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ancient man opened the door after being assured that they were, indeed, the police.
    â€œI have great respect for the police,” Ranpur said, ushering in Lieberman and Hanrahan, “but one must use caution in this neighborhood, in this world, in this very yard given what happened earlier in such proximity. Do not worry about your shoes and boots. All the floors are tile or wood.”
    They passed through a porchlike entry that ran across the front of the house and contained half a dozen dark chairs and several low, equally dark tables neatly covered with magazines, lined up against the stone wall of the house. The porch looked like and was a waiting room, Ranpur explained, ushering them through the door leading inside the house. The temperature rose even more.
    â€œI have been unable to get back to sleep since the horror,” the doctor said, shaking his head.
    Dr. Ranpur hit a wall switch and overhead light bulbs in a small glass chandelier came on. The little man stood there, fully dressed in a brown suit and tie, looking decidedly nervous.
    â€œOn the left, my office. On the right,” he indicated with an open hand, “my sitting room. Upstairs,” he said with a shrug, “memories. My wife passed on many years ago. My children are scattered across six continents. I live alone with my work.”
    â€œOffice,” Lieberman said. He had stepped in a low snowbank while searching in the small front yard and on the street for David’s hat. He hadn’t found the hat, but he had managed to soak his socks.
    Ranpur nodded his head as if to confirm that a move to his office was the proper and intelligent decision. He opened a door to his left, reached in, and turned on the light.
    Both Hanrahan and Lieberman had unbuttoned their coats. Now they removed them as they stepped into the large room. There was a heavy wooden desk in one corner behind which stood a tall wooden cabinet. A round, dark table sat in the center of the room with four matching chairs around it, and a colorful madras-covered sofa with two matching armchairs facing it.
    â€œI have tea or coffee ready if you …”
    â€œNo, thank you,” said Hanrahan, looking at Lieberman, who seemed far away from the moment. “I don’t think this will take too long.”
    Ranpur nodded again and motioned the two men toward the table.
    â€œMy manners, my manners, forgive me, let me take your coats.”
    They handed the coats to Ranpur, who almost toppled from the weight but gamely staggered to a coatrack near the door, where he managed to hook the coats precariously. Then he returned to the two detectives, who were now seated at the table, and sat facing them, his thin, dark hands folded, a pair of rimless glasses now perched on his nose.
    â€œWhat kind of practice do you have, doctor?” Hanrahan asked, looking around the room. There were eight certificates, degrees or diplomas, framed and mounted neatly on the wall behind the desk near the heavy wooden case, but they were too far for Hanrahan to read. Lieberman seemed to have little interest.
    â€œI am by training a cardiologist. But I now limit my treatment to nutrition, holistic health, the same thing I practiced as a young man in Bombay and London when it had no name. Prevention through diet for those who are at risk. I get many referrals from other physicians, nutritionists. Surprisingly more work than I need to sustain my frail but healthy body. Would you like to venture a guess at my age?”
    Hanrahan looked at Lieberman, who blinked his eyes with no hint of curiosity.
    â€œSeventy,” guessed Hanrahan.
    â€œEighty and six,” Dr. Ranpur said with a satisfied smile, showing very white teeth. “I play the trombone and, weather permitting, walk five miles each and every day.”
    â€œAdmirable,” said Hanrahan, with a smile he hoped conveyed admiration and awe.
    â€œLegumes and Dixieland,” said Ranpur, looking at both men.