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AIC is talking to Lester," Lucas said. "He wanted to know if we were going to declare it as a kidnapping. Lester said we probably would. We're covering the phone lines at Tower Manette's office and house. The same for Dunn and Andi Manette, offices and houses."
    "Gotta be a kidnapping," Roux's husband said, getting comfortable with the conversation. "What else couldit be?"
    Lucas looked at him and said, "Could be a nut--Manette's a shrink. Could be murder. Marital murder or something in the family. There's lots of money around. Lots of motive."
    "I don't want to think about that," Roux said. Then, "What about Dunn?"
    "Shaffer talked to him. He's got no alibi, not really. But we do know it wasn't him in the van. He says he was in his car--he's got a phone in his car, but he didn't use it within a half-hour of the kidnapping."
    "Huh."
    "You don't know him? Dunn?" Rose Marie Roux asked.
    "No. I'll get to him tonight."
    "He's a tough guy," she said. "But he's not crazy. Not unless something happened since the last time I saw him."
    "Marital problems," Lucas suggested again.
    "He's the type who'd have some," Roux said. "He'd manage them. He wouldn't flip out." She grunted as she pushed herself out of the La-Z-Boy. "Come on, we've got an appointment."
    Lucas looked at his watch. Eight o'clock. "Where? I was gonna see Dunn."
    "We've got to talk to Tower Manette first. At his place, Lake of the Isles."
    "You need me?"
    "Yeah. He called and asked if I'd put you on the case. I said I already had. He wants to meet you."
    The chief traded her sweat socks for panty hose and short heels and they took the Porsche five minutes north to Lake of the Isles.
    "Your husband saidperp ," Lucas said in the car.
    "I love him anyway," she said.
    Manette's house was a Prairie-style landmark posed on the west rim of the lake, above a serpentine driveway. The drive was edged with a flagstone wall, and Lucas caught the color of a late-summer perennial garden in the flash of the headlights. The house, of the same brown brick used in Roux's, was built in three offset levels, and every level was brilliantly lit; peals of light sliced across the evergreens under the windows and dappled the driveway. "Everybody's up," Lucas said.
    "She's his only child," Roux said.
    "How old is he now?"
    "Seventy, I guess," Roux said. "He's not been well."
    "Heart?"
    "He had an aneurysm, mmm, last spring, I think. A couple of days after they fixed it, he had a mild stroke. He supposedly made a complete recovery, but he's not been the same. He got... frail, or something."
    "You know him pretty well," Lucas said.
    "I've known him for years. He and Humphrey ran the Party in the sixties and seventies."
    Lucas parked next to a green Mazda Miata; Roux struggled out of the passenger seat, found her purse, slammed the door, and said, "I need a larger car."
    "Porsches are a bad habit," Lucas agreed as they crossed the porch.
    A man in a gray business suit, with the professionally concerned face of an undertaker, was standing behind the glass in the front door. He opened it when he saw Roux reach for the doorbell. "Ralph Enright, chief," he said, in a hushed voice. "We talked at the Sponsor's Ball."
    "Sure, how are you?" Roux said. "I didn't know you and Tower were friends."
    "Um, he asked me to take a consultive role," Enright said. He looked as though he were waxed in the morning.
    "Good," said Roux, nodding dismissively. "Is Tower around?"
    "In here," Enright said. He looked at Lucas. "And you're..."
    "Lucas Davenport."
    "Of course. This way."
    "Lawyer," Roux muttered, as Enright started into the depths of the house. Lucas could see the light glittering from his hair. "Gofer."
    The house was high-style Prairie, with deep Oriental carpets setting off the arts-and-crafts furniture. A touch of deco added glamour, and a definite deco taste was reflected in the thirties art prints. Lucas knew nothing of decoration or art, but the smell of money seeped from the walls. That he