Tommey gave him a searching look, thinking he was handsome enough to be in the business except that he showed no fire, no passion, he would be stone cold dead on the screen. She lost interest. "I'm just leaving," she said as she shook his hand. "I'm very sorry about your father. By the way, you're welcome on my set, Claudia and Athena vouch for you even though you're one of the producers."

For the first time Cross was going to watch Athena work on a movie set, to see her act out false emotions, to be someone other than herself.

Cross became aware of the other woman. She was sort of dark chocolate with an outrageously insolent face and a terrific body, which her clothes flaunted. Falene was far less formal than Tommey.

He met Claudia in her office at the LoddStone lot, they would watch Athena together. There were two other women in the office, and Claudia introduced them. "This is my brother Cross and this is the director, Dita Tommey. And Falene Fant, who is working today in the picture."

"I didn't know Claudia had such a handsome brother -- and rich, too, from what I hear. If you ever need somebody to keep you company at dinner, give me a call," Falene said.

Claudia said, "We were just giving Falene a little more to do in the film. Dita thinks she's talented and so do I."

"I will," Cross said. He was not surprised by the invitation. Plenty of the showgirls and dancers at the Xanadu had been just as direct. This was a girl who was naturally flirtatious, aware of her beauty, and not about to let a man she liked the looks of escape because of social rules.

Cross sensed something in her, something she was trying to hide, despite her vivaciousness.

Falene leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell her perfume, which was heavy and erotic, and then he felt the grateful hug for his goodwill. Then she leaned back. "I have to tell you and Claudia something but in secret. I don't want to get into trouble, especially now."

"I'm just one of the money men," Cross said. "Everybody has to shake their ass at some time or another." He smiled and said with charming simplicity, "Anyway, I wish you luck."

Falene gave Cross a big grin. "Yeah, now I shake my ass ten times instead of six. And I get to say to Messalina, "All the women of Rome love you and hope for your victory." " She paused for a minute and said, "I hear you're one of the producers. Maybe you can get them to let me shake my ass twenty times."

Claudia was silent. Falene waved to her and went out the door, then came back. "Remember," she said, "it's a secret between us."

"It's all gone and forgotten," Cross said with his most re-assuring smile. "And your story won't change anything."

Falene noticed these responses. Her voice faltered a little. "I'm sorry about your father," she said. "But there's something you should hear about. Marlowe, the guy who supposedly mugged him, was a kid I grew up with and I knew him really well. Supposedly that detective Jim Losey shot Marlowe who supposedly shot your father. But I know Marlowe never had a gun. He was scared shitless of guns. Marlowe did small-time drugs and played the clarinet. And he was such a sweet coward. Jim Losey and his partner, Phil Sharkey, used to pick him up sometimes and ride him around so that he could spot dealers for them. Marlowe was so scared of jail, he was a police informant. All of a sudden he's a mugger and a murderer. I know Marlowe, he wouldn't harm a soul."

Claudia, sitting at her computer, frowned and did not answer. Cross took a step away from Falene. He did not like surprises.

"I just had to get it off my chest," Falene said. "Marlowe was such a good kid." She left.

"What do you think?" Claudia said to Cross. "What the hell could that be about?"

Cross looked at her stone-faced. "Everybody gets unlucky once."

Cross shrugged. "Druggies are always full of surprises. He needed dope money and he does a stickup and he gets unlucky."

He spent the rest of the afternoon watching scenes being shot. One scene showed the hero, unarmed, defeating three armed men. This offended him, it was ridiculous. A hero should never be put in such a hopeless position. All it proved was that he was too dumb to be a hero. Then he watched Athena do a love scene and a quarrel scene. He was a little disappointed, she seemed to do little acting, the other actors seemed to outshine her. Cross was too inexperienced to know that what Athena was doing would register much more forcefully on film, that the camera would work its magic for her.

"I guess," Claudia said. "And Falene is so good-hearted she'll believe anything. But it is an irony, our father dying like that."

And he did not discover the real Athena. The acting she did was only for a few short snippets of time, and then there were long intervals in between. You could not see any of the electricity that would flash across the screen. Athena even seemed less beautiful when she was acting before the camera.

He laughed. Always he was delighted by her perception of his character. "No, you weren't much," he said. "Would you like me to fly with you to Paris Friday?"

Athena was surprised. He knew she was surprised by her eyes. Her face never changed, she was in control. She thought it over. "That could be a big help," she said. "And we could see Paris together."

He said nothing of this when he spent the night with her that night in Malibu. After they had made love and she was cooking their midnight supper, she said, "I wasn't very good today, was I?" She gave him her catlike grin, which always sent a shock of pleasure through him. "I didn't want to show you my best moves," she said. "I knew you'd be standing there trying to figure me out."

"Yes," Athena said. "I have to shoot Tuesday morning. We have only a few weeks to go on the picture."

"Then I'll retire and take care of my daughter," Athena said. "Besides, I don't want to keep her a secret much longer."

"And then?" Cross asked.

"The doctor in Paris is the final word?" Cross asked.

"Nobody's the final word," Athena said. "Not on this stuff. But he's close."

"And we'll be back Monday?" Cross asked.

On the plane Bethany was fascinated to find herself looking down on the earth. She roamed the plane looking out all the different windows. She seemed a little startled, her usually blank expression became almost normal.

On Friday evening they flew to Paris on a specially chartered plane. Athena was disguised in a wig, and her makeup veiled her beauty in such a way as to make her even look homely. She wore loosely fitting clothing that hid her figure entirely and in some ways made her look matronly. Cross was amazed. She even walked differently.

They went from the plane to a small hotel off Georges-Mandel Avenue. They had a suite with two separate bedrooms, one for Cross and one for Athena and Bethany, the sitting room between them. It was ten in the morning; Athena removed her wig and makeup and changed her clothes. She could not bear to be homely in Paris.

At noon the three of them were in the doctor's office, a small chateau set on its own grounds and enclosed by an iron fence. There was a guard at the gate, and after checking their names he let them in.

They were met at the door by a maid who led them into a huge sitting room, which was densely furnished. There the doctor awaited them.

Dr. Ocell Gerard was a huge, heavy man, carefully dressed in a beautifully cut suit of brown pin stripes, a white shirt, and a dark brown silk tie to match. He had a round face, which should have had a beard to hide his heavy jowls. His thick lips were a dusky red. He introduced himself to Athena and Cross but ignored the child. Both Athena and Cross felt an immediate aversion to the man. He did not look like a doctor suitable to the sensitive profession he practiced.

There was a table set for tea and pastries. A maid attended to them. They were joined by two nurses, young women clad in strict professional attire, white caps and ivory-colored blouses and skirts. The two nurses watched Bethany intensely all during the meal.

Athena was nervous, she really didn't like the man. "I want you to evaluate. I want her to have some sort of normal life if possible and I will give up everything to achieve that. I want you to accept her into your Institute, I am willing to live in France and help in her schooling."

Dr. Gerard addressed Athena. "Madame, I would like to thank you for your very generous contribution to our Medical Institute for Autistic Children. I have observed your request for complete confidentiality, which is why I'm conducting this examination here in my own private center. Now tell me exactly what you expect of me." His voice was a mellow bass, it was magnetic. It attracted Bethany's attention, and she stared at him, but he ignored her.

She said this with enchanting sadness and hope, with such an air of self-abnegation, that the two nurses gazed at her almost adoringly. Cross was aware she was using all her acting skills to convince the doctor to take Bethany into the Institute. He saw her reach her arm out to clasp Bethany's hand with a caressing gesture.

He spoke to one of the nurses in French, and the woman left and returned with a huge book containing photographs of famous paintings. She gave the book to Bethany, but it was too big to fit on her lap. For the first time Dr. Gerard spoke to her. He spoke to her in French. She immediately put the textbook on the table and began to turn the pages. Soon she was lost in studying the pictures.

Only Dr. Gerard seemed unimpressed. He did not look at Bethany. He addressed himself directly to Athena. "Do not deceive yourself," he said. "All your love will not help this child. I have examined her records and there is no doubt she is genuinely autistic. She cannot return your love. She does not live in our world. She does not even live in the world of animals. She lives on a different star, absolutely alone."

He continued, "You are not at fault. Nor, I believe, is the father. This is one of those mysterious complexities of the human condition. Here is what I can do. I will examine and test her more thoroughly. Then I will tell you what we at the Institute can and cannot do. If I cannot help, you must take her home. If we can, you will leave her with me in France for five years."

The doctor seemed ill at ease. "I don't mean to be offensive," he said. "But this is in the best interest of your child. I know Mr. De Lena is not your husband, but is it possible he is the father of your child? If so, I would want to test him."

"Yes," Cross said.

Athena said, "I did not know him when my daughter was born."

Athena said, "I want to remain with my daughter."

"Bon,"the doctor said. He shrugged. "Such things are always possible."

Cross laughed. "Maybe the doctor sees some symptoms in me."

The doctor's thick red lips pursed as he nodded and smiled amiably. "You do have certain symptoms. So do we all. Who knows? A centimeter either way, all of us could be autistic. Now I must make a thorough examination of the child and run some tests. It will take at the very least four hours. Why don't the two of you take a stroll through our lovely Paris. Mr. De Lena, your first time?"

"As you wish, madame," he said and then spoke to Cross. "Enjoy your stroll. I detest Paris myself. If a city could be autistic, it would be Paris."

He pondered what Falene had told him. He remembered that Losey had come to Malibu alone, detectives usually worked in pairs. Before leaving Paris he had asked Vazzi to look into it.

"Whatever you like," Cross said.

At four, Cross was back in the doctor's sitting room. They were waiting for him. Bethany was poring over the book of painting, Athena was pale, the only physical sign that Cross knew could not be acting. Bethany was also gobbling a plate of pastries, and the doctor took it away from her, saying something in French. Bethany did not protest. A nurse came then to take her to the playroom.

"Forgive me," the doctor said to Cross. "But I must ask you some questions."

A taxi was called, and Cross went back to the hotel room. He had no desire to see Paris without Athena and he needed rest. Besides, he had come to Paris to clear his head, to think things out.

The doctor rose from his chair and strode about the room. "I will tell you what I have told madame," the doctor said. "There are no miracles in these cases, absolutely none. With long training there could be enormous improvement, in some cases, not many. And with Mademoiselle, there are certain limits. She must stay in my institution in Nice for five years at least. We have teachers there who can explore every possibility. In that time we will know whether it is possible for her to live a nearly normal life. Or whether she must be institutionalized forever."

The doctor looked at her impassively. "Madame has agreed. She will join the Institute as a teacher… So."

Here Athena began to weep. She held a small blue silk handkerchief to her eyes and Cross could smell its perfume.

Cross was so startled he burst out laughing. "I didn't know she responded to me. And I never gave her anything to respond to."

He sat directly across from Cross. "There are some very good signs. She has genuine talent as a painter. Certain senses alert, not withdrawn. She was interested when I spoke French, a language she cannot understand but intuits. That is a very good sign. Another good sign: The child showed some signs of missing you this afternoon, she has some feeling for another human being and that may be extended. It is highly unusual, but can be explained in not so mysterious a way. When I explored this with her she said you were beautiful. Now, you must not be offended, Mr. De Lena. I ask this question only for medical reasons to help the child, not accuse you. Have you sexually stimulated the girl in any way, perhaps unintentionally?"

Athena's cheeks were red with anger. "This is ridiculous," she said. "He was never alone with her."

"Maybe she knows about my relationship with her mother," Cross said.

"She doesn't care about her mother," the doctor said. "Forgive me, madame, that is one of the things you must accept -- nor her mother's beauty or her fame. They literally do not exist for her. It is you who she extends herself to. Think. Perhaps an innocent tenderness, something inadvertent."

The doctor persisted. "Have you at any time given her physical caresses? I don't mean clasping her hand, patting her hair, or even kissing her cheek. The girl is nubile, she would respond simply out of physicality. You would not be the first man tempted by such innocence."

Cross looked at him coolly. "If I did it I would tell you. If that would help her."

Dr. Gerard leaned back and clasped his hands. "I believe you," he said. "And that gives me great hope. If she can respond to you, she may be helped to respond to others. She may tolerate her mother someday and that will be enough for you, am I right, madame?"

"Do you feel tenderness for this girl?" the doctor asked.

Cross considered for a moment. "Yes," he said.

Dr. Gerard looked at him carefully. "You are not offended?" he said. "Most men would be extremely upset. One patient's father actually struck me. But you are not angry. Tell me why."

"Oh, Cross," Athena said. "I hope you're not angry."

"It's OK, really," Cross said.

The doctor leaned back and said in a satisfied voice, "Ah." He paused and smiled for the first time. "Would you like to come in for some tests?" They both laughed.

He could not explain to this man, or even to Athena, how the sight of Bethany in her hugging machine affected him. How it reminded him of Tiffany and all the showgirls he had made love to who had left him feeling empty. How his relationships with all the Clericuzio and even with his father left him with feelings of isolation and despair. And finally how all the victims he had left behind seemed the victims of some ghostly world that became real only in his dreams.

Cross looked the doctor directly in the eye. "Maybe because I'm autistic too," he said. "Or maybe because I have worse crimes to hide."

"Now, madame," Dr. Gerard said. "I understand you catch a plane back to America tomorrow morning. Why not leave your daughter with me now. My nurses are very good, and I can assure you the girl will not miss you."

"But I'll miss her," Athena said. "Could I keep her tonight and bring her back tomorrow morning? We have a chartered plane so I can leave when I like."

They got up to go. Athena impetuously kissed the doctor on the cheek. The doctor flushed, he was not insensible to her beauty and fame, despite his ogreish appearance.

Athena, Bethany, and Cross spent the rest of the day strolling the streets of Paris. Athena bought new clothes for Bethany, a full wardrobe. She bought painting supplies and a huge suitcase to hold all the new things. They sent everything to the hotel.

"Certainly," the doctor said. "Bring her here in the morning. I will have my nurses escort her down to Nice. You have the phone number of the Institute and you can call me as often as you like."

They had dinner in a restaurant on the Champs Elysées. Bethany ate greedily, especially the pastries. She had not spoken a word all day or responded to any of Athena's gestures of affection.

During dinner Athena held Bethany's hand, brushed the crumbs off her face, and explained that she would return to France in a month to stay with her at the school for the next five years.

Then Bethany spoke the first words of the day. "I want my machine."

Cross had never seen such a show of love as that Athena showed Bethany. Except when as a child he saw his own mother, Nalene, brushing Claudia's hair.

Bethany paid no attention.

As always Cross was stricken by a sense of holiness. The beautiful girl was like a copy of a great portrait painting but without the soul of the artist, as if her body had been left empty for God.

Athena was enthusiastic when she told Bethany how they could learn French together, go to museums together and see all the great paintings, and how Bethany could spend as much time as she wanted on her own paintings. She described how they would travel all over Europe, to Spain, to Italy, to Germany.

It was after dark when they walked back to their hotel. Bethany was between them, and they swung her hands so that she lifted up in the air, and for once she allowed it, in fact seemed to delight in it so much that they continued past the hotel.

It was at this moment that Cross had the precise feeling of happiness he had had at the picnic. And it consisted of nothing more than the three of them linked together, holding hands. He was filled with wonder and horror at his sentimentality.

Finally they returned to the hotel. After Athena had helped Bethany to bed, she came into the sitting room of the suite, where Cross was waiting for her. They sat side by side on the lavender sofa holding hands.

"Are you worried about leaving Bethany here?" Cross asked.

"Five years," Cross said, "is a long time. And you're willing to give up five years and your profession?"

"No," Athena said. "She won't miss us."

Athena got up from the sofa and walked up and down the room. She spoke passionately. "I glory in being able to do without acting. When I was a kid I dreamed of being a great heroine, Marie Antoinette going to the guillotine, Joan of Arc burning at the stake, Marie Curie saving mankind from some great disease. And of course, also giving up everything for the love of a great man, most ridiculous of all. I dreamed of living a heroic life and knew I'd surely go to Heaven. That I would be pure in mind and body. I detested the idea of doing anything that would compromise me, especially for money. I was determined that under no circumstance would I ever harm another human being. Everyone would love me, including myself. I knew I was smart, everyone told me I was beautiful, and I proved to be not only competent but talented.

"Lovers in Paris," Athena said, smiling at him. "And we never got to sleep together in a French bed."

Cross said to reassure her, "You didn't do any of those things. It was just your destiny, as we say in my family. As for Skannet, he was a stone in your shoe, another family saying, so why shouldn't you get rid of him?"

"So what did I do? I fell in love with Boz Skannet. I slept with men not out of desire but to further my career. I gave life to a human being who may never love me or anyone. Then I very cleverly maneuver or request the murder of my husband. Not so subtly I ask, Who will murder this husband of mine who is such a threat to me now." She pressed his hand. "And for this I thank you."

Athena kissed him briefly on the lips. "Now I have," she said. "My knight errant. The only trouble is you don't stop at killing dragons."

"Of course I'll miss it, and I'll miss you," Athena said. "But finally I'll do what I believe is right, not just be a heroine in a movie." Her voice was amused. Then she said with a flat tone, "I want her to love me, that's all I want."

"After five years, if the doctor says she can't improve, then what?" Cross asked.

"I don't care what anyone says," Athena said. "There's always hope. I'll be with her the rest of my life."

"And you won't miss your work?" he asked.

They kissed each other good night and went into their separate bedrooms.

Cross was momentarily angry with Athena for being so helpless with her daughter. The doctor, observing this, said to Athena, "When you return, you will need a great deal of training to cope with this child."

"I'll be back as quickly as I can," Athena said.

"You needn't hurry," the doctor said. "She lives in a world where time does not exist."

The next morning they took Bethany to the doctor's office. Athena had a difficult time saying good-bye to her daughter. She hugged the girl and wept, but Bethany would have none of it. She pushed her mother away and got ready to repulse Cross, but he did not move to embrace her.

On the plane back to L. A., Cross and Athena agreed that he would go on to Vegas and not accompany Athena to Malibu. There had only been one terrible moment on the whole trip. For a full half hour Athena had doubled over in her grief, wordlessly crying. Then she became calm.

When they parted Athena said to Cross, "I'm sorry we never got to make love in Paris." But he understood she was being kind. That at this particular time, she was repulsed by the thought of them making love. That like her daughter, she was now separated from the world.

"Be patient," Cross said.

Cross was met at the airport by a big limo driven by a soldier from the Hunting Lodge. Lia Vazzi was in the back. Lia closed the glass partition so that the driver couldn't hear their conversation.

"Detective Losey was up to see me again," he said. "The next time he comes will be his last."

"Not yet," Cross said. "You have your six-man crew together?"

Cross drew a hundred grand from the casino cage, all in C notes. He told Lia they were going to L. A. Lia would be his driver and he wanted no one else with them. He showed him Pollard's memo. They flew to L. A. the next day and rented a car to drive to Santa Monica.

"Yes," Lia said. "But they are men who will not act directly against the Clericuzio."

When they got to the Xanadu, Cross found a memo from Andrew Pollard, a complete file on Jim Losey, that made for interesting reading. And a piece of information that could be acted on immediately.

"I know the signs, trust me on this," Lia said. "Something else. A crew from the Bronx Enclave has moved into place in Los Angeles, I don't know by whose orders. I would say you need bodyguards."

Phil Sharkey was not as impressive-looking as Jim Losey, but he looked tough enough. He also looked as if his years of police work had burned out his confidence in his fellow human beings. He had that alert suspiciousness, that seriousness of manner, that the best cops have. But he was obviously not a happy man.

Phil Sharkey was mowing the lawn in front of his house. Cross got out of the car with Lia and identified himself as a friend of Pollard's who was in need of information. Lia carefully studied Sharkey's face. Then he went back to the car.

Cross opened his briefcase and took out a packet of hundreds. "There's ten grand," he said. "That's just for letting me talk. But it will take a little time. How about a beer and a place to sit?"

Sharkey ushered Cross into his house, which was really a bungalow, the insides dreary and worn; it had the forlorn look of a womanless and childless dwelling. The first thing Sharkey did was call Pollard and confirm the identity of his visitor. Then without offering any courtesy, a seat, or a drink, he said to Cross, "Go ahead, ask."

Sharkey shoved the money casually into his trouser pocket. "I like you," Sharkey said. "You're smart. You know it's money that talks, not bullshit."

Sharkey's face broke into a grin. It was curiously affable, the good cop in the partnership, Cross thought.

"Yes," Cross said.

Sharkey gave his grin, but now there was a hint of mischief in it. "In two months you won't care who I tell, is that it?"

Cross said, "If I hear the right answers, there's another twenty grand for you right after. Then, if you keep your mouth shut about me being here, I'll come around to see you in two months with another fifty grand."

They sat at a little round table on the back porch of the bungalow, which overlooked Ocean Avenue to the sandy beach and water beyond, as they drank their beers out of the bottle. Sharkey patted his pocket to make sure the money was still there.

Sharkey was serious now. "I'm not telling you anything that gets anybody indicted."

"Hey, then you don't know who I really am," Cross said. "Maybe you better call Pollard again."

Sharkey said curtly, "I know who you are. Jim Losey told me I should always treat you right. All the way." And then he put on his sympathetic listening style that was part of his profession.

"How about honest?" Cross asked.

"We were cops, and in Los Angeles," Sharkey said. "Do you know what the fuck that means? If we do our real job and kick the shit out of the spics and blacks, we could get indicted and lose our jobs. The only ones we could arrest without getting into trouble were the white schmucks who had money. Look, I got no prejudice, but why should I throw white guys in jail when I can't throw the other kind in jail? That's not right."

"But I understand Jim got a chest full of medals," Cross said. "You got some too."

Cross said, "You and Jim Losey were partners for the last ten years and you were both making good money on the side. And then you retired. I'd like to know why."

Sharkey gave him a dismissive shrug. "You can't help being a hero cop in this town if you have just a little bit of balls. A lot of those guys didn't know they could do business if they talked nice. And some of them were out-and-out killers. So we had to defend ourselves and we got some medals. Believe me, we never looked for a fight."

"So, it's Jim you're after," Sharkey said. "That's very dangerous. He was the bravest and the smartest cop I ever knew."

"Were you two partners in everything?" Cross asked. "Did you know everything that was going on?"

"So how did you make money?" Cross asked.

Sharkey laughed. "Jim Losey? He was the boss always. Sometimes I didn't even know exactly what we were doing. I didn't even know how much we were getting paid. Jim handled all that and he gave me what he said was my fair share." He paused a moment. "He had his own rules."

"Did you and Losey ever use a black kid named Marlowe to finger big shot drug dealers?" Cross asked.

Cross was doubting everything Sharkey was saying. Jim Losey was a natural-born strong-arm guy despite his fancy clothes.

"We were on the pad for some of the big gambling syndicates," Sharkey said. "Sometimes a payoff for the drug guys. There was a time when Jim Losey wouldn't take drug money but then every cop in the world started taking it, so we did."

"Sure," Sharkey said. "Marlowe. A nice kid scared of his own shadow. We used him all the time."

Cross said, "So when you heard Losey shot him running away from a mug-murder, you were surprised?" Cross asked.

"Hell, no," Sharkey said. "Druggies graduate. But they are so fucked up, they always botch it. And Jim, in that situation, never gives the warning we're taught to give. He just shoots."

"No, no," Sharkey said. "You have to understand. The job makes you take graft. But it doesn't make you a hit man. Jim Losey would never do that. I'll never believe that."

"But wasn't it a strange coincidence," Cross said, "their paths crossing like that?"

"So it could have been some sort of setup," Cross said.

"So why did you take your retirement after that?" Cross asked.

"I met Losey out at Malibu not long ago," Cross said. "He was alone. Does he often operate without you?"

"It was just that Jim was getting me nervous," Sharkey said.

For the first time Sharkey's face seemed to lose its toughness, grow sad. "It's fishy," he said. "The whole thing is fishy. But now I guess I have to give you something. Jim Losey was brave, women loved him and men held him in high regard. I was his partner and I felt the same way. But the truth is he was always a fishy guy."

Now Sharkey gave his grin again. "Sometimes," he said. "That particular time he went to take a shot at the actress. You'd be surprised how often he made a score with big stars in that business. Sometimes he had lunches with people and he didn't want me around."

"One other thing," Cross said. "Was Jim Losey a racist? Did he hate blacks?"

"I have another question," Cross said. "You ever see him with a short guy wearing a funny hat?"

Sharkey gave him a look of amused astonishment. "Of course he did. You're one of those bullshit liberals, right? You think that's terrible? Just go out and put a year in on the job. You'll vote to put them all in the zoo."

"An Italian guy," Sharkey said. "We had lunch and then Jim told me to get lost. Spooky guy."

"I know who you are," Sharkey said.

Cross reached into his briefcase and took out another two packets of money. "Here's twenty grand," he said. "And remember, you keep your mouth shut and you get another fifty grand. OK?"

"Sure you do," Cross said. "I instructed Pollard to tell you who I am."

"I know who you really are," Sharkey said with his infectious grin. "That's why I don't take your whole briefcase right now. And why I'll keep quiet for two months. Between you and Losey, I don't know who'll kill me faster."

Cross De Lena realized he had enormous problems. He knew Jim Losey was on the Clericuzio Family "pad." That he received fifty thousand a year as a salary, and bonuses for special jobs, but none of these had included murder. It was enough for Cross to make a final judgment. Dante and Losey had killed his father. It was an easy judgment for him to make, he was not bound by the legal laws of evidence. And his whole training with the Clericuzio helped him make the verdict of guilty. He knew his father's competence and character. No mugger could get close to him. He also knew Dante's character and competence and Dante's dislike for his father.

The big question was this: Had Dante acted on his own or had the Don commanded the killing? But the Clericuzio had no reason; his father had been loyal for over forty years and an important factor in the Family ascension. He had been the great general in the war against the Santadio. And Cross wondered, not for the first time, why no one had ever told him the details of that war, not his father, not Gronevelt, not Giorgio or Petie or Vincent.

Don Domenico believed in God, he sometimes believed in Fate, but he did not believe in coincidence. The coincidence of Jim Losey being the cop who shot the mugger who shot Pippi would be absolutely rejected by the Don. He had surely made his own investigation and discovered Dante's connection with Losey. And he would not only know Dante's guilt but his motive.

The more he thought about it, the more Cross was sure of one thing: The Don had no hand in the killing of his father. Don Domenico was a very conservative man of business. He rewarded loyal service, he did not punish it. He was extremely fair-minded, to the point of cruelty. But the clinching argument was this: He would never have let Cross live if he had killed Pippi. That was the proof of the Don's innocence.

And what about Rose Marie, Dante's mother? What did she know? When she had heard of Pippi's death, she had had her most serious fit, screaming unintelligibly, weeping incessantly, so that the Don had sent her to the East Hampton psychiatric clinic he had funded many years ago. She would be there for at least a month.

Visitors to Rose Marie in the clinic had always been forbidden by the Don, except for Dante, Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie. But Cross often sent flowers and baskets of fruit. So what the hell was Rose Marie so upset about? Did she know about Dante's guilt, understand his motive? At that moment Cross thought about the Don saying that Dante would be his heir. That was ominous. Cross decided he would visit Rose Marie at the clinic, despite the Don's interdiction. He would go with flowers, and fruit, and chocolates and cheeses, with true affection, but with the purpose of tricking her into betraying her son.

The woman at the reception desk was middle-aged and well dressed. When he stated his business, she gave him a charming smile and said he would have to wait a half hour because Rose Marie was undergoing a minor medical procedure. She would notify him when it was done.

Two days later, Cross entered the lobby of the psychiatric clinic in East Hampton. There were two guards at the door, and one escorted him to the reception desk.

Cross sat down in the waiting room of the reception area, just off the lobby, where there were tables and soft armchairs. He picked up a copy of a Hollywood magazine. Reading it, he came across an article on Jim Losey, the detective hero of Los Angeles. The article detailed his heroic achievements, capped by his killing the mugger-murderer Marlowe. Cross was amused by two things. That his father was referred to as the owner of a financial service agency and a typical helpless victim of a brutal criminal. And by the tag line of the article, which asserted that if there were more cops like Jim Losey, street crime would be under control.

A nurse tapped him on the shoulder. She was an impressively strong-looking woman, but she said with a pleasant smile, "I'll bring you up."

Cross picked up the box of chocolates and the flowers he had brought and followed her up a short flight of stairs and then down a long corridor spaced by doors. At the last door the nurse used a master key and opened it. She motioned Cross inside and closed the door after him.

"You didn't do anything to my father," Cross said, and led her back to the couch. Then he turned off the TV. He kneeled beside the couch. "I was worried about you."

Rose Marie, clad in a gray robe, her hair neatly braided, was watching a small TV. When she saw Cross she jumped up from the couch and flew into his arms. She was weeping. Cross kissed her cheek and gave her the chocolates and flowers.

"The Don is a just man," Cross said. "He will never blame you."

She reached out and stroked his hair. "You were always so beautiful," she said. "I hated that you were your father's son. I was glad to see him dead. But I always knew terrible things would happen. I filled the air and the earth with poison for him. Now you think my father will let this pass?"

"Oh, you came to see me," she said. "I thought you hated me for what I did to your father."

"He has fooled you as he has tricked everyone else," Rose Marie said. "Never trust him. He betrayed his own daughter, he betrayed his grandson and he betrayed his nephew Pippi… And now he will betray you."

"Quiet down, Aunt Roe," Cross said. "Just tell me what upset you so that you had to come back here." He stared into her eyes and thought how pretty she must have been as a young girl, the innocence still in her eyes.

Her voice had risen to a loud pitch and Cross was afraid she would go into one of her fits.

Cross said, "What a coincidence to meet you here. I was visiting Rose Marie too."

Vincent's granite face showed pity and despair. "Jesus Christ," he said. He went to the bedroom door and knocked, then said through it, "Roe, open the door. We're your brothers. We won't hurt you…"

Rose Marie whispered, "Make them tell you about the Santadio War, then you will understand everything." She looked past Cross and then covered her head with her hands. Cross turned. The door opened. Vincent and Petie were standing there silently. Rose Marie jumped off the couch and ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Vincent never had any time for bullshit. "We're not here to visit. The Don wants to see you in Quogue."

This was confirmed when Vincent said, "Cross, I'll go with you in your car. Petie can go in his." A hit in the Clericuzio Family would never be one on one.

Cross said, "We can't leave Rose Marie like this."

"Sure we can," Petie said. "The nurse will just shoot her up."

"Petie drove," Vincent said. "He's a fucking maniac." He paused for a moment and then said in a worried voice, "Cross, you know the rules, how come you visit Rose Marie?"

Cross appraised the situation. Obviously the receptionist had called somebody in Quogue. Obviously, it was a planned procedure. And just as obviously, the Don did not want him talking to Rose Marie. That Petie and Vincent had been sent meant that it was not a hit, they would not be so carelessly exposed.

"The Don doesn't like it," Vincent said. "He's very pissed off. He says it's not like Cross. He knows."

Cross tried to make conversation while he drove. "Vincent, you guys sure got here fast."

"Hey," Cross said, "Rose Marie was one of my favorite aunts while I was growing up."

"I'll straighten it out," Cross said. "But I was really worried about your sister. How's she doing?"

"In the past years she wasn't so fond of him," Vincent said. "Especially when she got into one of her fits. You should hear the things she said about him then."

Cross caught the false note in Vincent's voice. He knew something. But Cross only said, "My father was always fond of Rose Marie."

"My father was a big hero though, right?" Cross said.

Vincent sighed. "This time it may be for keeps. You know she was sweet on your old man when she was a kid. Who could figure Pippi being killed would throw her so much?"

Vincent smiled for just a moment, his stone face almost softened. "Your father was a genius," Vincent said. "He could plan an operation like Napoleon. Nothing ever went wrong when he planned it. Maybe once or twice because of bad luck."

Cross said casually, "You were in the Santadio War. How come you guys never talk about it to me?"

"Because we never talk about operations," Vincent said. "My father taught us it served no purpose. You just go on. There's plenty of trouble in the present to worry about."

"OK," Cross said. "Am I going to be knocked off like my father?"

"Ask the Don these questions," Vincent said. "Now talk about something else."

Cross said meekly, "I just got scared, you guys popping up."

The usually cold and stone-faced Vincent reacted violently. He grabbed the steering wheel and forced Cross to park on the side of the highway. His voice choked with emotion when he said, "Are you crazy? Do you think the Clericuzio Family would do such a thing? Your father had Clericuzio blood. He was our best soldier, he saved us. The Don loved him as much as any of his sons. Jesus Christ, why do you ask something like that?"

"So he planned the war against the Santadio," Cross said.

At the mansion in Quogue, there were the usual two guards at the gate and one man sitting on the porch. There did not seem to be any unusual activity.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

"Get back on the road," Vincent said disgustedly. "Your father and me and Giorgio and Petie fought together during really rough times. There is no way we could go against each other. Pippi just got unlucky, a crazy jigaboo mugger."

Don Clericuzio, Giorgio, and Petie were awaiting them in the den of the mansion. On the bar was a box of Havana cigars and a mug filled with twisted black Italian cheroots.

Don Clericuzio sat in one of the huge brown leather armchairs. Cross went to greet him and was surprised when the Don pushed himself up to stand, with an agility that belied his age, and embraced him. After which he motioned Cross to the huge coffee table on which various dishes of cheeses and dried meats were spread.

Vincent and Petie were also helping themselves to food, while Giorgio served as bartender, bringing wine to the Don and soft drinks to the others. The Don only ate the dripping mozzarella, letting it melt inside his mouth. Petie gave him one of the twisted cheroots and lit it for him. What a wonderful stomach the old man had, thought Cross.

Cross sensed that the Don was not yet ready to speak. He made himself a sandwich of mozzarella cheese and prosciutto. The prosciutto was thin slabs of dark red meat fringed with very tender white fat. The mozzarella was a white ball so fresh it was still sweating milk. It was tied off on top with a thick salty knob like the knot in a rope. The closest that the Don had ever come to boasting was that he never ate a mozzarella that was more than thirty minutes old.

"Tell me about the war with the Santadio," Cross said.

Don Clericuzio said abruptly, "Croccifixio, whatever you seek now from Rose Marie, I will tell you. And you suspect something amiss about your father's death. You are wrong. I have had inquiries made, the story is true as it stands. Pippi was unlucky. He was the most prudent of men in his profession but such ludicrous accidents happen. Let me set your mind at rest. Your father was my nephew and a Clericuzio, and one of my dearest friends."