"Why, for God's sake, man, I'm Dolly's attorney. She has only to ask me directly."

"She asked me to ask you directly," I said.

"I don't know that."

"No, nor should you care a hell of a lot. We both know if I want to go to a little trouble I can find this out. It's a matter of public record."

"So why come to me?"

"You're closer," I said.

He smiled a wide smile, a good old Georgia boy, friendly as lemon cake.

"But not necessarily easier," he said.

"And there are things I want to know that may not be a matter of public record," I said.

"I don't see how I can help you," he said.

"You represented Walter Clive?"

"Yes."

"And now you represent the Clive estate."

"I do."

"You represent Dolly as well," I said.

"I just told you I do."

"Dolly feels that the estate is screwing her and her son."

"She's never said that to me."

"She claims she has."

"Spenser, you better understand some things about Dolly," Vallone said. "She is not one to miss anything she sees as the main chance."

"So if this ends up in court, are you going to be attorney for both sides?"

"It won't end up in court."

"It might, or I might boogie on up to Atlanta and talk with the Georgia Bar Association."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It makes people laugh when I mention it," I said. "But the bar association has an ethics committee."

"I'm perfectly aware," he said, "of the bar association. My efforts in this case have been motivated solely by the best interests of everyone involved."

"So who are Clive's heirs? The three daughters?"

Vallone dipped his head a little in some kind of acknowledgment.

"Yes," he said.

"Solely."

"Yes."

"Was he planning to rewrite his will, or in the process of it, or any such thing?"

"No."

"Never mentioned looking out for Dolly or her son?"

"Her son?" Vallone said. "I understand why he might have taken care of Dolly, but the son rendered him no service."

"Dolly says he was Clive's son as well."

"Walter Clive's son? That's absurd. The boy is in his middle twenties. Walter was only with Dolly for, what, eight or ten years."

"There's a story there, but it doesn't matter."

"I'd be happy to listen."

"In all honesty, Mr. Vallone, I'd need to know a little more about why you're asking, and a little more specifically what you want to know."

Vallone let his chair lean forward. He opened a cigar humidor. He offered me one, and I shook my head. He selected one slightly smaller than a Little League bat and snipped it and lit it and leaned back and smoked it for a minute. Then he laughed.

"By God, sir," he said. "Just, goddamned, by God."

THIRTY-ONE

I HAD BREAKFAST with Dr. Larry Klein at the hospital cafeteria at six in the morning.

"I'm sorry to be so early," he said when I sat down, "but I have rounds at six-thirty and patients all day."

"I don't mind," I said. "Maybe I'll catch a worm."

Klein was older than I was expecting. He was smallish and wiry and looked like he might have been the off guard at a small college who got by on his set shot. I had juice, coffee, and a corn muffin. Klein was eating two frosted sweet rolls that would have sickened a coyote.

"You represent Dolly Hartman?" he said.

"Yes."

"I like Dolly," he said.

He put most of a pat of butter on one of his sweet rolls.

"Me too," I said. "Were you her physician as well as Walter Clive's?"

"Yes."

"Did Walter Clive undergo DNA testing?"

Klein sat back a little and looked at me. Around me, in the small cafeteria, nurses and patients and bleary-eyed interns were shuffling along the food line, loading up on stuff that would challenge the vascular system of a Kenyan marathoner. I could almost hear the arteries clogging all over the room. If Klein heard them he didn't seem worried.

"Why do you ask?" Klein said.

"I'd heard he was trying to establish a question of paternity."

Klein ate some of his sweet roll, and chewed thoughtfully, and drank some coffee and wiped his mouth on his napkin.

"I'm thinking about ethics," he said.

"Always nice to find someone who does," I said.

"If I may ask," Klein said, "what is the, ah, thrust of your question?"

"Dolly Hartman says that Jason is Walter's son. I thought if it was true, it might help me to find out who killed Walter."

"I don't see how."

"Well, with all due respect, Doctor, you probably don't have to see how. But in the murder of a wealthy person, it's good to eliminate all the heirs."

Klein nodded. He buttered his second sweet roll.

"Yes, I can see how it would help. Is Jason mentioned in Walter's will?"

"Apparently not," I said.

Klein swallowed some sweet roll and drank the remainder of his coffee and looked at his watch.

"I'm going to get some more coffee," he said. "Care for any?"

"This is fine," I said.

Klein got up and went to the counter. I looked around at the room, which was painted with some sort of horse-country scene of riders in red coats, and dogs and rolling countryside. Klein came back with more coffee and sat down. I smiled at him. Friendly as a guy selling siding. He drank some coffee and set the cup down and looked at me. I waited.

"They were father and son," Klein said.

"Who knows that?"

"Me."

"You haven't told anyone?"

"I told Walter. No one else has asked until you."

"You didn't tell Dolly? Or her kid?"

"I was, to tell you the truth, uncertain as to what my responsibility was. I have worried at it every day until now. In a way I'm glad you showed up."

"Was Clive secretive about the test?" I said.

"Very. He took it under a pseudonym."

"And you've told no one."

"No. Why?"

"Christ, I don't know," I said. "I barely know what to ask, let alone what the answers mean."

Klein smiled. "Rather like the practice of medicine," he said.

"I don't want to hear that," I said.

"Well, it's not always true," he said.

"When the time comes, I will tell Dolly and Jason about the DNA results," I said. "But in the meantime I think we should shut up about it."

"Fine with me," Klein said. "Even in death, a patient has the right to privacy. But why do you care?"

"I'm looking for a guy who murdered someone. Anything that I know that he doesn't know is to my benefit."

Klein swallowed some more coffee. "And if the murder had something to do with the inheritance, this information might be dangerous."

"To someone," I said.

"Maybe even to him who holds it," Klein said.

"Pretty smart for an internist," I said.

"Occasionally. Mostly I'm just trying to shag the nurses."

"Be my approach," I said.

Klein looked at his watch again. "Time for rounds," he said. "If I can help, I will. I liked Walter Clive."