His suit sleeve was smeared with rust from the old bars. He didn't notice.
He stepped over to the gate hinges next to the wall and examined them. "Rust's been worn smooth in the joints of these pillar brackets. Not regular use, maybe, but recent."
"Can't really see anything in there," Haydon said, and they turned and walked back across the dusty street to the car.
Haydon started the motor, and Mooney turned the air conditioner on high, and they waited a moment for the compressor to begin producing tempered air before they rolled up the windows.
They followed the wall of the estate to the end of the block and turned left. Equidistant from both corners of the back wall there was a tall wrought-iron gate with perpendicular bars. Haydon stopped the car and got out, leaving Mooney in the idling car as he crossed the street. Here the hinges were definitely worn and the padlock was well oiled. Haydon looked down at the dusty ground just inside the gate, where a solid stand of brittle bamboo sprang out of the powdery earth. Above him, rangy cypresses and oaks hung their heavy branches over the top of the wall. There was little else to see.
He went back to the car, and they continued slowly around the block, straining to get glimpses of the house before turning toward Harrisburg on Chicon.
CHAPTER 6
HAYDON took a rain check. He just wasn't in the mood for barbecue or conversation, so he dropped Mooney off at Lockwood's, where Finn said he would gladly bring Mooney by the station when they were through.
Retracing their earlier route down Old Spanish Trail, Haydon turned north on Fannin, passing along the western edge of the Medical Center. There was construction at the entrance of one of the hospital's parking garages, and a policeman was stepping out in the street to stop traffic and let cars out of the garage. To his left Haydon caught glimpses of the cool green acreage of Rice University. At the Outer Belt Drive he entered the sprawling grounds of Hermann Park, its irrigated green spaces as refreshing as rain in the harsh glare of summer sunlight.
He worked his way into the left lane just before reaching the Reflecting Pool, where he turned left on Sunset Boulevard. Within a few minutes he was pulling through the pillared gates at the house and making the shallow turn on the brick drive to the porte cochere, where he parked the light tan department car in the shade.
As he opened the front door the coolness of the old house greeted him like a calming spirit. When his father had built the house of limestone quarried from the central Texas hills in 1943, he had said the heavy finished stones would insulate them from the sweltering tropical summers; like a cave, it would hold a natural coolness. He hadn't been far wrong, though he might have underestimated the severity of Houston summers. Still, the old house did not require much air conditioning, mostly to remove the humidity, and its marble and granite floors were always pleasantly cool. In a real sense it was a refuge, from heat and turmoil. There were days when Haydon didn't want to leave it at all.
Haydon took off his Beretta, laid it on the hall table next to the library door, and walked through the dining room to the kitchen. Nina had her back to him, making sandwiches on the butcher block in the middle of the large square room.
"I hope it's someone I know," she said, without turning around.
Haydon stopped and looked at her. Her cinnamon hair was up in its familiar chignon, a wisp or two coming loose at her neck above the collar of her fawn silk blouse. The blouse was tucked into a white linen skirt that reached just to her ankles, revealing a glimpse of her white stockings in low-heeled shoes that matched the blouse. He always liked her in summer colors, which contrasted well with her dusky skin.
She whirled around.
"It'd better be you," she said, breaking into a smile when she saw him. Then she turned back to the sandwiches.
"Make you nervous?" he asked, putting his arms
He stepped over to the gate hinges next to the wall and examined them. "Rust's been worn smooth in the joints of these pillar brackets. Not regular use, maybe, but recent."
"Can't really see anything in there," Haydon said, and they turned and walked back across the dusty street to the car.
Haydon started the motor, and Mooney turned the air conditioner on high, and they waited a moment for the compressor to begin producing tempered air before they rolled up the windows.
They followed the wall of the estate to the end of the block and turned left. Equidistant from both corners of the back wall there was a tall wrought-iron gate with perpendicular bars. Haydon stopped the car and got out, leaving Mooney in the idling car as he crossed the street. Here the hinges were definitely worn and the padlock was well oiled. Haydon looked down at the dusty ground just inside the gate, where a solid stand of brittle bamboo sprang out of the powdery earth. Above him, rangy cypresses and oaks hung their heavy branches over the top of the wall. There was little else to see.
He went back to the car, and they continued slowly around the block, straining to get glimpses of the house before turning toward Harrisburg on Chicon.
CHAPTER 6
HAYDON took a rain check. He just wasn't in the mood for barbecue or conversation, so he dropped Mooney off at Lockwood's, where Finn said he would gladly bring Mooney by the station when they were through.
Retracing their earlier route down Old Spanish Trail, Haydon turned north on Fannin, passing along the western edge of the Medical Center. There was construction at the entrance of one of the hospital's parking garages, and a policeman was stepping out in the street to stop traffic and let cars out of the garage. To his left Haydon caught glimpses of the cool green acreage of Rice University. At the Outer Belt Drive he entered the sprawling grounds of Hermann Park, its irrigated green spaces as refreshing as rain in the harsh glare of summer sunlight.
He worked his way into the left lane just before reaching the Reflecting Pool, where he turned left on Sunset Boulevard. Within a few minutes he was pulling through the pillared gates at the house and making the shallow turn on the brick drive to the porte cochere, where he parked the light tan department car in the shade.
As he opened the front door the coolness of the old house greeted him like a calming spirit. When his father had built the house of limestone quarried from the central Texas hills in 1943, he had said the heavy finished stones would insulate them from the sweltering tropical summers; like a cave, it would hold a natural coolness. He hadn't been far wrong, though he might have underestimated the severity of Houston summers. Still, the old house did not require much air conditioning, mostly to remove the humidity, and its marble and granite floors were always pleasantly cool. In a real sense it was a refuge, from heat and turmoil. There were days when Haydon didn't want to leave it at all.
Haydon took off his Beretta, laid it on the hall table next to the library door, and walked through the dining room to the kitchen. Nina had her back to him, making sandwiches on the butcher block in the middle of the large square room.
"I hope it's someone I know," she said, without turning around.
Haydon stopped and looked at her. Her cinnamon hair was up in its familiar chignon, a wisp or two coming loose at her neck above the collar of her fawn silk blouse. The blouse was tucked into a white linen skirt that reached just to her ankles, revealing a glimpse of her white stockings in low-heeled shoes that matched the blouse. He always liked her in summer colors, which contrasted well with her dusky skin.
She whirled around.
"It'd better be you," she said, breaking into a smile when she saw him. Then she turned back to the sandwiches.
"Make you nervous?" he asked, putting his arms
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