campus dorm room. For one thing, the place was neat. The bed was made, the shoes in a row beneath it. There were no socks on the floor, no underwear, no jock straps. On the walls were pennants. Actual pennants.

Myron couldn't believe it. No posters, no calendars with Claudia Schiffer or Cindy Crawford or the Barbi twins. Just old-fashioned pennants. Myron felt as if he'd just stepped into Wally Cleaver's dormitory.

Christian didn't say anything at first. They both stood there uncomfortably, like two strangers stuck together at some cocktail party with no drinks in their hands. Christian kept his eyes lowered to the floor like a scolded child. He hadn't commented on the blood on Myron's suit. He probably hadn't noticed it.

Myron decided to try one of his patented silver-tongued icebreakers.

'What's up?'

Christian began to pace - no easy accomplishment in a room slightly larger than the average armoire. Myron could see that Christian's eyes were red. He'd been crying, his cheeks still showing small traces of the tear tracks.

'Did Mr Burke get mad about canceling the meeting?' Christian asked.

Myron shrugged. 'He had a major conniption, but he'll survive. Means nothing, don't worry about it.'

'Minicamp starts Thursday?'

Myron nodded. 'Are you nervous?'

'A little, maybe.'

'Is that why you wanted to see me?'

Christian shook his head. He hesitated and then said, 'I - I don't-, understand it, Mr Bolitar.'

Every time he called him mister, Myron looked for his father.

'Don't understand what, Christian? What's all this about?'

He hesitated again. 'It's…' He stopped, took a deep breath, again. 'It's about Kathy.'

Myron thought he'd heard wrong. 'Kathy Culver?'

'You knew her,' Christian said. Myron couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question.