"The whole sordid business beforehand …"
"What business was that?" Carella asked at once.
"Well, he was having an affair with her, you know. He left Mother because of her. This wasn't a matter of getting a divorce and then meeting someone after the divorce, this was getting the divorce because he wanted to marry Margaret. He already had Margaret, you see. There's a difference."
"Yes," Carella said.
"So . . . my sister wouldn't accept it. She stopped seeing him … oh, it must've been eight, nine months after he remarried. In effect, I became his only daughter. All he had, really."
All he had? Brown thought.
"What'd you talk about last Thursday?" Carella asked.
"Oh, this and that."
"Did he say anything was bothering him?"
"No."
"Didn't mention any kind of . . ."
"No."
"… trouble or . . ."
"No."
"… argument…"
"No."
"… or personal matter that…"
"Nothing like that."
"Well, did he seem troubled by anything?"
"No."
"Or worried about anything?"
"No."
"Did he seem to be avoiding anything?"
"Avoiding?"
"Reluctant to talk about anything? Hiding anything?"
"No, he seemed like his usual self."
"Can you give us some idea of what you talked about?" Brown asked.
"It was just father-daughter talk," Lois said.
"About what?"
"I think we talked about his trip to Europe … he was going to Europe on business at the end of the month."
"Yes, what did he say about that?" Carella asked.
"Only that he was looking forward to it. He had a new client in Milan - a designer who's bringing his line of clothes here to the city - and then he had some business in France . . . Lyons, I think he said …"
"Yes, he was flying back from Lyons."
"Then you know."
"Did he say he was going alone?"
"I don't think Margaret was going with him."
"Did he mention who might be going with him?"
"No."
"What else did you talk about?"
"You know, really, this was just talk. I mean, we didn't discuss anything special, it was just … a nice friendly conversation between a father and his daughter."
"Yes, but about what?" Brown insisted.
Lois looked at him impatiently, squelching what appeared to be a formative sigh. She was silent for several seconds, thinking, and then she said, "I guess I told him I was going on a diet, and he said I was being ridiculous, I certainly didn't need to lose any weight … oh, and he told me he was thinking of taking piano lessons again, when he was young he used to play piano in a swing band …"
Blue-gray eyes looking skyward now, trying to pluck memory out of the air, corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth like a teenage girl doing homework . . .
"… and I guess I said something about Marc's birthday … my husband, Marc, his birthday is next week, I still haven't bought him anything. You know, this is really very difficult, trying to remember every word we …"
"You're doing fine," Carella said.
Lois nodded skeptically.
"Your husband's birthday," Brown prompted.
"Yes. I think we talked about what would be a good gift, he's so hard to please . . . and Daddy suggested getting him one of those little computerized memo things that fit in your pocket, Marc loves hi-tech stuff, he's a dentist."
Carella remembered a dentist he had recently known. The man was now doing time at Castleview upstate. Lots of time. For playing around with poison on the side. He wondered what kind of dentist Marc Stein was. It occurred to him that he had never met a dentist he had liked.
"… which Marc never even wore. That was last year. Daddy said you had to be careful with gifts like that. I told him I'd thought of getting Marc a dog, but he said dogs were a lot of trouble once you got past the cute puppy stage, and I ought to give that a little thought."
Two bullets in the dog, Brown thought. Who the hell would want to kill a man's dog!
"Did your father's dog ever bite anyone?" he asked.
"Bite anyone?"
"Or even scare anyone, threaten anyone?"
"Well … I really don't know. He never mentioned anything like that, but … I just don't know. You don't think . . .?"
"Just curious," Brown said.
He was thinking there were all kinds in this city.
"Betsy hated that dog," Lois said.
Both detectives looked at her.
"She hates all dogs in general, but she had a particular animosity for Amos."
Amos, Brown thought.
"What kind of dog was he?" he asked.
"A black Lab," Lois said.
Figures, he thought.
"Why'd your sister hate him?" Carella asked.
"I think he symbolized the marriage. The dog was a gift from Margaret, she gave it to Daddy on their first Christmas together. This was when Betsy was still seeing him, before the rift. She hated the dog on sight. He was such a sweet dog, too, well, you know Labs. But Betsy's a very mixed-up girl. Hate Margaret, therefore you hate the dog Margaret bought. Simple."
"Is your sister still living on Rodman?" Carella asked, and showed her the page in his notebook where he'd jotted down Betsy Schumacher's address.
"Yes, that's her address," Lois said.
"When did you see her last?" Brown asked.
"Sunday. At the funeral."
"She went to the funeral?" Carella asked, surprised.
