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right?”
    “Right.”
    “Of course, right. I mean, the raise in pay, the change in title, those aren’t enough. The expansion of duties and responsibilities sure can’t carry it. What’s two times zero? Zero, am I right?”
    “Math always was your strong—”
    “But with these five thousand desks and five thousand brothers-in-law, the city’s crack investigators can’t find Hizzoner’s desk. You know they’re turning City Hall upside down? Looking at everybody’s desk. Looking inside the things, for God’s sake. Like Curley’s desk was maybe a stolen racehorse, and somebody rubbed on shoe polish to cover the star on its forehead. I tell you, John, it makes me sick.”
    “Sick is right, Mo. I—”
    “And you’d think, wouldn’t you, you’d think that the new administration would have the sense to do all this hush-hush? I mean, between Proposition Two and a Half wrecking the budget, and busing wrecking the schools, and potholes wrecking anything with wheels, you’d think that the administration wouldn’t want to advertise that it’s got more guys on this desk thing than the city did on the Boston Strangler. But no, they’ve got to let the media in on it, which means TV covered it last night, which means I got to have this ready by … Oh, I’m telling you, John, every time I think about it, I get sick.”
    “Mo, before I call for an ambulance—”
    “Ambulance?”
    “Before I—”
    “Who said anything about an ambulance?”
    “Nobody did, Mo. It—”
    “You better watch yourself, John.” He pointed the cigar at me. “I think your mind’s beginning to wander.”
    I asked Mo if I could see the paper’s morgue information on the Creasey case. The Herald’ s got the best criminal coverage in the city, but after an hour’s reading, the only new information I found was that the Federal Communications Commission was leaning against renewing the license of the television station run by the dead girl’s father. Some days you get the peanuts, some days you get the shells.

Seven
    I STOPPED AT A push-button pay phone and dialed my own home number. I waited for the ringing to stop and the outgoing tape to start. I punched in my code number and heard two messages whir backward in Donald Duck talk. The first message was from Mrs. Daniels, asking me to call her at home that evening. The second was from Murphy, telling me to call him at home that evening.
    I pressed a few more buttons to reset the tape machine, then checked in with my answering service. Same two messages.
    I hung up and tried Dr. Clifford Marek. I told his receptionist that I had read about his work with hypnosis and hoped he could help me with “my problem.” She said ordinarily two weeks’ notice would be necessary but reluctantly admitted a fortuitous cancellation for 3:30 P.M. I accepted with what I hoped were sufficient sounds of gratitude.
    I had a burger and two beers at a pub around the corner from the Herald . Then I drove out to Calem.
    I didn’t know the town well, but Marek’s address was right at the edge of the municipal center and recessed from the road. The building was four stories high, yellow brick. The lobby was simple and empty. The directory listed a group dental practice on the first floor, two podiatrists on the second, three pediatricians on the third, and just Marek on the fourth. Nice suburban professional atmosphere. There was a STAIRS door to the left of the directory. I walked over and tried the knob. The door opened, and I slipped through it onto a concrete staircase with blue metal railing. It appeared to lead up to the offices and down to the basement.
    I went down fifteen steps to a second door, also unlocked, but marked BASEMENT—NO ADMISSION. Behind the second door was a hallway with three doors on the left side, spaced equidistantly. An elevator and two other doors occupied the right side. Four of the five doors said STORAGE and were secured. The fifth door said HVAC, short for “Heating,