T.C. shrugged. “Do you remember what Judy said to you on the phone?”

Mark thought for a moment. “She wasn’t making much sense. She said something about not knowing what I was doing, about not knowing the whole story.”

T.C. shrugged. “Maybe,” he concluded, “we don’t.”

“MRS. Klenke will be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Laura said. She readjusted herself in the seat. The pain from the burns was greater than she had anticipated. Every move felt like sandpaper rubbing against a fresh wound. In the hospital they had given her painkillers. She had no idea of how potent they were. Laura had managed to secure some codeine from a drugstore, but it was far from an adequate substitute.

Laura looked at her watch. It took her a good portion of the night to convince Serita and Gloria to help her get to Chicago. They agreed reluctantly in the end, probably because they were afraid she would try to get there no matter what they did.

They were probably right.

T.C., the crafty son of a bitch, would be proud of her in an odd sort of way. She had spent most of the morning in her hospital bed playing detective. She called Brinlen College, got in touch with various professors and staff members, and asked about Sinclair Baskin. No one knew very much about him. Very few professors were left from nineteen sixty.

But one call paid off.

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Klenke?” an older professor had asked her.

“No. Who is she?”

“Well, back then, she was Miss Engle. She was Sinclair Baskin’s personal secretary, and if rumor had it correctly, the word to be emphasized is ‘personal.’ Get my meaning?”

The college office still had her name and phone number on file. Laura called up and persuaded Mrs. Diana Klenke to see her. Now, just a few hours later, Laura was sitting in the woman’s den.

“Mrs. Baskin?”

Laura turned toward Mrs. Klenke’s voice. She had learned that Diana Klenke had been twenty-seven years old in nineteen sixty. That made her fifty-seven now, but she was still something to behold. Her hair had gone gray but her bone structure and smile made her more than just dazzling. She was very tall and lithe, elegantly dressed in a black Svengali suit. Her every move was graceful and subdued.

“Call me Laura.”

“Only if you’ll call me Diana.”

“Okay, Diana.”

Diana Klenke’s smile turned gentle as she looked at the younger woman in front of her. “My goodness, you’re stunning. Pictures do not do you justice, Laura.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Laura wanted very much to return the compliment, but whenever she had in the past, people thought she sounded phony and somewhat patronizing.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Anything at all?”

“Thank you, no.”

Diana Klenke sat on the plush chair next to Laura. The room was beautiful and immaculately kept by what had to be a large staff of servants. The Victorian mansion must have held twenty-five rooms, each done in a style that would have made the Palace of Versailles envious. “How was your trip?”

“Fine,” Laura replied. “You have a beautiful home, Diana.”

Diana Klenke smiled as she nodded. “My husband loved this house. It was his pride and joy. He died ten years ago. Killed in a car crash on his way home from the airport. As you might have guessed, he was a very wealthy man and now”—she paused, laughing lightly—“I am a very wealthy widow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We were never all that close. Besides, I have the older-man market cornered. They all want my money.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Diana shrugged. “No matter. What can I do for you, Laura? You mentioned on the phone something about Sinclair?”

“Yes.”

“I read about your husband’s tragic death. So damn sad. He was so young. Sometimes I think there must be a curse on the Baskin men.”

“It seems so,” Laura agreed.

“So what can I help you with?”

Laura’s leg shook. It would do no good to try to stop it. The leg would only start up again. She leaned forward. Pain shot through the burns on her back as she reached into her purse. “Will you take a look at this photograph?”

Diana Klenke took out a pair of reading glasses. Somehow, they added to her looks, making her appear even more stately and beautiful. Sinclair Baskin’s former secretary took the photograph in her hand and studied it for nearly a minute without saying a word. “That’s Sinclair all right. The woman’s name is Judy . . .”

“Judy Simmons?” Laura offered.

“Yes, that’s the name. I remember that one very well.”

“That one?”

Diana nodded. “Sinclair Baskin was a full-fledged womanizer, Laura.”

“He had affairs?”

Diana laughed. “Dozens. Blondes, brunettes, redheads —it made no difference as long as they were beautiful. He changed them in a blur. One day, this one. The next day, another. You see, Sinclair Baskin was a handsome, smooth-talking man. He fooled around with coeds, with school colleagues, with married women. I remember when he slept with the department chairman’s wife.” She stopped, smiled. “He even fooled around with his own secretary.”

Laura was not exactly sure how to continue. “You say there were dozens of other women?”

“At least.”

“Do you remember most of them?”

She shook her head. “Hardly any.”

“But you said you remembered Judy Simmons.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she was something special. For one thing, she was not his type.”

“Why not?”

“Just look at her photograph. Don’t get me wrong. Judy was pretty. But Sinclair did not go after girls who were merely attractive. He wanted gorgeous. After all, he was looking for some extramarital thrills. He already had a wife. Looks were all he cared about.”

“I see.”

“I mean, it would be normal for him to try to bed her once maybe, but not more than that.”

“And that’s why you remember her?”

Diana Klenke shook her head. “That’s only part of it. The main reason I remember her so well is that she lasted. They were together for more than two months. It was the first time I had ever seen Sinclair care about a woman—myself included. He was as close to helplessly in love as a man like Sinclair Baskin becomes. He even considered divorcing his wife so that he could marry Judy. Thoughts of other women disappeared from his mind. It was all highly irregular for him.”