Bone Deep

9

The early-morning sun glared off the reservoir like a light shining in a mirror, causing Tee to squint as he maneuvered his car onto the broad lawn skirt that ran the length of the road alongside the lake. He pulled the cruiser as close to a cement wall as possible. The wall would shield the car from view to a certain extent from passersby but the protection was only partial. Sharp eyes would always find a police car. In Clamden there was never a place he could park with complete privacy, short of driving straight into the woods.

Despite the hour it was warm already, and Tee felt per spiration under his arms as he trudged up the hill parallel to the orchard where the bones had been found. Much of the acreage was still circumscribed by the yellow ribbons declaring it a crime scene, although Tee, the state police, and the FBI had scoured the area time and again. He wondered how many times he had walked through the orchard in the past few months, choosing its easier path up the hill, not knowing he was walking through a ghoulish graveyard.

The irony of the situation did not amuse him.

He carried the blanket that was always stored in the trunk of the cruiser and bore the stamp of the Clamden police. It was an aging brown, coarse and itchy, and it had draped the shoulders of people chilled by icy waters, covered the naked bodies of drunks and druggies, and had even been pressed into service as a shawl when the power was off in police headquarters in midwinter. It also served Tee's purposes on his weekly hike through the woods.

It took him five minutes to reach the crest of the hill; he clambered up bare rocks for the last fifty yards. He was sweating profusely by the time he reached the top and sat heavily on the worn rock overlooking the reservoir. The view was, as always, spectacular, but he avoided it now.

In a few minutes he would be called upon to admire it and he did not want his eyes to be jaded with its beauty. He was breathing hard from the climb and he thought, as he did every time, that he must lose weight. There was an easier route to the top from the other side of the hill, of course, but access to the hiking path would increase his chances of being seen. No one would see him arrive this way, no one would see him leave. Theoretically. As a policeman, he knew that the chances of actually doing anything unnoticed were not as good as they sounded in theory. People, witnesses, turned up in unexpected places, at unpredictable times. He took a risk every time he came, and he knew it and hated it, but was not able to stop himself from coming.

He heard the footsteps on the path long before she arrived. He sniffed at his armpits. She would be sweating too, but it never bothered him; he hoped it did not bother her. He smoothed the blanket on their rock and waited, pretending not to hear her until she was almost upon him.

She came from among the trees, following the narrow path over the rocks, across the stream, around the fallen timber, moving lightly as a deer.

Slender as a wand, she moved as gracefully as any of the creatures of the woods. Her pace increased as always as she threw herself into a sprint up the last, steepest part of the hill. He could hear her heavy breathing now and he turned to watch her, her face concentrating with the effort of the sprint, the red of her headband bobbing and flashing from behind the intervening branches like a cardinal on the wing.

Tee rose to greet her and she flung herself into his arms, panting, a smile bursting forth in the final moment before she pressed her head against his chest. He held her for a minute as she regained her breath, feeling her torso rise and fall, feeling her ribs slide up and down beneath his hands. He put his face to the top of her head and smelled her hair, a scent that was her own, fresh and faintly reminiscent of grapes. He thrilled to have her in his arms, so vital, young and lean, delicate yet strong when she clung to him. Everything about her was firm to the touch, smooth with a woman's softness, but solid, toned.

He lifted her easily-her diminutive size excited him, made him want to curl himself completely around her, to encircle and subsume her-and she clasped her legs around his waist. Her arms on his neck were damp with sweat.

"Hello, Chiefie," she said, her southern tones faintly mocking as always.

"Hello, Mrs. Leigh," he said. Whenever he spoke to her his voice was softer than usual, and he felt a shyness under her gaze that was unaccustomed. He knew that with her, for their brief moments together, he was a different person than the one the rest of the world knew. He was a different person than he normally saw within himself. When he looked into her pale blue eyes he felt he must surely tumble in, she made him so weak and wanting.

She squeezed him tightly with her legs, tightening her vise until his discomfort showed on his face, her eyes twinkling at the effect. He would not tell her to stop, he never told her she did too much of anything. It would be a contest, she would squeeze as long and hard as she could until he cried out in pain or she tired of the struggle. Tee tried to kiss her but she leaned her torso farther away from him, seeking greater leverage for her powerful thighs, clinging with her hands to his upper arms. Her eyes danced with amusement as she watched him trying not to give in to her will.

He gasped, putting his hands on her knees and prying them away from him.

She resisted him for a moment, then relinquished her grip, disappointed in him. She hung from his neck for a moment, making him bend, taxing his back, then dropped lightly onto her feet.

Tee felt that he had let her down in some way, that he should have stood there until tears came to his eyes. He wanted to lift her onto his waist again, to give himself another chance to do what she wanted, but she had apparently already forgotten the incident and was standing on the edge of the blanket, looking out at the view.

"Isn't it spectacular?"

"Yes," said Tee, allowing himself to look at it for the first time.

"You don't see it though," she chided him. "Not really."

Tee looked at the water, still shining silver in the early sun, the verdant sweep of trees, stretching for miles, obliterating the houses and roads that lay within them, the pale blue of the sky flecked with high, tracery clouds like fingers of lace. A hawk circled slowly, rising on the early thermals, wings spread as if fixed in space. He thought he saw it, he wanted to see what she saw.

"It's beautiful," he said. He stooped over and put his arms around her from behind. His hands could nearly encircle her waist. "You're beautiful."

She shook her head, indicating that he was wrong, that he did not, could not understand what she saw and what she knew.

As always when with her, he began to dislike her. It was when she was away that he needed her so badly, when he longed to find the softness, the romance, the tenderness that was so seldom there in her presence.

For a moment he asked himself why lie was with her, why he put himself through it all with a woman he didn't really like; then the touch of her reminded him.

He pulled her gently into him, pressing his groin against her, burying his face in her hair once more. She made him want to scream, she made him weak. Sometimes when he kissed her he was so overcome that he trembled standing up and felt as if his knees would not support him. He cherished her for making him feel that way. He cherished her for making him desire.

"I would like to soar like that hawk," she said, spreading her arms.

He kissed her neck, grasped one of her arms and ran his hand from her wrist to her armpit, relishing the moist texture of her skin, the little muscle, strong and firm under the taut skin. She seemed not to notice what Tee was doing, nor to respond to him so much as the surroundings.

"Sometimes when I'm up here I want to hurl myself off the edge," she said.

"Don't. I would hate it without you."

"I feel as if I could float just like that bird, all the way down to the water."

Heights made Tee giddy. Sometimes he felt as if he might be forced against his will to leap, pulled by some unknown force to the edge and beyond. He tried to stay well back from balconies, railings, cliff edges.

He sat on the blanket and pulled her down beside him, relieved that she came without resistance. Some days he would have to coax, or listen to her for a long time while she told him the convoluted stories of her life, her dealings with her mother, her husband, a coterie of tortured girlfriends. Some days she would talk while Tee made love to her, giving him little encouragement, indeed little recognition until she was ready. Tee would feel belittled, insulted, humiliated, but it did not matter, he could not stop himself, he was crazy for her, crazy with his need for her.

"I swear, I must be nu-uts," she said, elongating her vowels into two or three. "My husband is on the brink of bankruptcy. Right on the brink, just every bit as close to it as I am to the edge of this cliff…"

Tee tugged at her clothes. She wore a spandex jogger's outfit that fit her like a surgeon's glove. He had to peel it off, taking arduous care.

She wore it every time and never helped him remove it, but lay there talking, ignoring him, making him do all the work.

"He doesn't speak to me at all anymore, except to snap or yell at the kids. I think he's losing his mind. I know I'm losing mine."

Feeling coarse and humbling, he made love to her, kissing her mouth when she let him, caressing her with his hands, his lips, pressing himself against her. She talked through much of it, revealing details of her life in a long, rambling monologue. Tee felt as insistent as a beast, determined to have his own way, but he proceeded slowly, gently if clumsily, trying to bring her with him. He would stop in an instant if she asked him to, but she never did, even though she seemed to ignore him. When she reached down for him at last and took him in hand, her grip was so stron it almost brought him off at once, but her attitude did not change. It seemed throughout that her mind and her body were engaged in two separate events.

When he could restrain himself no longer and finally entered her, she was so tight he found it hard to believe that she had given birth to two children. She gasped, then fell silent at last. He tried to move slowly but as usual it was no use. Her indifference, her begrudging consent, and his final acceptance excited him too much and he could never wait long enough. As he entered his final spasm, she gripped him again with her thighs, impeding his thrusts. He did not know if he was too large for her, if his weight frightened her and she was trying to restrain him to protect herself, or if she squeezed him with passion, but it was too late to stop himself now. He struggled against the power of her legs, trying to penetrate fully and rapidly but forced into a defeated compromise, moaning to a climax, feeling premature and inconsiderate and unfulfilled.

It was only then she came alive, rolling on top of him and grinding herself against his body, breathing hoarsely, seeking hungrily for her own moment. Tee tried to stay with her, grimly forcing himself not to withdraw, not to collapse. She gave him no pause, no chance to recover, made no concession to his need for a moment of complete inactivity. She tore at him, rasping against him the way she did everything physical, too hard, too relentless. Tee wanted to cry out, to push her off him, to make her stop, but he never did, he gave in to her will always and let her do what she had to do.

When she came at last with a muffled keening sound and collapsed atop him, her tiny breasts flattening on his chest, her cheeks were wet with tears. She lay on him, weeping gently, for that moment a different woman. He loved her most then, when her tears wet his body, and he would kiss her cheeks and engulf her in his arms as if to protect her from the world. For that brief time he did not feel like a clumsy lover, he did not feel inadequate. He felt strong and towering and gentle and he gripped her in his arms as if he could hold the feeling within his grasp for both of them and never let go of it. When he tried to ask her why she wept, she would always shake her head and turn away from him and not answer, so he no longer asked but allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that it was because of him, that he had touched her as deeply, moved her as profoundly as she did him.

From the trees at their back, a blue jay scolded, mocking him.

When she had dressed and run off down the hill on legs that seemed even lighter and more energetic than when she came, Tee sat alone atop the cliff, exhausted and overwhelmed with guilt. He didn't know why he did it, he didn't understand what compelled him to put himself through this time and again. He would leave disgusted with himself, filled with distaste for her. A day later he would be thinking about her, two days later he would long for her, and within a week's time he would be beside himself with desire again. He would risk exposure, climbing a cliff to lie with her in the open air, where if they were discovered, there would never be an adequate excuse.

He wondered if he was a masochist and was only now finding it out. He wondered if he was being punished in some way for the easy sex of his early marriage, when although he had not always been perfectly faithful, he had never gotten truly involved with anyone but his wife. He was involved now, and there was little that was easy, or even pleasurable about it. Next time, he thought, he might just pick up that small, strong body, lift it over his head, and hurl it down the cliff.

With the rolled-up blanket under his arm, he clambered awkwardly down the steepest part of the hill, clinging to rocks with one arm while he stretched to the next foothold. Like an old man, he thought. He was too old for any of this.

He walked through the replanted orchard again, pointing straight between the rows. They had located the absentee owner of the acreage, a retiree living in sun-soaked ease in Arizona. The land was leased to a nurseryman from Newtown, who supervised the annual harvesting of Christmas trees, the planting of new saplings, the semiannual clearing of brush. He was being thoroughly investigated by the FBI, as were his employees, the seasonal workers who took time off from plowing snow to cut and bind and sell the trees. They were all suspects and no one expected to find out much from any of them. The man they were after was much too smart to plant bodies in his own backyard.

When-he crossed the Saugatuck at the base of the hill, skipping heavily across the stream from stone to stone, he could just glimpse part of his car across the road. Someone was sitting on it.

Tee paused within the last fringe of trees bordering the road and sized up the situation. McNeil was leaning back on the hood of the cruiser, his head against the windshield, his face to the sun as if basking on the beach. As Tee watched, McNeil languidly turned his face in Tee's direction, pulling his sunglasses down so they rested on his nose like a man with bifocals. He stared for a moment, then pushed the tinted glasses back to cover his eyes and returned his face to the sun. For a foolish moment Tee thought of stepping back farther into the woods and waiting it out. Instead, he came out of the trees and crossed the road to his cruiser.

"You're out early," McNeil said without turning to face Tee.

"Sit on your own car," Tee said. McNeil's cruiser was parked a few feet behind Tee's, in effect imprisoning it against the cement wall of the reservoir.

McNeil slowly swung his feet around so that he was sitting up, pointedly taking his own time to get off the hood. He looked at Tee, his eyes inscrutable behind the dark glasses.

"I was looking at the orchard again," Tee said.

"Find anything?"

There would be nothing to find. The federal and state people had combed it very finely indeed.

"I was just looking for inspiration," said Tee, careful to keep his tone even and controlled.

"I thought you might be in the orchard," McNeil said. "I went looking for you."

Tee got into the car, avoiding McNeil's gaze. The sonofabitch was taunting him. He knows something is up, Tee thought, but he can't know exactly what. Give him nothing to work with, he told himself. Offer nothing.

"What did you want me for?"

"I saw your car," McNeil said. "I thought you might be in trouble… car trouble."

"I thought Metzger was on duty." 'I'm just coming to work," said McNeil. "Thought I'd do my Samaritan number. Looks like you're all right after all… Look a little tired though, Chief You got to get more sleep." Tee detected the trace of a grin. "Not as young as you used to be. You can't get up to your old tricks."

"Thanks for your concern."

"Leave some of that for the younger guys. That's what we're here for."

"I'm glad to know what you're here for, McNeil. Sometimes I wonder. What did you find out about the missing Schrag girl?"

"Who, the all pair?" McNeil shrugged. "The Hills say she took off for New York and just never came back. There's no sign of foul play, no report of any kind from the New York cops. I figure she just got bored being a baby-sitter and took off to see America. Or went home to Germany. Who knows? These kids are like that-this isn't the first time we've seen an all pair skip out of her job around here."

"Did she have a boyfriend?"

"Mrs. Hill says no, Mr. Hill thinks she did. I figure he wanted to get into her pants and when she said no he blamed a boyfriend."

"Is that just your take on human nature, or do you have any evidence to support it?"

"Hey, Chief, the girl is twenty-five, the husband is thirty-eight. It's natural he'd want to get some off the babysitter, isn't it?"

"Not all men are like that," said Tee.

"Oh yeah?" McNeil smirked. "We must know different men, Chief."

"How many all pairs have turned up missing in the past ten years or so?

Seven? Eight?"

"Not that many. Three, four. But they're an irresponsible lot. Hell, they're young, they're looking for something or they wouldn't come here in the first place, they're a couple thousand miles from home, they're stuck in a job wiping kids' noses all day-why wouldn't they take off It's a big country, easy to disappear."

"Stay on it."

McNeil shrugged again. "Sure."

"And report to me on it."

"Sure."

"You want anything else, McNeil?"

"Not if you don't."

"Then move your car so I can get out of here and go to work."

McNeil backed up his cruiser, then pulled it parallel to Tee's and leaned out the window.

"Oh, by the way, Chief. Don't forget your blanket," he said. McNeil removed his glasses and smiled knowingly at Tee. "You dropped it in the woods just before you crossed the road."

After Tee recovered the blanket and returned it to the trunk, he took out his map of Clamden and traced all the alternate routes from McNeil's house to police headquarters. None of them went past the reservoir. Tee could think of several possible reasons why McNeil was making such a detour. One, he knew about Tee and his liaison and wanted to make sure that Tee understood that he knew. Two, McNeil had chanced by by coincidence because he was going to work, but not from home-he had spent the night somewhere else. Three, McNeil had come by to look at the orchard himself. But whatever might have caused McNeil to come to the crime scene, it was not duty, it was not diligence. Tee allowed himself to pursue that train of thought as he drove to headquarters. The problem of what he was to do with Mrs. Leigh was put aside to be dealt with later. Kom HANDLED the bones that Becker gave him with the nonchalance of a baton twirler getting the feel of his instrument.

Grone, the criminologist, already aggrieved that Becker had called in a civilian doctor, watched with alarm from his desk, fearing that evidence was about to fall on the floor. Kom held the bones together, turned and twisted them to look at the other side, then artfully placed them in their proper alignment again.

"Bad cutting," said Kom, moving down the line of "Becker's beauties," matching bone to bone. "Either bad technique or bad nerves. I told you before, John, when you showed me the first one, it's sloppy work, he's cut every one of them."

"But how?" Becker asked. "How would you manage to cut both sides of the joint when the bones are that close together? If you have the knife in there, angled one way, and you hit bone, you'd have to pull it out, angle it the other way, and go back into the joint to cut the other bone. And he did it every time. He doesn't seem to learn very fast. "

Kom put a pair of bones together and used a pen from his pocket to simulate a knife. "I see what you mean. I hadn't thought of it that way… People do develop methods of things though, don't they? I mean, this guy isn't in training for anything, is he? Let's say that he does it the way you suggested the first time. It's not graceful, but it works. He gets away with it. Maybe he just keeps on doing it that way because it seems to be successful."

Becker stared at the bones under Kom's pen.

"Or," Kom said, pausing as the idea took shape ii,,N mind, "maybe he went in this way." Kom pushed the pen straight between the bones from the side. "Maybe he just kind of wedged his knife in, you know, like he was making a thrust rather than a cut. That way his knife could cut both bones, both sides of the joint, simultaneously."

Kom looked to Becker for a response, smiling, proud of his insight.

"Are we talking about a two-sided knife?" Becker asked. "It would need a cutting edge on both sides of the blade to do that, wouldn't it?"

" There are knives like that, aren't there? Throwing knives, those kung fu things, they're double-bladed, aren't they?"

Grone chortled mockingly and Kom looked at him, hurt.

"Well, I'm not an expert on knives," he said. "It's just a thought, John, you know. Maybe I should limit myself to my expertise."

"No, keep thinking. I'm interested."

"Well, forget the bad cutting. My question is, why did he cut them into pieces in the first place?"

Grone shook his head in disgust and turned back to his work.

Becker looked at Kom curiously. "I'm assuming it's to get them to fit into the trash bags." ' 'Well, if I were doing it," Kom said, "I wouldn't go to all the trouble of quartering them like this. That takes time, that's a good deal of work. Look, the girls are dead when he does this, right?"

"I hope to God."

"So why not just bend them into any shape you want? You've seen gymnasts, contortionists in the circus, whatever, who can cross their ankles behind their heads, right? The only reason we can't do that is because it hurts, our muscles are too tight. Well, it won't hurt a corpse, and if you can't force the legs-I'm sorry. Is this too ghoulish?"

"Go on."

"Because it sounds pretty unfeeling. I mean, these were girls, they were somebody's daughter, people loved them…"

"It's not ghoulish, it's helpful. Go ahead."

"Well… if I had trouble forcing the legs behind the head, all it would take would be a couple of cuts here and here." Kom sliced his hand across the back of his leg. "Through the hamstring and the gluteus.

Sever those and you could make the leg do whatever you want. Then just bend the arms double so the hand is on the shoulder. I mean, that would fit into a trash bag, wouldn't it? It's a whole lot simpler, it seems to me. Why go to the trouble to hack-I'm sorry. This is your kind of work, not mine. I'm wrong, aren't I? I'm missing something?"

"No," Becker said. "I think I am." He held out his hand. "Well done, Stanley."

Grinning eagerly, Kom pumped Becker's hand. "You mean it? That was helpful?"

"It was of heuristic value," Becker said. "I don't know that it taught me anything specific, but it gave me a new slant on things, it helped me to learn."

"Terrific," Kom said, beaming. He turned to face Grone, who watched from behind his desk. "Terrific." Grone managed a feeble smile.

"Terrific," he said.

Kom turned back to Becker, rocking onto his toes with new energy. "So, John. Can I take you to lunch?"

They ate sushi at Becker's suggestion. Kom agreed to the menu immediately but showed a hesitancy when the food arrived. Becker noticed that he studied a package of fish and rice carefully before gamely putting it in his mouth.

"Tell me, John, do you ever think you'd like to switch careers? I mean, I know it isn't very practical, you get into a thing so deep, all those years, all that training you've got invested-but do you ever feel kind of trapped?"

"Often and severely," Becker said.

"Really? It's not just me?"

Becker toyed with his chopsticks. "I've actually tried to get out of the Bureau. I was out, as far as you can get out. I have-I have a special talent. They didn't want to lose it. Ultimately, I didn't want to lose it either. It's what I do best, even if I sometimes hate it while I'm doing it."

"I've heard stories," Kom said cautiously. "You never know what to believe…"

"I've heard the stories too," said Becker. "Overheard them anyway. Some of them. How I'm supposed to have some kind of sixth sense about serial killers, how I can spot them on the street as if they have an aura that only I can see… It's not true, of course."

"Of course not." Kom waited for more as Becker poured himself tea, then held the cup in his hand as if testing it for warmth.

"I just understand them better than most other agents," Becker said at last. He did not look at Kom but kept his eyes fixed on the back of a patron two tables away.

Kom nodded, encouraging without speaking.

"I have a better sense of what they feel," Becker continued. "Most people don't allow themselves to make the empathic jump. They think that people like Johnny are monsters."

Becker paused and Kom continued to nod encourage ment. Becker glanced at him, then away again.

"What they do is monstrous," Becker said. "But the people who do these things, they're people. They aren't werewolves, they aren't beasts that live in the woods and come into the village to feed. They're people who most of the time are normal enough, they have normal concernshow to pay the rent, how to get ahead at work, whether to buy a new car or go one more year with the old one. Many of them have families, wives, children, girlfriends. They have their own reasons for the crimes they commit, they aren't reasons others might understand, but they make an internal logic for the killers."

"I guess I never thought of it that way, but of course, they have to live in a community, they can't have horns showing on their head."

"Successful serial killers are not madmen in the normal sense, although their actions during the killings may or may not be insane. Remember, they get away with it. Sometimes for a long, long time. Sometimes forever. We don't catch them all. We don't even know about them all.

They're clever, they have to be. We found out about Johnny just because of a fluke."

"What do you mean, their actions during the killings may or may not be insane?" Kom asked. "Wouldn't you have to be crazy to kill people like that? Again and again?"

Becker looked directly at Kom. "No, Stanley. You'd just have to like it. "

Kom shivered elaborately. "Sounds crazy to me."

Becker turned away and grasped his chopsticks again. "Maybe you haven't thought about it enough. Or maybe you've just been lucky where life has placed you." Becker resumed eating and they sat in silence for a moment.

"You've-you've killed some of them, haven't you?… I'm sorry, John, that's rude. That's personal…"

Becker smiled ruefully. "I'm told by a variety of therapists that it's good for me to talk about it. Don't worry Stanley, you'd be abnormal if you didn't mention it eventually… Yes, I've killed some of them."

Kom nodded, provisionally.

"Is there more to the question?" Becker asked.

"Well… no. Not really."

"How did it feel?"

"No, John, really. I'm acting like a voyeur or something. This is a painful subject for you. I apologize."

Becker paused, then sighed audibly. "I understand them, Stanley."

After a silence Kom said, "Thank you for telling me that, John. I know it wasn't easy. I think… I think I should tell you something."

"It's not a trade-off," Becker said.

"No, no, you should know it. We're going to be friends and you should know… Tovah… First, we both had a great time with you and Karen at dinner the other day."

"We did too."

"Did you really? That's terrific, thanks, that means a good deal to me, and Tovah will be very happy to hear it."

"I think Karen called her the next day and thanked her."

"Well, yeah, sure, but… see, Tovah… I feel a little disloyal talking about her this way."

Becker grinned. "You haven't said anything about her yet. "

"Tovah… gets these infatuations. That's the best thing to call them. They don't last too long, they're like crushes, like a teenager."

Becker tried to imagine Tovah Kom with a crush on anyone, losing control of herself, abandoning her bitterness. He couldn't manage to see it.

"That's all right, there's nothing wrong with that," Kom said. He did not sound convinced. "As long as everyone knows that's all it is." Kom looked at Becker and touched him on the arm, holding his attention.

"They don't last long.

"Uh-huh," said Becker. He did not know what he was supposed to do with such unlikely information.

"I mean, I understand, she's a beautiful woman, a very exciting woman … a lonely woman in some ways, you know what a doctor's hours are like, it's hard to plan things, I might have to leave whenever the phone rings, half the time I'm at the hospital, I do rounds, I have operations, there are emergencies…

"Uh-huh."

"I'm saying I understand, John."

"I have pretty strange hours myself. So does Karen sometimes, although with Jack, one of us is always around…"

"I'm not encouraging anything, but if it happens, it happens. It won't last long. I won't hold it against you, she's beautiful. I just want to get it on the table."

"You're beginning to lose me, Stanley."

"Oh, come on, John. You must have sensed it. It was like a cloud hanging over the dining table. Tovah's crazy about you."

Becker fought not to choke on his raw fish.

Kom was shaking his head, studying the tabletop.

"It's so embarrassing," said Kom.

"I couldn't believe it," Becker said. He noticed that Karen had fallen deathly silent. "I don't believe it. When I was alone with her, she talked about her husband, he's the one she's infatuated with."

Karen lay in bed, a book open on her stomach. She stared at Becker coldly.

"How did you take this news?"

"What do you mean? I was stunned, I didn't know what to say. It was almost like he was pimping for her, but he was so-he was so humiliated.

I thought he was going to cry.

"Then he believes it's true, even if you say you don't."

"I don't say I don't believe, I don't believe it."

"Maybe you're not the best judge."

"I'm telling you, it's ridiculous… Don't just stare at me like that, you make me feel guilty. I haven't done a thing. I'm telling you this story, aren't I?"

"Yes, you're telling me, you get full marks for telling me."

"What don't I get full marks for?"

"For having other women be attracted to you."

"I'm telling you, she's not."

"And I'm telling you, John, that unless the woman has been in deep freeze for several weeks, she probably is. Most women would be."

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Just because you think I'm Clint Eastwood or something…"

"No, precisely because you are not Clint Eastwood. You are sane, you are stable, you're good-looking, you have a sense of humor, you like women, and you are real. You're not a movie star, you're somebody right within arm's reach, you are making an effort to become increasingly open and vulnerable-what's not to like?"

"There are a lot of people who would argue I'm not sane, for one thing."

"And you're honest, I should have added that. I don't blame Tovah. I feel sorry for Stanley, but I don't blame her. "

"Great, you don't blame her, Stanley says he doesn't blame me…"

"I would kill her," Karen said. "But I wouldn't blame her. I would blame you-but you I wouldn't kill. I might maim you in some permanently crippling way.

"An interesting distinction. Meanwhile, what am I supposed to do with this bit of information? What does Stanley expect me to do?"

"He hopes you'll stay away from his wife."

"You bet I will. I'll also stay away from him."

"Why?"

"Because it's too embarrassing. I had to look at him in the restaurant, he was practically in tears-I thought we'd both die of embarrassment."

"What did you do?"

"I finally just kind of patted him on the shoulder. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say much of anything. It will be hard to look at him next time."

"If two women had that intimate a conversation, they would become closer."

"We're not two women. We're not even one woman."

"You're making progress. He's an easy man to confide in. "

"Yes, and that's a curious thing. He is easy to confide in. He's very warm, he's so open, so eager, he kind of shames you into being as open as he is… I don't know why I don't like him more."

"He must like you a lot to talk to you about his wife like that. That can't be easy for him."

"Is there some hidden agenda in all of this, Karen? Is there some reason you want me to be friends with Kom other than your natural compassion?"

Karen sighed. "I told you-you have not had a real male friend since I've known you, except for Tee. You have some men you're friendly with, you have some acquaintances whom you don't mind too much, but you don't talk to any of them as far as I can figure out. Even with Teedo you know his daughter's birthday?"

"Why would I need to know that?"

"Does he know what grade Jack is in?"

"The point being?"

"You've exchanged more intimate conversation with Stanley in one lunch than you have with Tee in a decade. You told him about your feelings when you killed those people, for heaven's sake. It took years before you would talk about that with me."

"He does sort of elicit a response."

"He will do you good, John. He can give you a man's point of view about things, not just an attitude but his honest feelings. He can empathize with you in a way I,can't because I'm a woman. He can give you an outlet to really talk about your emotions because he's clearly not afraid to have emotions, and that's so refreshing, I can't tell you."

"Maybe you should be his friend," Becker said. "You poor thing, you work among men all day and you come home at night and all you have to talk to is me."

Becker put his hand on her bicep and worked it under the sleeve of the T-shirt she wore to sleep in.

"Sweetheart, I already am his friend," said Karen. "We're talking about you."

"When did you become his friend?"

"As soon as he told me how much he liked you. That's all the recommendation I need." She lifted the sheet with a sweep of her hand and moved across the bed until she was pressing against him. Becker thought of pointing out that by her own logic, she should also be fast friends with Tovah by now, but when she put her fingers on his body he thought better of it.