Generations of murder, greed and deception come home to roost in time for the most shocking conclusion ever in a Lew Archer novel. At first glance, it's an open-and-shut missing persons case: a headstrong daughter has run off to be with her hothead juvenile delinquent boyfriend. That is until this bush-league Bonnie & Clyde kidnap Stephen Hackett, a local millionaire industrialist. Now, Archer is offered a cool 100 Gs for his safe return by his coquettish heiress mother who has her own mysterious ties to this disturbed duo. But the deeper Archer digs, the more he realizes that nothing is as it seems and everything is questionable. Is the boyfriend a psycho ex-con with murder on the brain or a damaged youngster trying to straighten out his twisted family tree? And is the daughter simply his nympho sex-kitten companion in crime or really a fragile kid, trying to block out horrific memories of bad acid and an unspeakable sex crime? “Moves fast and is full of surprises. . . . The best work Macdonald has done in years.” — The New York Times “A more serious and complex writer than Chandler and Hammett ever were.”—Eudora Welty“Archer has seldom been in better form, and neither has his estimable creator.” — The New Yorker Ross Macdonald's real name was Kenneth Millar. Born near San Francisco in 1915 and raised in Ontario, Millar returned to the U.S. as a young man and published his first novel in 1944. He served as the president of the Mystery Writers of America and was awarded their Grand Master Award as well as the Mystery Writers of Great Britain's Gold Dagger Award. He died in 1983. chapter 1THERE WAS LIGHT early morning traffic on Sepulveda. As I drove over the low pass, the sun came up glaring behind the blue crags on the far side of the valley. For a minute or two, before regular day set in, everything looked fresh and new and awesome as creation.I left the freeway at Canoga Park and stopped at a drive-in for a ninety-nine-cent breakfast. Then I went on up to the Sebastians' place in Woodland Hills.Keith Sebastian had given me detailed instructions on how to find his house. It was an angular contemporary house cantilevered out over a slope. The slope ran steeply down to the edge of a golf course, green from the first of the winter rains.Keith Sebastian came out of the house in shirt sleeves. He was a handsome man of forty or so, with thick curly brown hair frosted at the sides. He hadn't shaved yet, and his growth of beard looked like fibrous dirt that his lower face had been rubbed in."It's good of you to come right out," he said when I had introduced myself. "I realize it's an ungodly hour--""You didn't pick it, and I don't mind. I gather she hasn't come home yet.""No, she hasn't. Since I called you I've found out something else is missing. My shotgun, and a box of shells.""You think your daughter took them?""I'm afraid she must have. The gun cabinet wasn't broken, and nobody else knew where the key to it was. Except my wife, of course."Mrs. Sebastian had appeared as if on cue at the open front door. She was thin and dark and rather beautiful in a haggard sort of way, and she was wearing fresh lipstick and a fresh yellow linen dress."Come in," she said to both of us. "It's cold out."She made a shivery self-hugging gesture which didn't end when it should have. She went on shivering."This is Mr. Lew Archer," Sebastian was saying. "The private detective I called." He spoke as if he was presenting me to her as a kind of peace offering.She answered him impatiently: "I guessed that. Come in, I've made some coffee."I sat between them at the kitchen counter and drank the bitter brew from a thin cup. The place seemed very clean and very empty. The light pouring in through the window had a cruel clarity."Can Alexandria fire a shotgun?" I asked them. "Anybody can," Sebastian said glumly. "All you have to do is pull the trigger."His wife cut in. "Actually Sandy's a fair shot. The Hacketts took her quail hunting earlier this year. Much against my wishes, I might add.""You might and did," Sebastian said. "I'm sure the experience was good for her.""She hated it. She said so in her diary. She hates to kill things.""She'll get over it. And I know it gave pleasure to Mr. and Mrs. Hackett.""Here we go again."But before they did, I said: "Who in hell are Mr. and Mrs. Hackett?"Sebastian gave me a self-revealing look, partly offended, partly patronizing."Mr. Stephen Hackett is my boss. That is, he controls the holding company that controls the savings and loan company I work for. He owns quite a few other things, too.""Including you," his wife said. "But not my daughter.""That's unfair, Bernice. I never said--""It's what you do that counts."I got up and walked around to the other side of the counter and stood facing them. They both looked a little startled and ashamed."All this is very interesting," I said. "But I didn't get out of bed at five o'clock in the morning to referee a family argument. Let's concentrate on your daught