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ten-story transmission antenna sticking up behind it, and a big sign out front that said it was the voice of the Merrimack Valley. The gate was open and I drove in and parked in the muddy lot to the right of the station. A receptionist buzzed me in. There was a security guard with a gun in the lobby. The station's programming was playing implacably on speakers in the reception area. It was a rock station, and the music was a noise I didn't know.
    The receptionist was a young woman with sadistically teased blonde hair and lime-green sneakers. The rest of her outfit seemed to be a large black bag, which she was wearing like a dress. She had a gold nose ring, and six very small gold rings in her right ear. When I came to her desk she was working on her horoscope and chewing some gum. Both. I smiled at her, about half wattage. Full wattage usually made them rip off their clothes and I didn't want this one to do that. She put down the horoscope magazine and looked up at me and chewed her gum. Both, again. Maybe I'd underestimated her.
    "My name is Spenser," I said. "I'd like to talk with the station manager."
    "Concerning what?" she said. Her voice sounded like a fan belt slipping.
    "I'm a detective," I said. "I'm looking for someone."
    "Excuse me?"
    "I'm a detective, a sleuth, an investigator."
    I took out my wallet and showed her my license. She stared at it blankly. It could have said "Maiden Spoiler" on it for all the difference it made to her.
    "Do you have an appointment?"
    "Not yet," I said. "What is the manager's name?"
    "Mister Antonelli."
    "Could you tell Mister Antonelli I'm here, please."
    She stared at me and chewed her gum. That was two things. I knew that calling Mister Antonelli on the intercom would be one thing too many. So I waited. I was hoping she'd get through staring in a while. Nothing happened. I pointed at the intercom and smiled encouragingly.
    "What was your visit concerning?"
    "Lisa St. Claire," I said.
    "Lisa isn't in," she said.
    "And I want to know why," I said.
    "You'd have to ask Mr. Antonelli about that," she said. "I just work here."
    "Okay," I said. "Give him a buzz."
    She nodded and picked up the phone.
    "A gentleman to see you, Mister Antonelli… No, I don't know… he didn't say. He's mad because Lisa isn't here… Yes Sir."
    She hung up.
    "Mister Antonelli will be out in a moment, sir."
    "Thank you for your help."
    The receptionist smiled like it was nothing and went back to her horoscope. I watched her while I waited for Antonelli. After a moment she stopped chewing her gum. Probably needed to concentrate.
    A short, overweight guy came down the hall toward me, wearing a black-checked vest over a white shirt, which he'd buttoned to the neck. He had on black jeans and gray snakeskin cowboy boots, and he flashed a diamond ring on the little finger of his left hand that would have been worth more than the station if it were real. He was bobbing slightly to the rock music as he came toward me.
    "You the one here about Lisa St. Claire?" he said.
    "Yeah, Spenser, I'm a private detective."
    "John Antonelli, I'm the station manager. What's the buzz on Lisa?"
    "Can we go somewhere?"
    "Oh yeah, sure, come on down to the office."
    I followed him into the office-beige rug, ivory walls, walnut furniture, award plaques on the wall. I'd never been in a broadcaster's office that didn't have award plaques. If you were running a pro-slavery hot line, someone would probably give you an award plaque.
    Antonelli sat in his swivel chair, and put one foot on an open desk drawer and tilted his chair back. Through the big window behind him I could see the full panorama of the transmission repair shop. The station on-air was grating through the speaker system into the office, though at less volume than in the lobby.
    "So where's Lisa?" he said. "The other jocks have been splitting shifts to cover her. We're not a big station. We got a big audience, but we don't have a lot of stand-by people, you know?"
    Antonelli