Inside, as soon as Mr. Skopas had disclosed -- in a hoarse whisper -- the detective's errand, his family gathered in a huddle, forming a mass of dark flesh on and around a brocaded sofa which stood at one side of a baroque fireplace. Flanked by marble urns and alabaster lamps, they seemed to be posing for a tribal portrait.

It was amazing how they had herded together for protection: an enormous matriarch in a quilted silk wrapper, rising from the breakfast table; a gross boy in his teens, shuffling in from the kitchen with a sandwich in his hands; a girl in her twenties, fat and sullen, descending the marble staircase; then all four gathering on the sofa to face the inquisitor.

They answered him in monosyllables, nods, occasionally muttering in Greek to one another, awaiting the word from Papa, who restlessly cracked his knuckles, anxious to stuff himself into his white Cadillac and burst off to the freeway. No, they hadn't seen anyone around; no, they didn't know the Andrus family; yes, they had read about the case; yes, they had let some reporters use their phone, but they would no longer. They offered no opinions, volunteered nothing, betrayed no emotions. Studying them, McFeeley could not help make comparison with the Andrus couple. The Skopas people seemed to him of that breed of human beings whose insularity frees them from tragedy. He imagined they were the kind whose tax returns were never examined (if they were, they were never penalized), whose children had no unhappy romances, whose names never knew scandal. The equation was simple: wealth brought them happiness, and their united front to the world was their warning that they meant to keep everything they had, let no one in on the secrets. By comparison, Fritzie and Laura Andrus were quivering fledglings. They possessed no outer fortifications, no hard shells of confidence; they had enough difficulty getting from day to day, let alone having an awful crime thrust upon them. Skopas expressed no curiosity over the case, offered no expression of sympathy, made no move to escort McFeeley to the door. All four remained impacted on the sofa until he had left.