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Chapter Eighteen He first noted the chalky white fingerprint powder on the lock. He used his shirtsleeve to cover his hand and tried the knob. The door swung open. He was looking at a dark room until he flicked on the light with his elbow. The dating service? Ive been on there. Its really cool. Yes, sir. Moaning and groaning and lustful whimpers. Hi. Why, what I mean is that youre.. My Uncle Slick. Well, for one thing it rained last night and the ground around the stairs — she lives in the upper apartment — was real muddy. Theres a muddy footprint just outside her door. And the rubber mat she has outside the door shows where mud was wiped off. Theres a — whats the word?—imprint of a man’s shoe on the mat. A very large imprint. Inside on the living-room rug there’s a little piece of mud, and there’s one in the little room where I’m staying too. Like he didn’t get all the mud off but didn’t realize it. Don Ameche. You remember Don Ameche? But why would he want you to see that play in particular? Devine sipped his fresh beer. I really cant explain it for you. Its just that sort of a play. You have to see it for yourself. The blue-and-yellow police tape was strung across the doorway. We took mubfins car, the big brown 450 SEL Mercedes that he drove carelessly, almost recklessly, the way a lot of people drive leased cars, secure in the knowledge that somebody else will have to pay for the skinned paint or the nicked bumper. Were you dating her? Did you have sex with her? So, you think well get through all of it okay? He didnt know why he was asking, but for some reason he wanted to know her answer...