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doesn’t bother with active management.”
    “Where does his money come from?”
    “He inherited a fortune from his father. Mark Hackett was one of those fabulous Texas oilmen. But Stephen Hackett is amoneymaker in his own right. Just in the last few years, for example, he bought out Centennial Savings and put up this building.”
    “Good for him. Jolly good for him.”
    Sebastian gave me a startled look and sat down behind his desk. On it were stand-up photographs of Sandy and his wife, and a pile of advertising layouts. The top one said in archaic lettering: “We respect other people’s money just as profoundly as we respect our own.”
    I waited for Sebastian to shift gears. It took a while. He had to shift from the world of money, where being bought out by a millionaire was the finest thing you could hope for, back to his difficult private world. I liked Sebastian better since I learned that he had tears inside his curly head.
    “I’ve seen your daughter within the last few hours.”
    “Really? Is she okay?”
    “She seemed to be all right physically. Mentally, I don’t know.”
    “Where did you see her?”
    “She was with her friend in his apartment. I’m afraid she was in no mood to come home. Sandy seems to have quite a grudge against you and your wife.”
    I meant this to be a question. Sebastian picked up his daughter’s photograph and studied it as if he could find the answer there.
    “She always used to be crazy about me,” he said. “We were real pals. Until last summer.”
    “What happened last summer?”
    “She turned against me, against both of us. She practically stopped talking entirely, except when she flared up and called us bad things.”
    “I’ve heard she had a love affair last summer.”
    “A love affair? That’s impossible at her age.”
    “It wasn’t a happy love affiair,” I said.
    “Who was the man?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me.”
    His face underwent another change. His mouth and jawwent slack. His eyes were intent on something behind them, in his head.
    “Where did you hear this?” he said.
    “From a friend of hers.”
    “Are you talking about actual sexual relations?”
    “There isn’t much doubt that she’s been having them, beginning last summer. Don’t let it throw you.”
    But something had. Sebastian had a hang-dog look, and real fear in his eyes. He turned Sandy’s picture face down on the desk as if to prevent it from seeing him.
    I got out the amateurish map I’d found in Davy’s desk and spread it out on top of Sebastian’s desk. “Take a good look at this, will you? First of all, do you recognize the handwriting?”
    “It looks like Sandy’s writing.” He picked up the map and studied it more closely. “Yes, I’m sure it’s Sandy’s. What does it mean?”
    “I don’t know. Do you recognize the place with the artificial lake?”
    Sebastian scratched his head, with the result that one large curly lock fell down over one eye. It made him look furtive and a little shabby. He pushed the hair back carefully, but the shabbiness stayed on him.
    “It looks like Mr. Hackett’s place,” he said.
    “Where is it?”
    “In the hills above Malibu. It’s quite a showplace. But I don’t know why Sandy would be drawing a map of it. Do you have any idea?”
    “I have one. Before we talk about it I want you to see something. I got your shotgun back, or parts of it.”
    “What do you mean, parts of it?”
    “Come down to the parking lot and I’ll show you. I didn’t want to bring it into the building.”
    We went down in the elevator and out to my car. I opened the trunk and unwrapped the sad amputated stock and barrels.
    Sebastian picked them up. “Who did this?” He sounded shocked and furious. “Did Sandy do this?”
    “More likely it was Davy.”
    “What kind of a vandal
is
he? That shotgun cost me a hundred and fifty dollars.”
    “I don’t think this was vandalism. But it may lead to something worse. It almost certainly means