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Still, I don’t know that I entirely approve of this business of men attending with other men, Mr. Wesley. Do you?”
    â€œI haven’t given it much thought, ma’am.”
    â€œWas Derek this peculiar in school? The politics and so on?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “This Emil is some kind of artist. And you know how
they
are.”
    But Emil, when the two men were alone, looked more like a policeman, and Eddie was on his guard. Emil was perhaps fifty, with thinning somber hair and guarded eyes that knew you were lying before you did. He drank only water and spoke with a slight accent.
    Eddie inquired.
    Emil explained that he was a photographer and an artist, and had emigrated from Germany just before the war. Eddie had been trained by Wesley Senior to make every conversation with someone new about the other person. He congratulated Emil, because West Germany had just recently been declared a sovereign nation.
    But Emil either had no small talk or did not care about his country of origin, because he shrugged like a sophisticate bored with trifles. Then he got to the point. “This man who died. This Castle. Did you know him?”
    â€œI beg your pardon.”
    â€œThe capitalist attorney who was murdered by hooligans.”
    â€œI never met him.”
    â€œI understood that you knew him.”
    Eddie shook his head. “You understand incorrectly.”
    â€œBut you know his friends,” the photographer persisted. “An acquaintance of mine saw you with Joseph Belt. The physicist. That was you, wasn’t it?”
    â€œWhat acquaintance was this?” asked Eddie, very surprised.
    A Democratic Party ward boss came over to tell Eddie how much he had enjoyed the story. Eddie barely noticed. The German gave him the creeps. He did not look like the sort of man who attended weddings for fun. Maybe this was the man Belt was scared of.
    Emil said, “I met this Castle. A fine man. Very concerned about how Negroes are treated here, as I of course am, along with my countrymen.”
    â€œOf course,” said Eddie with a smile, but the German only frowned, as if levity was forbidden.
    â€œI took photographs for Castle. His son was in some special ceremony. The Boy Scouts, I believe.” A pause. Eddie could feel the other man sizing him up. “Mr. Castle borrowed the original proofs. Those belong to me.” The chilly eyes continued to appraise him. “I need those proofs back. But you did not know him.”
    â€œNo. Sorry.”
    â€œI would pay well for their return. Perhaps you might ask his friend Belt.”
    Eddie felt himself bristle. What had he said, that this man should assume him so mercenary? “You could ask him yourself.”
    â€œI cannot,” said the German.
    When he said nothing more, Eddie asked, “Have you tried the widow? She moved down south.”
    Emil twisted his face in disapproval, as if Eddie had committed a second faux pas. “The matter is complicated,” he said.
    â€œI’m sorry, but—”
    â€œIf you did manage to help me, you would find the materials in a large pink envelope, with a penciled number in the corner, seventeen or eighteen.”
    â€œI really don’t think—”
    â€œI would pay well,” Emil repeated, handing him a business card. “Consider my offer.”
    â€œI can give you my answer now,” Eddie began, but Emil was halfway across the room. Eddie watched him go.
    Gary came and stood beside him. “Who was that?”
    Eddie explained.
    His friend waved to Mona Veazie, who was departing with a clutch of girlfriends. “Have I mentioned that I knew Phil Castle a little bit?”
    An indulgent smile. “A time or two.”
    â€œHis firm represents the Hilliman family trusts. Phil did a little work on some corporation we were buying”—this casually—“and, well, he and I got to know each other.” Gary gestured with his