Sampson took off his dark glasses, and kept them off, which is rare for him. Naomi was hisfavorite, and he was as shook up as the rest of us.

She called Sampson “His Grimness,” and“Darth One,” and he loved it when she teased him.

“Why didn't this Detective Ruskin call us before now? Why didn't those university people callme?” my sister-in-law asked. Cilia is forty-one. She has allowed herself to grow to ampleproportions. I doubted that she was five feet four, but she had to be close to two hundredpounds. She'd told me that she didn't want to be attractive to men anymore.

“Don't know the answer to that yet,” Sampson told Cilia and the rest of us. “They told MaryEllen Klouk not to call us.”

“What exactly did Detective Ruskin have to say about the delay?” I asked Sampson.

“Detective said there were extenuating circumstances. He wouldn't elaborate for me, persuasiveas I can be.”

“You tell him we could have the conversation in person?” Sampson nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Hesaid the result would be the same.

I told him I doubted that. He said okay. Man seemed to have no fears.“ ”Black man?" Nanaasked. She is a racist, and proud of it. She says she's too old to be socially or politicallycorrect. She doesn't so much dislike white people as distrust them.

“No, but I don't think that's the problem, Nana. Something else is going on.” Sampson lookedacross the kitchen table at me. “I don't think he could talk.”“FBI?” I asked. It was the obvious guess when things get overly secretive. The FBI understandsbetter than Bell Atlantic, the Washington Post, and the New York Times that information ispower.

“That could be the problem. Ruskin wouldn't admit it on the phone.” “I better talk to him,” Isaid. “In person would probably be best, don't you think?”“I think that would be good, Alex.” Cilia spoke up from her end of the table.