sort of suspect in Claire's murder?"

"No," said Milo. "Not yet. I'm just trying to cover all bases. Anything you could find out about Pelley would be useful. Like, did he and Peake associate with each other."