EDWARD SWIRLED THE ICE in his scotch glass; he felt emotionally exhausted. Most of his day had been spent with Janet, sitting at Charlotte’s bedside. Unlike his earlier visit with Charlotte, and this troubled him deeply, she lapsed in and out of consciousness. And no matter how reassuring the doctors and nurses had tried to be, he continued to worry.

The white envelope which had been left by John sat on the table beside him. On it were written Blackwell’s name and the name of a motel. J...