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PAUL DRAKE, SEATED IN HIS CUBBYHOLE OF A PRIVATE OFFICE, a green plastic eyeshade pulled down over his eyes, studied a series of reports. Telephones on his desk kept him constantly in touch with the men who were out in the field. On the wall an electric clock silently paced the seconds. I heard about the new machine, Ed said. Ill want a look at her before you take off. Im not telling you shit. One was from Senator Corsing. Or rather it was from his office. The Senator would like you to call him tomorrow. I dont want to intrude on your grief, Mason said, but I consider it rather important. Of course not. A woman should never forgive a man for infidelities. She should remain in complete ignorance. It was the shortest of declarative sentences, its noun, verb, and predicate adjective filled with ominous potency. Show us where, he said. Ekman nodded.Okay, that makes sense. So, Cowl is a bad guy. Is his money dirty, is that what this is about? And we dont have to make it hush-hush? Jerry Myers will never get to enjoy his new pickup truck. Well, Della Street said, watching Masons smile, are you going to read it aloud? 19 Yes, sir, aided by the beam of a flashlight. I told her what to do. I think she has enough confidence in me to do exactly what I told her. What have you found out, Paul? It makes for stability, Drake told him, and enables me to hold great quantities of liquor. In the middle of the night, Stones cell phone rang. He picked it up from the bedside table and checked the caller ID. Name blocked, it read. He checked the recents; the calling number was blocked, too. Robocall? Probably. Still, he got out of bed and walked naked into the hallway. He stood at the rail and looked downstairs. No lights burning. He looked at the bedroom doors down the hallway: no lights there, either. He took a few deep breaths, then held one and listened. He could hear the big clock near the front door, but nothing between the ticks and the tocks. He exhaled and went back to bed...