could have been." She turned to him. "When was the last time you saw Billy Lee?"

Myron tried to remember. "It's been a long time."

"How come?"

"We were never that close."

She pointed to the wall. "That's you? In the background?"

"That's right."

"Billy Lee spoke about you."

"Really?"

"He said you were a sports agent. Clu's agent, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes."

"You stayed friendly with Clu then?"

"Yes."

She nodded as though this explained everything. "Why are you looking for my son, Myron?"

He was not sure how to explain. "You've heard about Clu's death?"

"Yes, of course. That poor boy. A lost soul. Like Billy Lee in many ways. I think that's why they were drawn to each other."

"Have you seen Clu lately?"

"Why do you want to know?"

In for a penny and all that. "I'm trying to find out who killed him."

Her body stiffened as though his words held a small electric shock. "And you think Billy Lee had something to do with it?"

"No, of course not." But even as he said it, he began to wonder. Clu is murdered; maybe his killer runs away. More reasonable doubt. "It's just that I know how close they were. I thought maybe Billy Lee could help me out."

Mrs. Palms was staring at the image of the two ballplayers in front of Psi U. She reached out as though to stroke her son's face. But she pulled back. "Billy Lee was handsome, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"The girls," she said. "They all loved my Billy Lee."

"I'd never seen anybody better with them," he said.

That made her smile. She kept staring at the image of her son. It was kinda creepy. Myron remembered the old episode of The Twilight Zone where the aging movie queen escapes reality by stepping into one of her old movies. It looked like Mrs. Palms craved doing likewise.

She finally tore her eyes away. "Clu came by a few weeks ago."

"Can you be more specific?"

" Tunny."

"What?"

"That's just what th^ police asked."

"The police were here?"

"Sure."

They must have gone through the phone records too, Myron thought. Or found another link.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told them. I can't be more specific."

"Do you know what Clu wanted?"

"He came to see Billy Lee."

"Billy Lee was here?"

"Yes."

"He lives here then?"

"On and off. The past few years have not been very good to my son."

Silence.

"I don't mean to pry," Myron began, "but-"

"What happened to Billy Lee?" she finished. "Life caught up with him, Myron. The drinking, the drugs, the womanizing. He had stints in rehab. Are you familiar with Rockwell?"

"No, ma'am."

"It's a private clinic. He finished his fourth trip to Rockwell not two months ago. But he couldn't stay clean. When you're in college or even in your twenties, you can survive it. When you're a big star and people are looking out for you, you can get away with it. But Billy Lee wasn't good enough to reach that level. So he had no one to fall back upon. Except me. And I'm not that strong."

Myron swallowed. "Do you know why Clu came to see Billy Lee?"

"For old times' sake, I guess. They went out. Maybe they had a few beers and chased women. I really don't know."

"Did Clu visit Billy Lee a lot?"

"Well, Clu's been out of town," she said, a little too defensively. "He was only traded back to this area a few months ago. But of course, you know that."

"So this was just a casual visit?"

"I thought so at the time."

"And now?"

"Now my son is missing and Clu is dead."

Myron thought about it. "Where does he usually go when he runs off like this?"

"Wherever. Billy Lee is a bit of a nomad. He goes off, he does whatever horrible thing he does to himself, and when he hits rock bottom, he comes back here."

"So you don't know where he is?"

"That's right."

"Any idea at all?"

"No."

"No favorite haunts?"

"No."

"A girlfriend maybe?"

"No one I know about anyway."

"Any close friends he might stay with?"

"No," she said slowly. "He has no friends like that."

Myron took out his card and handed it to her. "If you hear from him, Mrs. Palms, could you please let me know?"

She studied the card as they moved out of the room and back down the stairs.

Before she opened the door, Mrs. Palms said, "You were the basketball player."

"Yes."

"The one who hurt his knee."

First preseason game as a pro. Myron had been the Boston Celtics' first-round draft pick. A terrible collision and his career was over. Just like that. Finished before it started. "Yes."

"You managed to put it behind you," she said. "You managed to