beamed up at Johnno. Would Darren have been so bright, so sturdy at
eleven? "Why don't I send him an album? The new one won't be released
for a couple of weeks yet. He'll be the hit of the schoolyard."
"That's very kind of you."
"It's nothing. I've a strong feeling that you've put more time in on
what happened to Darren than you're required to."
"Neither one of us has nine-to-five jobs, Mr. McAvoy."
"Right. I always hated cops." He gave a thin smile. "I guess you do
until you really need one. I've hired a private-detective firm,
Lieutenant."
"Yes, I know."
It was strange, but Brian felt the easiness of his own laugh. "Yes, I
suppose you do. They reported to me that you've covered more ground
than five cops might in the last months. That's the only thing they've
been able to tell me that you haven't. One would almost think you want
them as much as I do."
"He was a beautiful boy, Mr. McAvoy."
"Yes, by Jesus he was." He looked down at the guitar still in his hands.
Because he wanted to fling it, he set it with exaggerated care on its
stand. "What would you like to talk to me about?"
"Just a few details I'd like to go over again. I know it's
repetitious."
"It doesn't matter."
"I'd also like to talk to Emma again."
The easiness passed as quickly as it had come. "She can't tell you
anything."
"Maybe I haven't asked the right questions yet."
Brian ran a hand through his hair. He'd had several inches cut off and
was still surprised when his hand ran through it and into air. "Darren's
gone, and I can't risk Emma's state of mind. She's delicate at the
moment. She's only six, and for the second time in her life, she's been
uprooted. I'm sure you've read that my wife and I are separated."
"I'm sorry."
"It's hardest on Emma. I don't want her upset again."
"I won't push." He tabled his idea of suggesting hypnosis.
Enjoying her role as hostess, such as it was, Emma brought Michael over
to her father. "Dad, this is Michael."
"Hello, Michael."
"Hello." Finding his tongue tied in knots, Michael could only grin
foolishly.
"Do you like music?"
"Oh yeah. I've got lots of your records." He wanted desperately to ask
for an autograph, but was afraid he'd seem like a jerk. "It was great
hearing you play, and all. Just about the greatest."
"Thanks."
Emma took a picture. "My Dad can send you a copy," she said, admiring
Michael's chipped front tooth.
WHEN LOU LEFT, leading his reluctant son out of the rehearsal hall, he
had the beginnings of a headache and a nasty case of frustration. He'd
kept his promise and hadn't pushed Emma. He hadn't been able to. The