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confidential, Helen. Something to do with a pet called Canaan. Do you remember anything like that?”
    She frowned in concentration. “Canaan? I’m not aware that Mr. Marshall ever owned a pet. I believe his wife is quite allergic to them.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been told. Maybe it was a friend’s pet.”
    â€œPerhaps. He certainly never discussed any pet with me.”
    I glanced at the credenza. “I see they’ve already taken his computer.” The dark outline of the terminal base was still visible on the wood surface of the credenza.
    â€œThey removed it three weeks ago.”
    Graham Marshall had been an early convert to the value of computer-based litigation support and had helped pioneer the law firm’s use of computers in complex lawsuits. His own terminal had been tied in directly to the main Bottles & Cans computer. One of my stronger memories of the countless late nights I had spent at Abbott & Windsor during my years with the firm is the image of Marshall’s terminal screen glowing green in his empty, darkened office.
    â€œWho has it now?” I asked.
    â€œI’m not sure. So far as I know, Calvin Pemberton has the only other terminal linked to the Bottles and Cans computer. Perhaps they’ll give Mr. Marshall’s terminal to Mr. Charles.”
    â€œDid you pack his things?” I asked.
    â€œYes. It was really quite sad.” She sighed. “All those years.” She ran her hand across the comer of his empty desk.
    We were silent for a few moments.
    â€œWould you mind if I looked through the boxes, Helen? Maybe there’s a clue.”
    â€œCertainly.”
    â€œI promise to put everything back in order.”
    â€œOh, you needn’t worry. It’s been a bit slow here. I’m just wrapping things up.”
    â€œWill you stay on?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine her working for anyone else.
    â€œI don’t think so. I’ve been asked to stay on, but I can’t imagine starting all over again with someone new.” She smiled. “Mr. Marshall was more than enough for one lifetime.” Helen moved to the door. “Well, I’ll be out at my desk, Rachel. At least until six o’clock.”
    â€œThanks, Helen.”
    â€œDid you find anything unusual while you were packing?” I asked.
    She turned. “No. It’s all there except for a few items. I found a few motions, some correspondence, and a draft of that brief he was working on the night he…the night he passed away. I sent them on to other lawyers who were working on the cases with him. His correspondence hasn’t been unusual. He wasn’t one for saving things. Very neat and orderly. He was quite proud of that.”
    â€œI remember,” I said.
    She left the room, and I sat down on the couch before the cardboard boxes. There were seven of them. I pulled open the first box. It was filled with framed photographs. There was one of Marshall, tuxedoed and grinning, shaking hands with Richard Nixon; it was signed, “To Graham Marshall—a fine American and first-rate attorney—Dick—3/15/70.” In another photograph Marshall and Gerald Ford were huddled in conversation: Marshall was wearing a dark suit, and Ford, pipe in hand, was in shirtsleeves with his tie loosened. There was a recent family portrait: Marshall and his two children in tennis whites, grinning and holding rackets; his wife in a lavender sundress and gold necklace, looking vaguely attractive and very expensive. There were other photographs—Marshall shaking hands with Chief Justice Warren Burger, toasting Senator Charles Percy, playing golf with Congressman Daniel Rostenkowski. Not a hint of a pet.
    The next five boxes contained books—law books, history books, books of quotations, a dictionary. I flipped through several. Nothing unusual.
    The final box apparently contained the contents of his desk: pencils, pens, a tin of