norththroughcoldwatercanyonitbegantogethot.whenwetoppedtheriseandstartedtowinddowntowardsthesanfernandovalleyitwasbreathlessandblazing.ilookedsidewaysatspencer.hehadaveston,buttheheatdidn’tseemtobotherhim.hehadsomethingelsetobotherhimalotmore.helookedstraightaheadthroughthewindshieldandsaidnothing.thevalleyhadathicklayerofsmognuzzlingdownonit.fromaboveitlookedlikeagroundmistandthenwewereinitanditjerkedspenceroutofhissilence.

“mygod,ithoughtsoutherncaliforniahadaclimate,”hesaid.“whataretheydoing—burningoldtrucktires?”

“it’llbeallrightinidlevalley,”itoldhimsoothingly.“theygetanoceanbreezeinthere.”

“i’mgladtheygetsomethingbesidesdrunk,”hesaid.“fromwhati’veseenofthelocalcrowdintherichsuburbsithinkrogermadeatragicmistakeincomingoutheretolive.awriterneedsstimulation—andnotthekindtheybottle.there’snothingaroundherebutonegreatbigsuntannedhangover.i’mreferringtotheuppercrustpeopleofcourse.”

iturnedoffandsloweddownforthedustystretchtotheentranceofidlevalley,thenhitthepavingagainandinalittlewhiletheoceanbreezemadeitselffelt,driftingdownthroughthegapinthehillsatthefarendofthelake.highsprinklersrevolvedoverthebigsmoothlawnsandthewatermadeaswishingsoundasitlickedatthegrass.bythistimemostofthewell-heeledpeoplewereawaysomewhereelse.youcouldtellbytheshutteredlookofthehousesandthewaythegardener’struckwasparkedsmackinthemiddleofthedriveway.thenwereachedthewades’placeandiswungthroughthegatepostsandstoppedbehindeileen’sjaguar.spencergotoutandmarchedstolidlyacrosstheflagstonestotheporticoofthehouse.herangthebellandthedooropenedalmostatonce.candywasthereinthewhitejacketandthedarkgood-lookingfaceandthesharpblackeyes.everythingwasinorder.

spencerwentin.candygavemeabrieflookandnearlyshutthedoorinmyface.iwaitedandnothinghappened.ileanedonthebellandheardthechimes.thedoorswungwideandcandycameoutsnarling.

“beatit!turnblue.youwantaknifeinthebelly?”

“icametoseemrs.wade.”

“shedon’twantanypartofyou.”

“outofmyway,peasant.igotbusinesshere.”

“candy!”itwashervoice,anditwassharp.

hegavemeafinalscowlandbackedintothehouse.iwentinandshutthedoor.shewasstandingattheendofoneofthefacingdavenports,andspencerwasstandingbesideher.shelookedlikeamillion.shehadwhiteslackson,veryhigh-waisted,andawhitesportshirtwithhalfsleeves,andalilac-coloredhandkerchiefbuddingfromthepocketoverherleftbreast.

“candyisgettingratherdictatoriallately,”shesaidtospencer.“it’ssogoodtoseeyou,howard.andsoniceofyoutocomeallthisway.ididn’trealizeyouwerebringingsomeonewithyou.”

“marlowedrovemeout,”spencersaid.“alsohewantedtoseeyou.”

“ican’timaginewhy,”shesaidcoolly.finallyshelookedatme,butnotasifnotseeingmeforaweekhadleftanemptinessinherlife.“well?”

“it’sgoingtotakealittletime,”isaid.

shesatdownslowly.isatdownontheotherdavenport.spencerwasfrowning.hetookhisglassesoffandpolishedthem.thatgavehimachancetofrownmorenaturally.thenhesatontheotherendofthedavenportfromme.

“iwassureyouwouldcomeintimeforlunch,”shetoldhim,smiling.

“nottoday,thanks.”

“no?well,ofcourseifyouaretoobusy.thenyoujustwanttoseethatscript.”

“ifimay.”

“ofcourse.candy!oh,he’sgone.it’sonthedeskinroger’sstudy.i’llgetit.”

spencerstoodup.“mayigetit?”

withoutwaitingforananswerhestartedacrosstheroom.tenfeetbehindherhestoppedandgavemeastrainedlook.thenhewenton.ijustsatthereandwaiteduntilherheadcamearoundandhereyesgavemeacoolimpersonalstare.

“whatwasityouwantedtoseemeabout?”sheaskedcurtly.

“thisandthat.iseeyouarewearingthatpendantagain.”

“ioftenwearit.itwasgiventomebyaverydearfriendalongtimeago.”

“yeah.youtoldme.it’sabritishmilitarybadgeofsomesort,isn’tit?”

shehelditoutattheendofthethinchain.“it’sajeweler’sreproductionofone.smallerthantheoriginalandingoldandenamel.”

spencercamebackacrosstheroomandsatdownagainandputathickpileofyellowpaperonthecornerofthecocktailtableinfrontofhim.heglancedatitidly,thenhiseyeswerewatchingeileen.

“couldilookatitalittlecloser?”iaskedher.

shepulledthechainarounduntilshecouldunfastentheclasp.shehandedthependanttome,orrathershedroppeditinmyhand.thenshefoldedherhandsinherlapandjustlookedcurious.“whyareyousointerested?it’sthebadgeofaregimentcalledtheartistsrifles,aterritorialregiment.themanwhogaveittomewaslostsoonafterwards.atandalsnesinnorway,inthespringofthatterribleyear—1940.”shesmiledandmadeabriefgesturewithonehand.“hewasinlovewithme.”

“eileenwasinlondonallthroughtheblitz,”spencersaidinanemptyvoice.“shecouldn’tgetaway.”

webothignoredspencer.“andyouwereinlovewithhim,”isaid.

shelookeddownandthenraisedherheadandourglanceslocked.“itwasalongtimeago,”shesaid.“andtherewasawar.strangethingshappen.”

“therewasalittlemoretoitthanthat,mrs.wade.iguessyouforgethowmuchyouopenedupabouthim.‘thewildmysteriousimprobablekindoflovethatnevercomesbutonce.’i’mquotingyou.inawayyou’restillinlovewithhim.it’sdarnniceofmetohavethesameinitials.isupposethathadsomethingtodowithyourpickingmeout.”

“hisnamewasnothinglikeyours,”shesaidcoldly.“andheisdead,dead,dead.”

iheldthegoldandenamelpendantouttospencer.hetookitreluctantly.“i’veseenitbefore,”hemuttered.

“checkmeonthedesign,”isaid.“itconsistsofabroaddaggerinwhiteenamelwithagoldedge.thedaggerpointsdownwardsandtheflatofthebladecrossesinfrontofapairofupward-curlingpaleblueenamelwings.thenitcrossesinbackofascroll.onthescrollarethewords:whodareswins.”

“thatseemstobecorrect,”hesaid.“whatmakesitimportant?”

“shesaysit’sabadgeoftheartistsrifles,aterritorialoutfit.shesaysitwasgiventoherbyamanwhowasinthatoutfitandwaslostinthenorwegiancampaignwiththebritisharmyinthespringof1940atandalsnes.”

ihadtheirattention.spencerwatchedmesteadily.iwasn’ttalkingtothebirdsandheknewit.eileenknewittoo.hertawnyeyebrowswerecrimpedinapuzzledfrownwhichcouldhavebeengenuine.itwasalsounfriendly.

“thisisasleevebadge,”isaid.“itcameintoexistencebecausetheartistsriflesweremadeoverorattachedorsecondedorwhateverthecorrecttermisintoaspecialairserviceoutfit.theyhadoriginallybeenaterritorialregimentofinfantry.thisbadgedidn’tevenexistuntil1947.thereforenobodygaveittomrs.wadein1940.also,noartistsrifleswerelandedatandalsnesinnorwayin1940.sherwoodforestersandleicestershires,yes.bothterritorial.artistsrifles,no.amibeingnasty?”

spencerputthependantdownonthecoffeetableandpusheditslowlyacrossuntilitwasinfrontofeileen.hesaidnothing.

“doyouthinkiwouldn’tknow?”eileenaskedmecontemptuously.

“doyouthinkthebritishwarofficewouldn’tknow?”iaskedherrightback.

“obviouslytheremustbesomemistake,”spencersaidmildly.

iswungaroundandgavehimahardstare.“that’sonewayofputtingit.”

“anotherwayofputtingitisthatiamaliar,”eileensaidicily.“ineverknewanyonenamedpaulmarston,neverlovedhimorheme.henevergavemeareproductionofhisregimentalbadge,hewasnevermissinginaction,heneverexisted.iboughtthisbadgemyselfinashopinnewyorkwheretheyspecializeinimportedbritishluxuries,thingslikeleathergoods,hand-madebrogues,regimentalandschooltiesandcricketblazers,knickknackswithcoatsofarmsonthemandsoon.wouldanexplanationlikethatsatisfyyou,mr.marlowe?”

“thelastpartwould.notthefirst.nodoubtsomebodytoldyouitwasanartistsriflesbadgeandforgottomentionwhatkind,ordidn’tknow.butyoudidknowpaulmarstonandhedidserveinthatoutfit,andhewasmissinginactioninnorway.butitdidn’thappenin1940,mrs.wade.ithappenedin1942andhewasinthecommandosthen,anditwasn’tatandalsnes,butonalittleislandoffthecoastwherethecommandoboyspulledafastraid.”

“iseenoneedtobesohostileaboutit,”spencersaidinanexecutivesortofvoice.hewasfoolingwiththeyellowsheetsinfrontofhimnow.ididn’tknowwhetherhewastryingtostoogeformeorwasjustsore.hepickedupaslabofyellowscriptandweigheditonhishand.

“yougoingtobuythatstuffbythepound?”iaskedhim.

helookedstartled,thenhesmiledasmalldifficultsmile.

“eileenhadaprettyroughtimeinlondon,”hesaid.“thingsgetconfusedinone’smemory.”

itookafoldedpaperoutofmypocket.“sure,”isaid.“likewhoyougotmarriedto.thisisacertifiedcopyofamarriagecertificate.theoriginalcamefromcaxtonhallregistryoffice.thedateofthemarriageisaugust1942.thepartiesnamedarepauledwardmarstonandeileenvictoriasampsell.inasensemrs.wadeisright.therewasnosuchpersonaspauledwardmarston.itwasafakenamebecauseinthearmyyouhavetogetpermissiontogetmarried.themanfakedanidentity.inthearmyhehadanothername.ihavehiswholearmyhistory.it’sawondertomethatpeopleneverseemtorealizethatallyouhavetodoisask.”

spencerwasveryquietnow.heleanedbackandstared.butnotatme.hestaredateileen.shelookedbackathimwithoneofthosefainthalfdeprecatory,halfseductivesmileswomenaresogoodat.

“buthewasdead,howard.longbeforeimetroger.whatcoulditpossiblymatter?rogerknewallaboutit.ineverstoppedusingmyunmarriedname.inthecircumstancesihadto.itwasonmypassport.thenafterhewaskilledinaction—”shestoppedanddrewaslowbreathandletherhandfallslowlyandsoftlytoherknee.“allfinished,alldonefor,alllost.”

“you’resurerogerknew?”heaskedherslowly.

“heknewsomething,”isaid.“thenamepaulmarstonhadameaningforhim.iaskedhimonceandhegotafunnylookinhiseyes.buthedidn’ttellmewhy.”

sheignoredthatandspoketospencer.

“why,ofcourserogerknewallaboutit.”nowshewassmilingatspencerpatientlyasifhewasbeingalittleslowonthetake.thetrickstheyhave.

“thenwhylieaboutthedates?”spenceraskeddryly.“whysaythemanwaslostin1940whenhewaslostin1942?whywearabadgethathecouldn’thavegivenyouandmakeapointofsayingthathedidgiveittoyou?”

“perhapsiwaslostinadream,”shesaidsoftly.“oranightmare,moreaccurately.alotofmyfriendswerekilledinthebombing.whenyousaidgoodnightinthosedaysyoutriednottomakeitsoundlikegoodbye.butthat’swhatitoftenwas.andwhenyousaidgoodbyetoasoldier—itwasworse.it’salwaysthekindandgentleonesthatgetkilled.”

hedidn’tsayanything.ididn’tsayanything.shelookeddownatthependantlyingonthetableinfrontofher.shepickeditupandfittedittothechainaroundherneckagainandleanedbackcomposedly.

“iknowihaven’tanyrighttocross-examineyou,eileen,”spencersaidslowly.“let’sforgetit.marlowemadeabigthingoutofthebadgeandthemarriagecertificateandsoon.justforamomentiguesshehadmewondering.”

“mr.marlowe,”shetoldhimquietly,“makesabigthingoutoftrifles.butwhenitcomestoareallybigthing—likesavingaman’slife—heisoutbythelakewatchingasillyspeedboat.”

“andyouneversawpaulmarstonagain,”isaid.

“howcouldiwhenhewasdead?”

“youdidn’tknowhewasdead.therewasnoreportofhisdeathfromtheredcross.hemighthavebeentakenprisoner.”

sheshudderedsuddenly.“inoctober1942,”shesaidslowly,“hitlerissuedanorderthatallcommandoprisonersweretobeturnedovertothegestapo.ithinkweallknowwhatthatmeant.tortureandanamelessdeathinsomegestapodungeon.”sheshudderedagain.thensheblazedatme:“you’reahorribleman.youwantmetolivethatoveragain,topunishmeforatriviallie.supposesomeoneyoulovedhadbeencaughtbythosepeopleandyouknewwhathadhappened,whatmusthavehappenedtohimorher?isitsostrangethatitriedtobuildanotherkindofmemory—evenafalseone?”

“ineedadrink,”spencersaid.“ineedadrinkbadly.mayihaveone?”

sheclappedherhandsandcandydriftedupfromnowhereashealwaysdid.hebowedtospencer.

“whatyouliketodrink,señorspencer?”

“straightscotch,andplentyofit,”spencersaid.

candywentoverinthecornerandpulledthebaroutfromthewall.hegotabottleuponitandpouredastiffjoltintoaglass.hecamebackandsetitdowninfrontofspencer.hestartedtoleaveagain.

“perhaps,candy,”eileensaidquietly,“mr.marlowewouldlikeadrinktoo.”

hestoppedandlookedather,hisfacedarkandstubborn.

“no,thanks,”isaid.“nodrinkforme.”

candymadeasnortingsoundandwalkedoff.therewasanothersilence.spencerputdownhalfofhisdrink.helitacigarette.hespoketomewithoutlookingatme.

“i’msuremrs.wadeorcandycoulddrivemebacktobeverlyhills.oricangetacab.itakeityou’vesaidyourpiece.”

irefoldedthecertifiedcopyofthemarriagelicense.iputitbackinmypocket.

“surethat’sthewayyouwantit?”iaskedhim.

“that’sthewayeverybodywantsit.”

“good.”istoodup.“iguessiwasafooltotrytoplayitthisway.beingabigtimepublisherandhavingthebrainstogowithit—ifittakesany—youmighthaveassumedididn’tcomeoutherejusttoplaytheheavy.ididn’treviveancienthistoryorspendmyownmoneytogetthefactsjusttotwistthemaroundsomebody’sneck.ididn’tinvestigatepaulmarstonbecausethegestapomurderedhim,becausemrs.wadewaswearingthewrongbadge,becauseshegotmixeduponherdates,becauseshemarriedhiminoneofthosequickiewartimemarriages.whenistartedinvestigatinghimididn’tknowanyofthosethings.alliknewwashisname.nowhowdoyousupposeiknewthat?”

“nodoubtsomebodytoldyou,”spencersaidcurtly.

“correct,mr.spencer.somebodywhoknewhiminnewyorkafterthewarandlateronsawhimouthereinchasen’swithhiswife.”

“marstonisaprettycommonname,”spencersaid,andsippedhiswhiskey.heturnedhisheadsidewaysandhisrighteyeliddroopedafractionofaninch.soisatdownagain.“evenpaulmarstonscouldhardlybeunique.therearenineteenhowardspencersinthegreaternewyorkareatelephonedirectories,forinstance.andfourofthemarejustplainhowardspencerwithnomiddleinitial.”

“yeah.howmanypaulmarstonswouldyousayhadhadonesideoftheirfacessmashedbyadelayed-actionmortarshellandshowedthescarsandmarksoftheplasticsurgerythatrepairedthedamage?”

spencer’smouthfellopen.hemadesomekindofheavybreathingsound.hegotoutahandkerchiefandtappedhistempleswithit.

“howmanypaulmarstonswouldyousayhadsavedthelivesofacoupleoftoughgamblersnamedmendymenendezandrandystarronthatsameoccasion?they’restillaround,they’vegotgoodmemories.theycantalkwhenitsuitsthem.whyhamitupanymore,spencer?paulmarstonandterrylennoxwerethesameman.itcanbeprovedbeyondanyshadowofadoubt.”

ididn’texpectanyonetojumpsixfeetintotheairandscreamandnobodydid.butthereisakindofsilencethatisalmostasloudasashout.ihadit.ihaditallaroundme,thickandhard.inthekitchenicouldhearwaterrun.outsideontheroadicouldhearthedullthumpofafoldednewspaperhitthedriveway,thenthelightinaccuratewhistlingofaboywheelingawayonhisbicycle.

ifeltatinystingonthebackofmyneck.ijerkedawayfromitandswungaround.candywasstandingtherewithhisknifeinhishand.hisdarkfacewaswoodenbuttherewassomethinginhiseyesihadn’tseenbefore.