"There are a lot of the victim's hairs on the pillow," Tim continued, "and sweat residue. But you expect that. Everybody sheds and sudates when they sleep. But there are other hair particles and strands as well."

I erased the chair, Tim's legs were kicking furiously, and-I looked up-"Not his hair?"

"Well… you can see that his hair was gray, coarse, and cropped very short. There are some red hairs, and also some very fine blonde hairs. Both are quite long, which suggests they could be from females…" He turned tentative again, and added, "That's a hypothesis on my part. A chromosonal analysis is needed before a firm conclusion can be reached."

"More than one woman?"

"Well… I would say at this point-"

"Yes or no."

"Uh… yes."

Goodness. Despite Tim's pathological aversion to declarative phrases, this suddenly took an interesting turn. I asked him, "Have you finished the bathroom yet?"

"I did that first. Bathrooms are always gold mines."

"And what did we find there?"

"More hair. Both black and red, as well as some of the victim's hair in the sink, probably from shaving. And the usual pubic traces on the toilet seat."

"Further confirming the presence of more than one female?"

"It appears… yes, perhaps as many as three." He knew what my next line of questioning would be and added, "I ran an infrared light over the sheets. There are interesting traces… probably semen. I don't know whether these traces are new or old."

Like that, Cliff Daniels went from the ubiquitous man in a gray flannel suit to something far more complicated and mysterious. This raised a number of evocative questions, not to mention a few dark and dubious possibilities.

Anybody who beds two different women inside one week likes to live on the edge. This guy didn't have to whack himself-just arrange for the two or more women to show up together and they'd take care of things for him.