Таинственная история Билли Миллигана

           "Youwanttoletusgoaheadandsearch?"

           Milliganjuststaredblankly.

           Kleberg,knowinghedidn’tneedasearchwarranttocheckwhetheranyoneelsewasintheotherrooms,wanderedintothebedroomandsawthebrownjoggingsuitontheunmadebed.Theplacewasamess,laundrystrewnalloverthefloor.Heglancedinsidetheopenwalk-incloset,andthereontheshelfneatlystacked,werecreditcardsbelongingtoDonnaWestandCarrieDryer.Evenscrapsofpapertakenfromthewomen.Thebrown-tintedsunglassesandawalletlayonthedresser.

           HewenttotellBoxerbaumwhathe’dseen,andfoundhiminadinettethathadbeenconvertedintoanartist’sstudio.

           "Lookatthis."Boxerbaumpointedtoalargepaintingofwhatseemedtobeaqueenoraneighteenth-centuryaristocraticladydressedinabluegownwithlacetrim,sittingbesideapianoandholdingsheetmusic.Thedetailwasamazing,itwassigned"Milligan."

           "Hey,that’sbeautiful,"Klebergsaid.Heglancedattheothercanvaseslinedupagainstthewall,thebrushes,thetubesofpaint.

           Boxerbaumslappedhisforehead."ThestainsDonnaWestsaidhehadonhishand.That’swhattheywere.He’dbeenpainting."

           NikkiMiller,whohadalsoseenthepainting,cameuptothesuspect,stillsittinginthechair."You’reMilligan,arentyou?"Helookedupather,dazed."No,"hemumbled.