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deceased?”
    “Not at all well. Hardly at all, in fact, but we were at the same party last night, and I know what he looks like,” said Philip.
    “That all right with you, Mrs. Ebury?” asked the captain.
    Camilla nodded. Philip walked into the library. Lying facedown on the floor, in a pool of blood, was Hector Paradiso, nude and dead. There appeared to be several shots in his torso, and red marks on the cheek that was visible to Philip, as well as on both his buttocks.
    Philip nodded. “That’s Hector Paradiso,” he said. He thought of Hector last night, dancing so elaborately, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face. Too tanned, he remembered thinking at the time. Now the too-tanned face looked ghostly and white beneath the red welts on it.
    “How many times was he shot?” asked Philip.
    “There appear to be five shots fired in all,” said the captain.
    “What are those red welts on his backside?” he asked.
    “The victim seems to have been slapped across the face and buttocks by his black patent leather dancing pumps,” said the captain.
    Philip nodded. From the other room he heard Camilla’s voice. “I am stunned, simply stunned, that Raymundo could do such a thing,” she said. “My uncle has been responsible for bringing Raymundo’s family up here from Mexico and getting them green cards so they could work legally and sending them to schools where they could learn English.”
    “We’re not at all sure that Raymundo is responsible, Mrs. Ebury,” said a police officer.
    “I saw him myself in handcuffs outside this house being put into a police car,” she said.
    “I’m not a bit convinced about Raymundo,” said the captain.“Do you happen to know where your uncle was last night, Mrs. Ebury?”
    “Yes, he was at Jules Mendelson’s house,” replied Camilla.
    “I know that. We’ve talked to Mr. Mendelson. I meant, after Mr. Mendelson’s.”
    Camilla looked at the police captain and understood what he meant. “No. I would have no way of knowing that.”
    Philip walked back into the room. “Where is Mr. Mendelson?” he asked.
    “He left,” said Captain Mariano.
    “How long ago?”
    “He only stayed a few minutes.”
    “Perhaps you should call him at home,” said Philip to Camilla.
    “Yes,” she answered.
    “I don’t think he went home,” said the captain. “I heard him telephone Sandy Pond and ask to see him immediately.”
    Camilla nodded.
    “Who’s Sandy Pond?” asked Philip.
    “The publisher of the
Tribunal
,” answered Camilla.
    “Comin’ through,” called out a voice from the library.
    “Step over here, will you, Mrs. Ebury, Mr. Quennell,” said the captain.
    Two stretcher-bearers made their way through the living room carrying the last remains of Hector Paradiso zipped into a black rubber body bag. In the silence that followed, the crying of a small animal could be heard.
    “What’s that?” asked Captain Mariano.
    “What?” answered one of the policemen.
    “Like crying?”
    “Oh, my God,” said Camilla. “Astrid.”
    “Who’s Astrid?” asked Philip.
    “Hector’s dog,” said Camilla. She called the dog several times. “Astrid. Astrid.”
    The sounds of crying became louder as Camilla went into the library. She knelt down on the floor and peered under the sofa. “Astrid, come out, you sweet thing,” she said in a gentle voice. She reached under the sofa and pulled the small West Highland terrier out. The dog appeared terrified, and Camilla clutched it in her arms, kissed its head, and petted it. “Rose gave Hector this dog,” she said to Philip. “I’m going to bring it back to Rose.”
    “That little dog knows who killed Hector Paradiso,” said Philip.
    “Too bad Astrid can’t talk,” said Captain Mariano.
    “I don’t give a shit if Mr. Einsdorf left strict orders he did not want to be disturbed until noon or not,” yelled Joel Zircon into the telephone. “Wake him up!”
    Several minutes later Manning Einsdorf, enraged that his