setting up a series of meetings with members of a House
group investigating space flight expenditures. When he returned by
'copter that evening, he found Police Commissioner Joe Stinson waiting
for him in Tom's own favorite chair.

The square, heavy-jowled face was strangely calm.

"Long time no see," he said mildly. "You've been a busy man lately, Mr.
Blacker."

"Hello, Mr. Stinson. Won't you come in?"

"I'm in," the commissioner shrugged. "Landlord let me wait here. It's
chilly outside. Do you want the preliminaries, or should we have the
main bout?"

"It's about Spencer, isn't it?" Tom built himself a long drink. "I heard
about it on the 'copter radio, flying in. Too bad. He was a nice guy; I
never met his wife."

"But you knew him, right? In fact, you and the sergeant did a lot of
business together?"

"Look, Mr. Stinson. You know what kind of job I'm trying to do. It's no
secret. Spencer's story happened to gear in nicely with our public
relations effort. And that's all."

"Maybe it is." The commissioner's eyes hardened. "Only some of us aren't
satisfied. Some of us are kinda restless about the coroner's verdict."

"What?"

"You heard me. It's fishy, you know? Nice young couple buys a new house,
then turns on the gas. Leave behind a couple of kids, too. Boys, nice
boys."

"I couldn't feel worse about it," Tom said glumly. "In a way, I can
almost feel responsible ..."

"How?"

"I dunno. They were perfectly willing to release that story about their
first-born. But maybe when they actually saw it in print, they couldn't
stand the spotlight--"

"And that's your theory?"

"Yes. But I hope I'm wrong, Mr. Stinson. For my own sake."

The commissioner drew a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket.

"Let me read you something. This hasn't been released to the press, and
maybe it won't be. Interested?"

"Of course."

"It's a letter. A letter that was never mailed. It's addressed to Tom
Blacker, care of Homelovers, Incorporated, 320 Fifth-Madison, New York."

"What?" Tom reached for it.

"Uh-uh. It was never mailed, so it's not your property. But I'll read it
to you." He slipped on a pair of bifocals.

_Dear Mr. Blacker. I've been trying to reach you all week, but
you've been out of town. Laura and I have just seen the first news
story about our baby, and we're just sick about it. Why didn't you
tell us about that photograph you were going to print? If we had
known about that