Chapter 9

But it didn’t last long. With a clear effort he mastered himself, and again, I had to admit that I was impressed.

“Well,” I said in a dismissive voice. “I wish you all the luck in the world with your person of interest. I am certain that if you show him the same degree of courtesy you’ve shown me, you will get the response you—well, deserve.”

Detective Solomon stared, and as I started to rise, slapped the top of the table with the flat of his hand.

“One minute!” he snarled, and then closed his mouth firmly, breathing in sharply through his nose. It was interesting to watch, and not entirely unattractive. I was struck as before with the conviction that the man wasn’t really a nasty person. He was just—frustrated. And his way of dealing with frustration was that typical of young bucks: bravado and aggression.

I sat down again and watched as he recovered his equilibrium.

“There’s something else,” he said.

“Ah.”

“Motive.”

“Yes?”

“You know that Quentin was quite wealthy, yes?”