Not even remotely, Greco thought, and with a grunt that could be taken as assent, he turned to face Richard Walker. He looks younger than forty-six-was Greco’s first thought. Walker ’s eyes were his most remarkable feature-sapphire, and set far apart. His features were rugged. He was medium in height, with a boxer’s solid body and thick arms. He would not have looked out of place in a gym, Greco decided. Walker ’s dark blue suit was obviously expensive but with his thick frame was not shown off to advantage.

When it was clear that Greco had no intention of discussing art, Walker suggested they go into his private office. On the way he kept up a running commentary on how many family fortunes were based on people having the ability to spot genius in an unknown painter. “Of course, you hear it in every field,” he said as he went around to his desk and waved Greco to a chair opposite it. “My grandfather used to tell the story of how Max Hirsch, the legendary horse trainer, turned down the chance to buy the greatest racehorse in history, Man O’ War, for one hundred dollars. Do you enjoy racing, Mr. Greco?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time for hobbies,” Greco said, his voice sounding regretful.

Walker smiled amiably. “Nor for small talk, either, I would gather. Very well. What can I do for you?”

“First I want to thank you for agreeing to let me drop in. As you may know, Susan Althorp’s mother has hired me to investigate her daughter’s disappearance.”

“I’d guess that, at least in Englewood, everybody’s heard about it,” Walker replied.

“Do you spend much time in Englewood, Mr. Walker?”

“I don’t know what ‘much time’ means. I live in Manhattan, on East Seventy-third Street. As you certainly know, my mother, Elaine Carrington, has a home on the Carrington estate, and I visit her there. She also comes into Manhattan frequently.”

“You were at the estate the night Susan Althorp disappeared?”

“I was at the party with some two hundred other people. My mother had married the present Peter Carrington’s father three years earlier. The real purpose of the party was that Carrington senior had turned seventy that year. He was very sensitive about the fact that my mother was so much younger, twenty-six years to be exact, so the party wasn’t called a birthday celebration.” Walker raised an eyebrow. “If you do your arithmetic, you’ll see that old man Carrington specialized in young women. He was forty-nine when Peter was born. Peter’s mother was much younger as well.”

Greco nodded and looked around. Walker ’s office was not large, but it was tastefully furnished with a striped blue and red love seat, creamy-white walls, and a deep-blue carper. He found the painting over the couch of old men gathered around a table playing cards more interesting than the scenes of squalor he’d seen in the gallery exhibit. A corner cabinet held several photos of Walker on the polo field, as well as a golf ball on an engraved silver tray. “A hole in one?” he asked, pointing to the ball.

“At Saint Andrew’s,” Walker said, not attempting to conceal the pride in his voice.

Greco could see that the memory of that achievement had relaxed Walker, which was what he had hoped to achieve. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “I’m trying to form a kind of overall picture of Susan Althorp. What were your impressions of her?”

“Let’s start with the fact that I knew her only slightly. She was eighteen or nineteen. I was twenty-four, had a full-time job at Sotheby’s, and lived in the city. Besides that, to be perfectly blunt, I was not particularly fond of my mother’s husband, Peter Carrington IV, nor was he of me.”

“Why did you clash?”

“We didn’t exactly clash. He offered me a trainee job in a brokerage firm he owned, where, as he put it, I could eventually make real money and not live on a shoestring. He was contemptuous of me when I declined the offer.”

“I see. But you did visit your mother frequently at his home?”

“Of course. That summer, twenty-two years ago, was very warm, and there were frequent pool parties. My mother loved to entertain. She would have their friends over regularly. Peter and Susan both attended Princeton, and their Princeton friends were around a lot. I was usually invited to bring a guest or two. It was very pleasant.”

“Were Peter and Susan considered a couple?”

“They’d been dating quite a lot. From what I saw, I thought they were falling in love, or, at least, that he was falling in love with her.”

“You mean it was one-sided?” Greco asked, his voice mild.

“I don’t mean anything. She was very outgoing. Peter was always quiet. But whenever I stopped by on weekends it seemed as though she was on the estate, playing tennis or lounging by the pool.”

“Did you stay at the Carrington home the night of the party?”

“No. I was scheduled to play in a golf foursome early the next morning, and left when the dinner ended. I didn’t stay around for the dancing.”

“Susan’s mother is convinced that your stepbrother was responsible for Susan’s death. Do you believe that?”

There was a hint of anger in Richard Walker’s eyes when he looked directly at Greco. “No, I do not,” he said crisply.

“What about Grace Carrington? You were at dinner at the estate the night she drowned. Actually the dinner was in your honor, wasn’t it?”

“Peter traveled a great deal. Grace was the sort of outgoing woman who didn’t like to be alone. She was always inviting people to dinner. When she realized my birthday was coming up, she decided that dinner that night would be a birthday celebration for me. There were just six of us there. Peter didn’t arrive until nearly the end. His plane was delayed coming home from Australia.”

“I understand that Grace drank a lot that evening.”

“Grace always drank a lot. She was in rehab several times, but could never quite make it stick. Then, when she was finally able to sustain a pregnancy after several miscarriages, we were all worried about fetal alcohol syndrome.”

“Did anyone try to stop her from drinking that evening?”

“She was great at faking it. People thought she was drinking club soda, but it was straight vodka. She was really bombed when Peter got home, and, of course, it drove him crazy to find her in that condition. But when he grabbed the drink out of her hand, poured it on the carpet, and had that outburst, it sort of shook her up. When he stormed upstairs, I remember she said, ‘I guess the party’s over.’ ”

“ ‘The party’s over’ can mean the end of more than a party,” Greco said.

“I suppose so. Grace looked very sad. My mother and I were the last to leave. I was staying at Mother’s house that night. Grace said she was going to lie down on the couch for a while. I don’t think she wanted to face Peter.”

“You and your mother left together?”

“We walked to Mother’s house. The next morning the housekeeper phoned, hysterical. She had found the body.”

“Do you believe that Grace Carrington either fell into the pool accidentally or committed suicide?”

“I can only answer that question one way.” Grace wanted that baby, and she knew Peter wanted it. Would she have deliberately taken her own life? No, unless she felt overwhelmed by her inability to stop drinking, and was panicked at the possibility that she had already damaged the fetus.”

Nicholas Greco’s manner became even friendlier as he casually asked, “Do you think Peter Carrington was angry enough to have helped his wife to end her life, perhaps after she passed out on the couch?”

This time, it was obvious to him that Richard Walker’s angry reply was both phony and forced: “That’s utterly ridiculous, Mr. Greco.”

That’s not what he believes, Greco thought as he got up to leave. But it’s what he wants me to think he believes.