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I drove over to their home on Wordsworth Avenue, a tree-shaded neighborhood of commodious but not ostentatious houses known as Professors Row. Jocelyn let me in as she spoke into one of those walkaround phones. “Yes, dear. I’m fine. He’s just arrived. Yes, I’ll call you right back.”

A nearly tangible aura pervaded the house as Jocelyn led me into the bow-fronted living room. I could feel that dark sense of expectancy that the news of death brings, especially the death of someone close. I think we expect a kind of revelation, when in fact it’s only death, the end. With bright nervous eyes, the Widow Chard bade me take a seat in an armchair adjacent the sofa. I couldn’t help but notice, as I had on happier occasions (though I seldom socialized much with the Chards until Elsbeth came along), that the things on the walls, the masks and the bark-cloth hangings, were of museum quality. And, I wondered in a shameful sort of way, had Corny left any of them to the museum?

A slight, enthusiastic woman, Jocelyn effects more than a touch of the Bohemian. Her long graying hair braided down her back was of a piece with the necklace of heavy ebony figurines and the layered dark clothing she always wears. She put a hand on my forearm. “Tell me, Norman, tell me what’s happened. We can have coffee later.”

“Of course, of course,” I expostulated. To think that the routine gestures of hospitality still pertained under the circumstances. I took a deep breath. “He was killed by natives. By members of a tribe whose traditions he went to document.”

“Oh, dear.” She placed her hand over her mouth. She held on to my forearm again, as though to steady herself. “Did they … did they eat him?”

“I’m afraid they did.”

“Oh, my, my.” She held her hand to her mouth again for a moment. Her face twitched. She gave a short, hysterical laugh. “I think it was what he always wanted.” Then, with utter composure, she asked, “How did you find out?”

“A tape was made.”

“Of the …”

“Yes.”

Her self-possession wavered for a moment. “I don’t want to see it. I don’t want the children to see it. I want it kept private.”

“Of course. I can see to that. For estate purposes, I will have to show it to whatever authorities need to see it.” I cravenly avoided the word attorney. I could envision some lawyer convincing her to sue the university or even the museum for wrongful death.

“Was it … gruesome?”

“By my standards. By anyone’s standards, I would think.”

“It shows him being killed?”

“Yes.”

“Was he terrified?”

“Only partly. I think he was exalted in a way. They had administered a drug to him, a hallucinogen, before they really started.”

“They stabbed him?”

“No.”

“How did they …?”

“They cut him up.”

“Alive?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“With …?”

“A chain saw.”

“Oh, my poor Corny.” Her attractive gray eyes went awry for a moment, and she held her hands to her breast. “I don’t want anyone else to see it.”

“I understand.”

“These things have a way of getting around …”

“You and I are the only people who know about it other than a young prospector who brought it to me. And the cameraman, of course, as well as members of the tribe. The cameraman is a kind of go-between. He gave the tape to the mining geologist who delivered it to me personally.”

The widow was nodding, looking around the room, as though it were now strange territory, its trappings those of a man, a husband, who no longer existed.

“Jocelyn,” I began, “I don’t know what kind of legal consequences there might be in terms of prosecution for murder. I doubt very much that the long arm of American law can reach into such remote parts. I have a feeling that the State Department will say, in a very nice way, of course, that Corny should have known better.”

“He did know better. He knew it was very dangerous.”

“We all knew it was risky. It’s one of the reasons, frankly, that I refused to fund any part of the expedition. Except for medical supplies and insurance for medical evacuation.”

“I know. Corny understood that. He was very appreciative of what you did.”

I cleared