"How the hell you doing?" Coldfield asked, settling back into the thick upholstery. "And what the hell you doing at my sister's place?"

"Trying to give it a bad name. What's your excuse?"

"I got a call that a tall, skinny white guy dressed like a longshoreman drove into the neighborhood. Thought it might be you."

"The hell you say. You've got people watching the place?"

" 'Course I do, but don't let Trudence know or she'll kill me."

To say that Trudence Coldfield disapproved of her younger brother's work would be an outrageous understatement. He didn't seem to be bothered by her withering opinion, however, mostly shrugging it off and acting humble when in her presence.

"Watching as in guarding?"

"You betcha. Lots of guys know we're related. If something goes bad against them from me, they might try to get back by hurting her. Tru's plenty tough, but there's some stuff goes on that would sink her in two seconds. She's about the only family I got left, so I look out for her whether she wants it or not."

"It must be quite a setup if it brings you around so fast."

"It is, but I was out and about anyway. Heard there was a good act playing at the Hearts Club. Thought I'd see if it was good enough for the Shoe Box." That was his own nightclub. He only booked the best.

"Is that why you're in the hats?" I indicated the derbies he and Isham sported. Each had a diamond-trimmed horseshoe pinned to the band. Al Capone's gang favored pearl-gray fedoras.

"Yeah. Gotta advertise now and then, just so people know I'm around and seeing to their interests."

"You're looking better than you did the last I saw." Back in February, Coldfield had been caught in the middle of a dozen or so pounding fists and kicking feet in a budding gang war that wasn't his own. I'd waded in to help clear things. He'd emerged out of it bruised and bloodied, but with some self-respect intact. I'd dragged back one of the fleeing mobsters so Coldfield could give him a lesson in fair fighting. We left what remained at a nearby hospital for repairs.

"I should hope so. Got a knot in one arm that's been slow to go away, but the rest healed up fine."

"Glad to hear it."

"How's Charles doing?"

"Same as ever. Not too happy about pitching out all the divorce cases that keep coming in, and he's been having another bout with the insomnia."

"He should see a doctor."

"That's what I tell him. He just changes the subject. Why's he so allergic to them?"

Coldfield shrugged. "He's not allergic, he just thinks he can handle everything himself, and most of the time he can."

"People don't have insomnia for no reason. I know what used to keep me awake. What's eatin' Charles?"

Another shrug. "It's his business. If he wants to tell you he will. Other than that, he's a private man. Respect it."

I'd heard that speech before. Coldfield had once suggested I get Escott stinking drunk if I wanted to hear him talk about himself. Not an easy thing to do with only one person doing all the drinking. Of alcohol, that is.

Coldfield told me Escott just needed to get out more. "Look, it's been a while since we all socialized, why don't you bring Charles over to the club this week for some food? I just hired a French-trained cook up from Orleans."

"Does he do blood pudding?"

He choked and shot me a sharp look at the reminder, suppressed a smile, then glanced at Isham. Isham did not appear to have heard. Coldfield knew about the vampire stuff and for some reason thought it to be completely hilarious that I should be in the dread ranks of the undead. "You can bring your own food," he muttered. "Or whatever."

"Or I can watch the show. Who you got in this week?"

He gave me the short version. The blues man playing there was good, but he did a couple numbers that nearly shut the place down. Some white cops had shoved their way into the club, having heard that obscene lyrics were being sung there. "Not what I would call obscene," said Coldfield. "Bo was doin' 'My Pencil Won't Write No More.' The cops were looking to make an arrest, but they listened to the whole thing and were so damned grass green that they didn't understand it."

I'd heard the song and it was plenty suggestive, but didn't have any actual swear words in the lyrics. "What'd they do?"

"Took ten bucks apiece from me not to break heads and went away. Wasn't even their beat. I made a phone call to the police captain I pay to keep this kinda thing from happening. He said they'd stay outta my territory from now on."

"Think they will?"

"If they know what's good for everyone. I can't have white cops taking graft that ain't theirs. It upsets the balance of everything when guys like that strike out on their own."

I made commiserating sounds.

"Besides, that captain knows if others come in an' take from me, then there's less to pass on to him."

"What a world."

"It's the way things work," he said, sounding remarkably like Gordy. "You wanta come along to the Hearts and see that act?" He knew I liked blues.

"I'm not dressed for anything fancy. I wouldn't want to lower the tone of the joint. Next time. We'll make a night of it."

"Yeah, being seen with you like this would be bad for my reputation. What's with the getup?"

"Charles had a job for me tonight. I finished, got paid, and swung by here to throw some cash at your sister's place."

"That's mighty nice of you."

"Bread on the water, I figure. She helped me in a big way that time. I owe her."

He snorted. "If she'd let me I could really help her with that half-assed soup kitchen she runs." Trudence had very strict rules about allowing riffraff into her haven, and that included her own brother. "She just can't see that it don't matter so much where the money comes from so long as it ends up in a good place. I tried telling her I was kinda like Robin Hood, but she wouldn't have any of it and told me I should leave Sherwood Forest and get a real job in Nottingham working for the sheriff. That woman..."

"It might be a little difficult," I conceded.

"Ha! 'Cept for some acting experience and knowing how to shine shoes I got no skills the rest of the world wants, but I am good at this." He gestured at the car and the neighborhood beyond. I took it to mean his organizational abilities at running his gang. He could have taken those skills anywhere in the business world and done well for himself-if he'd been white.

Coldfield dropped me at my car and drove off after I promised to tell Escott about the French cooking. He was out when I returned to the house; the news would have to wait. I got into a suit, and went to the Nightcrawler in time for the last of the second show. Things were much the same as before, lively, but without the tense, worried energy of an opening-night crowd. The performance was getting good reviews and the customers were getting their money's worth, so everyone was happy.

Walking into the lobby, I skipped checking my hat and coat when I saw some familiar faces and spent some time saying hello. Most of them were mob and had business dealings with Gordy, but pretty nice guys when they weren't working. Gil Dalhauser was at the outer bar, his long frame slung onto a stool, his sleepy-looking eyes missing nothing. He nodded at me, so I went over.

"Have anything?" he asked, ready to signal the bartender.

"Thanks, but later. Can I stand you one?"

"I'm fine with this." It was a double, and he could nurse one of those for an hour or more. I'd seen him do it at the party.

"In for more fun and games?" I asked, meaning the show.

"I came with the others. They're inside."

"Who? Grant and LaCelle?"

Dalhauser nodded. "Came over here with the Taylor dame. Gordy took her into the private club an hour ago."

Interesting. "I heard she was engaged to Grant."

"She thinks she is."

"What's the real story with them?"

He shook his head, which said a lot to me, mostly that Bobbi had been right and Grant wasn't interested in Adelle.

And that it was hard for me to make conversation with a man who was obviously related to a clam. Things might have been different if I could have joined Dalhauser for a drink, but that was impossible.

"I don't want to miss what's left of the show," I said. "I'll see you around."

"Fleming."

He stopped me just as I turned away. I turned back. "Yeah?"

"Watch out for Grant."

"How so?"

"Just keep clear of him. Consider it a friendly warning."

"You can't tell me something like that and not give details."

"Actually, I can." Nothing came out from behind those cold blue eyes. He took a drink and lowered the level in his glass by an eighth of an inch.

I looked hard at him. "Explain."

His expression clouded for an instant, then reasserted itself. Too quickly. Great, slow drinker or not, he'd had enough booze tonight to make hypnosis difficult. If I pressed any harder it would attract attention or put him on guard if I failed. I eased off, frowning.

"Only trying to do you a favor, kid," he said.

Maybe Gordy would have a line on this. "Yeah, thanks a lot."

I left him and went on into the club proper.

The lights were down except for those on the dance-floor stage. I didn't have much trouble navigating the smoke-filled dimness; I never do. Bobbi wasn't on just yet; the Melodians' crooner was doing his solo part, singing to some overdressed dowager who looked happy enough to burst. The teacup number was yet to come.

Gordy's table had a different set of people tonight. I didn't know any of them and figured he'd left it free for paying customers. Ike LaCelle had a spot off to the right on the second tier. There was a blond woman next to him who sort of looked like Carole Lombard but just a little plump. She was dressed flashy and laughed too hard at everything he whispered to her, and he laughed too hard back. They were having a fine time. I didn't want to sit just yet and parked myself behind an empty spot on the third tier rail to watch the show.

Just as I was wondering where Archy Grant might be and speculating why I should be wary of him, the crooner ended his song, and Ted Drew got his Melodians to strike up a familiar fanfare. The crooner turned and started clapping, looking upstage, and the spotlight swung from him to the right-hand wings. Archy Grant, looking fresh and thumbtack sharp, burst from them waving both arms and giving his signature grin to the rising applause as he was recognized. The music, which was the theme number to his radio show, faded as he stepped up to the microphone and introduced himself. To judge by the loud response, everyone knew him.

He explained how he thought The Shanghai Review was so good he had to get in on it to bring it down to his level.

This got a laugh, then he said he'd wanted to join in on the fun for just one song if no one minded. Nobody did, and he launched into one of his standbys.

Grant was a good showman, practiced and polished, with a knack for making it look unrehearsed. He played to the audience, using his own brand of energy to get each to think he was singing only for them. By the time he finished the song most of the women looked like they'd just fallen in love with him. He bowed, grinned, and thanked everyone, then told them all to give a big welcome to the real star of the show, Bobbi Smythe. The lights went out, and when they came back, the crooner stood in Archy's place, ready to begin the teacup number. Bobbi and her sailor costar came out with the chorus and went to work.

I stayed and watched to see if there was anything new about it-there wasn't-and to just enjoy the performance.

When it finished, I threaded through the crowd to get into the gambling room. Quite a few customers were ahead of me; the guard at the door just nodded as I eased past on the side.

While some were busy getting chips, I strolled by tables, checking for familiar faces. Adelle Taylor was at one of the roulette wheels, staring hard as it turned. She had quite a stack of chips before her, and her face was glowing. She had every right; at a rough count she must have had four grand in front of her. That struck me as strange, since the odds favored the house-in this place more than most. Then I spotted Gordy standing alone off to one side, watching her win his money. His normally impassive face bore a pleased expression.

So that was the way of things. I hated to interrupt his daydreaming, but went over.

" 'Lo, Fleming," he said when I got close enough.

" 'Lo, yourself. Another big night on your hands. I saw Archy Grant put in an appearance."

"His idea. I'm not gonna turn him down. How'd it go?"

"He livened things up. Made a big deal over Bobbi when he turned the stage back to her."

"Good. Real good."

"I saw Dalhauser. He gave me some kind of cockeyed warning about staying away from Grant. I tried to get him to explain why, but he wouldn't."

His gaze went from Adelle to me. "Warning?"

"He said for me to stay out of Grant's way, called it doing me a favor. The way he said it was like Grant could be a threat to me."

Gordy's mouth stretched slightly. Any more effort and it might have turned into a chuckle. "That'll be the day."

"Any ideas why Grant would have it in for me?"

"He likes Bobbi. You're her man. You wouldn't be the first guy he asked Ike to take care of so he could have a clear field with a woman."

"LaCelle an enforcer?" I snorted. "Come on, Gordy."

"Ike wouldn't do it himself, but he'd know where to find guys who would."

"Grant could have had his pick of any of the girls last night-"

"Except Bobbi."

"Except Bobbi. Are you saying he has guys killed so he can get dates?" I found that just too hard to believe.

"Not killed. Pushed around. Paid off. Nothing flashy enough to draw the law in."

"That's crazy."

He gave a minimal shrug. "I seen crazier. When he finds something he likes, he goes for it."

"Not this time he won't."

"No need to get on your hind legs for this. I'll have a word with Ike before he leaves. Make sure he knows not to do anything stupid concerning you. He can pass it to Grant."

"I'd appreciate it, but I got ways of dealing with Grant myself."

"Not for long term you don't." Gordy knew my hypnosis talent was powerful but temporary in its effect on some people. "Lemme handle it first. Ike has an interest in keeping his boy out of trouble. I'll let him know you would be six kinds of bad for Grant to tangle with, and this way Bobbi still gets to be on his show."

I let it sink in, finally nodding. Gordy was a specialist at getting people to do things for him, a real diplomat. He knew the players better, too. My skills were more in the sledgehammer line. "Okay. I'll be a gentleman. This time."

His lips thinned again. He was a mighty happy man.

"What d'you think?" He indicated Adelle Taylor. She had about five grand in front of her by now.

"I think you better buy her a drink before she breaks your bank."

The rear exit was for employees only, but that didn't apply to me. Another door and I was in the backstage area, fighting my way through a pack of sweating, chattering chorus girls. There are worse ways to spend an evening.

Bobbi's dressing-room door was shut, so I knocked a couple times. Rachel, the costume mistress, opened it. She had Bobbi's teacup pajama costume over one arm. Rachel's smile for whatever was going on within faded suddenly to surprise when she saw me.

"Hello, Jack," she said, just a shade too loud and clear, and stepped awkwardly back to let me through. "Look who's here, Bobbi."

Bobbi was at her dressing table in her kimono wrap, black wig off and her platinum hair fluffed and uncombed.

"Hi, sweetheart," she called brightly over her shoulder to me.

Sitting comfortably on the couch against the far wall near her was Archy Grant.

Rachel looked at all three of us with a sick artificial smile, then scurried off, slamming the door.

Grant slowly stood and came over to put his hand out to me. "Well, if it ain't young Mr. Fleming. How you doing?" Perfect teeth, perfect grin, and an attitude calculated to annoy.

I let him shake my hand. "Fine. I saw your song. It went over great." I looked at Bobbi. "You were terrific, angel."

She beamed and smeared some cream on her face to take off the heavy Oriental makeup. "We thought it might be fun to have Archy make a surprise appearance at the last show. It's good publicity for the review."

"Very kind of you," I said to Grant.

"A pleasure and nothing but," he said, smiling warmly-at Bobbi.

Any other guy might have gone over to his girl, maybe put a possessive arm around her, maybe even landed a kiss on her mouth to let Grant know where and how things stood. I didn't have to do anything like that. Besides, the big makeup mirror looked over half of the room, and me not being reflected in it was not something he needed to notice.

"Going to make any more appearances here?" I asked.

"Hmm?" He dragged his attention away from Bobbi. "Oh, well, that's always a possibility. Not too often or my agent will have fits. He likes me to earn money when I perform, but I make more than enough to keep me in champagne and cigars. How about yourself?" Those sharp brown eyes of his had already given me a onceover; he must have taken Adelle's hint about pricing the clothes I wore.

"I do okay. Just wrapped a job up tonight, so I've got some time off."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an errand boy." Yeah. Standing easy in a hundred-dollar suit with a silk shirt and tie. I could almost see the wheels spin in his head as he tried to figure it. The logical interpretation, given my surroundings and acquaintances, was that, like him, I was mob-connected and maybe dangerous.

Bobbi shot me an amused look to let me know what she thought of my game and went on wiping cream from her face.

"Must be some company," Grant said.

"Yeah. I'm hoping to work my way up to the mail room before long."

His grin didn't falter, but something sparked in his eyes. He didn't like me, but wasn't going to make the mistake of showing it in front of Bobbi.

"Archy, tell Jack about the change," she said. It was her way of asking us boys to play nice.

I looked interested.

Grant looked vastly pleased. "Sure thing. Bobbi's going to be on my show next Tuesday for real."

"For real?"

"Yeah, not just some insert broadcast from the club. I've fixed things so she can actually be in the studio."

"What about the club act?"

"Adelle's agreed to take her place for that night as a favor to me."

I wondered how he'd managed it. For a woman like Adelle Taylor, doing a nightclub review was a step down and backward from her radio work. On the other hand, there was Gordy to be considered. Maybe she would see him as a step up from the indifferent Grant.

Bobbi finished with the face cream and turned around. "There's going to be a ton of rehearsing for us both. Adelle's got to learn the dance routines, and I've got to rehearse with Archy to get my lines and songs. Rachel has to make costumes for Adelle and-"

"It'll be fun," Grant said, all confidence.

"What a great break," I said. "What's Adelle think of this?"

"She's all for it."

"And Gordy? What's he think?" I looked at Bobbi.

"Oh, he thought it was a terrific idea. Not in so many words, but he gave us the go-ahead. So long as the review goes on, it's jake with him."

I'd bet it would be, having Adelle around for all that time.

"Tied up with a bow," said Grant. He put himself between me and Bobbi, took up her hand, and lifted it, looking deeply into her eyes. His voice got lower, more serious, and decidedly intimate. "Well, little teacup, I'll see you at rehearsal tomorrow at ten."

She smiled up at him. "Don't forget I'm bringing my accompanist."

"I look forward to meeting her." He bowed slightly and kissed the back of her hand, then gave it a friendly squeeze.

On his way out he said he'd see me around.

" 'Little teacup'?" I dryly asked, shutting the door.

"He thinks it's cute."

"What do you think?"

"That this radio show is the chance of a lifetime, so I'll put up with his snake-oil routine."

"Why was Rachel acting like she'd been punched in the gut?"

"Because she doesn't know you as well as I do and watches too many movies. She must have thought you'd go into some kind of fit at finding Archy and me so cozy here."

Bobbi's last boyfriend would have done the jealous-rage routine. "You know, Archy didn't make it easy on himself.

Does he want me to take a shot at him?"

"I think he just likes flirting, but there's really nothing to it."

"There's something to it, baby."

"If there is, then it's directed at you not me."

"You saying he's like your costar?"

"No, I'm saying I'm not the real focus. He's using me to annoy you, which is too bad. If he smarted up, you two could be good friends. Wonder why he's doing it?"

"Look in the mirror, teacup, just look in the mirror."

"But he's not really after me, just the idea of me. I'm not real to him like I am to you. There must be another reason."

She didn't need to hear from me that Grant probably only wanted another trophy notation in his little black book.

As smart as she was, she'd have already figured it out. "Some people don't need a reason to mix it up, they just want to see how far they can push others before getting pushed back. It happens. No skin off my nose, but I'll behave myself. I wouldn't want you to get thrown off his show."

I wasn't too worried about Bobbi. She could take care of herself. Grant may have been trying to play some kind of game to work me up the way some guys like to poke a stick in a tiger cage to get a reaction. With the bars in the way they feel all the power and are safe from reprisals. Bobbi's pending radio spot would do for bars to hold me back in this case. I could imagine his plan-he baits me so I get into a jealous fight with Bobbi, her begging me not to do anything against him, and then telling her boyfriend troubles to Grant, who would be so very, very understanding.

Yeah, I was probably putting too much into it, but underneath I did have to admit to a small but solid kernel of real worry. Grant was in the same kind of job as Bobbi and could appeal to her in a way I couldn't. He knew what it was like to feel the heat of a spotlight on his face and float on the applause of others, and that wasn't something I could give her or entirely share.

"Jack?"

"Huh?"

"You look like a week of bad weather. Archy Grant is convenient to me, but nothing more. I know I don't need to tell you that, but I wanted to say it anyway."

I went over and folded my arms around her. "Thanks. You, I trust; him, I don't."

She relaxed against me, hugging me back, and let out a long sigh. "I've missed this."

"But I was here just last night."

"Like I said: I've missed this."

She eventually put on a dress and hat, pulled on a long coat, and said good night to people as we strolled out. She hunched down into the protection of her high fur collar during the damp and chilly walk to my car.

"Want a late supper?" I asked, opening the door and helping her in.

"An early breakfast would be better. Take me home and I'll fix it there."

"You don't want to eat out?"

"Don't want to waste the time."

That sounded promising. On the other hand she had to get up early-for her-and go to that ten o'clock rehearsal.

Grant would probably offer to take her to lunch. I knew if I had the opportunity I'd ask her, knowing she would be unlikely to turn me down. Maybe Marza the accompanist would take a dislike to him as she'd done to me and tag along. If she did, I'd send her a big bunch of flowers.

Bobbi's hotel apartment was dark and the curtains open. City glow illuminated her living room as we stepped inside from the hall. She shrugged out of her coat and told me not to bother as I reached for the light switch. She dropped the coat and hat on a chair.

"I like it this way, where it's all gray shapes and shadows," she said, stretching her arms high. She arched her back, and without thinking about it, my hands went straight to her breasts. The fabric of her dress disguised their texture but not their shape or firmness. She laughed softly and pressed close as I bent to kiss them. No brassiere tonight.

"I like your style," she whispered. "I don't have to offer you anything to drink first."

"It's called saving the best for last." I broke things off long enough to help unbutton her dress. She did the same for my shirt, and pulled on the tie until it joined her hat and coat.

"This way," she said, leading me toward the windows.

She'd originally lived on the fourth floor, but had moved up to the tenth when a suite became available. She'd wanted the better view. Right now it was a drab cloud-choked sky above and countless lights scattered below except for a thick slice of uncompromising black where the lake began.

Bobbi stared out, her face dimly reflected in the glass. "On nights like this I look down from here and feel like I own this town."

"You will own it." I stood behind her, arms wrapped snug around her slim body. The rose scent in her hair was enough to make me feel drunk. I let my hands roam free on her and kissed the back of her neck, taking my time. Before too long her dress slipped to the floor. She laughed again, raising her arms. "Someone will see," I cautioned.

"They'll need a telescope. And if they go to that much trouble, let's give 'em a real show to enjoy." She turned to face me and got me free of my clothes.

After that it was skin on skin and more laughter and touching and her brief, harshly drawn gasps for air. We ended up on the thick rug in front of her couch, limbs tangling and urgent. I pressed into her, giving her that climax, and then when she was starting to descend from it, I gave her another, much longer one. She didn't hold back her cry this time, just ran out of breath as I fed from the tiny wounds I'd reopened in her soft throat.

I lifted away. "You all right?"

"Yes, yes. Please don't stop, ple-"

She held me, arms and legs wrapped tight. I rode her gently, giving and taking all at once. My pleasure came from hers and from the blood she gave so willingly, from her sweet voice, sometimes moaning, sometimes begging me to go harder, to take more. I surrendered to it, to that blinding, white-hot, inside-out feeling, of being out of control and yet in perfect command. Surrendered, until I knew I had to go one step further to make it complete.

I rolled onto my back, pulling Bobbi along. I eased away from kissing her. "Your turn," I whispered.

"Jack, you-"

"Yes, now." I dug one nail into my neck on the left side. Couldn't feel much, only the sudden cool touch of my blood on my skin. "Now."

She began kissing me there, then licking, and finally drinking from me.

She held me fast, not letting go. I forced my hands away from her and down so I'd not hurt her, and then I was truly out of control, my body shuddering, writhing from the ecstasy. She took it all back again, the red life I'd taken from her. And with it she drank in the possibility of living as I did, beyond death. Because of it, I couldn't think, couldn't move, only feel the almighty delight of what she was doing to me.

It went on and on, getting better and better until it seemed like I couldn't take any more.

And when that finally happened, it didn't fade away-I did.

I came back to myself in the dark. In real dark, not the dim twilight that was usually like day to me. Something heavy was on my face. Hell, something heavy was on me all over, but it gave when I moved.

An abrupt ugly memory hit like an electric shock: of being tied head to foot in old carpeting, of weights against my chest, and the sudden fall to icy death in the free flowing water of that damned lake.

Half shouting, I clawed at the thing covering me. It dropped away easily enough, and I sat up, blinking.

I was alone on the floor of Bobbi's silent living room. The curtains were drawn, and she'd left a lamp on. A wall clock told me I'd slept the remains of the night and the whole day through. That was the only drawback to sharing blood with her. I tended to pass out and stay passed out unless she worked hard to shake me awake. Apparently she'd not bothered this time.

The heavy thing covering me was the thick rug on which we'd made love. She'd flipped it over my body to protect me from any sunlight straying in, and had shoved a small bag of my home earth under my head to act as a pillow.

Ingenious woman.

A sheet of paper folded into an A shape with my name on it stood on the couch seat where I would be sure to notice. I picked it up and read the letter.

Dear Sleepyhead,

After that last turn down the road I knew trying to wake you up would be more trouble than it was worth, so I let you dream on. From the look on your face that dream must be wonderful, but then, you're wonderful. I called Charles's answering service and left a message that you were staying over for the day so he wouldn't worry.

I had a beautiful sleep, thanks to you. I love it when you get jealous and try to spoil me for other men. It works every time.

I love you-B

I read the note several more times, folded it carefully, and realized I didn't have a pocket to put it in. Standing, I kicked the rug back into place and picked up the sack of earth, carrying it into Bobbi's bedroom. My clothes were hanging neat in her closet, looking sternly out of place amid the feminine froth. I put the sack in the back corner where she usually kept it, found a towel, showered, and shaved. My neck was all healed up.

There was fresh underwear and clean shirts in a bureau drawer she'd set aside for me, so I was soon ready for another night out. All I needed was a date. I called the club but Bobbi was already backstage busy preparing for the show. Fine, I'd catch up with her shortly. A call home went unanswered. On the slim chance Escott might be there on a Sunday, I tried the office. Nothing. Answering service. No message from him but they had one from Mary Sommerfeld. She said Jason McCallen had broken into her house that day, could Mr. Escott please, please help? She'd called several times in the last couple hours. She must be scared as hell. As Mr. Escott seemed to be missing, it would be up to me to do something about the crisis. I grabbed my hat and coat and slammed out the door.