50.
Ilay on the bed in my hotel room with the phone to my ear.
“Chollo did make the guacamole,” Susan said, “but the rest of his shopping turns out to have been takeout from José’s, which he reheated.”
“He cooks like you do,” I said.
“Except for the guacamole,” Susan said.
“Hard to imagine you peeling an avocado,” I said.
“Peeling avocados is icky,” Susan said. “And there’s a big, hideous stone in the middle.”
“I know,” I said. “Did you have another appointment with Alderson?”
“Yes.”
“Everybody where they should have been?”
“Vinnie outside. Chollo upstairs. Hawk in the study. My alarm system in place. My gun in the desk drawer.”
“Loaded.”
“Of course.”
“The drawer open wide enough to reach the gun,” I said.
“Of course,” Susan said. “Remember, I have a Harvard Ph.D.”
“Comforting,” I said. “What’s he doing in there?”
“He’s charming me,” Susan said.
“Has it occurred to him that others may have tried that?”
“No,” Susan said. “I don’t think it has.”
“As far as I can tell,” I said, “he’s had great success with it in the past.”
“I would imagine he has,” Susan said.
“Is he talking about matters of substance with you?” I said.
“It’s all substance,” Susan said. “No matter what they say. Even if he’s lying, it is of substantial interest to see why he chose those lies.”
“Is he still talking about his father?” I said.
“Yes, and his father’s heroism in the protest movement, and of his own attempts to emulate it.”
“But?”
“But if he’s forty-eight he’d be awfully young for it, and his father would almost certainly be older than the average sixties protester.”
“In fact he appears to be about fi fty-fi ve,” I said.
“The math works even worse,” Susan said.
“Isn’t that dumb?” I said. “To make up a story that doesn’t make sense in terms of simple chronology?”
“It may be. But troubled people often fuse themselves with a parent or someone else when they are talking about themselves.”
“So is he troubled?”
“Yes. But he’s not talking about what’s troubling him,”
Susan said.
“You have a thought what that might be?” I said.
She laughed.
“You, probably,” she said.
“I’m not sure you can help him with that,” I said.
“Nor wish to,” Susan said. “But none of that is germane to what he’s doing. Right now he just wants to seduce me into being alone with him.”
“Which will not happen,” I said.
“Which will not happen,” Susan said. “What progress are you making?”
“I have talked to sixteen women that Alderson knew when he was in Cleveland. The most recent one to see him was Claire Goldin, who last saw him in 1994 when his name was still Turner.”
“When did Red meet him?” Susan said.
“Somewhere around 1996,” I said. “When his name had changed to Alderson.”
“So whatever caused him to change his name happened between 1994 and 1996,” Susan said. “Are you ready to talk with Epstein yet?”
“No.”
“The FBI has considerable resources. They might be able to fi nd out a little about Bradley Turner.”
“Do I tell you how to shrink the loonies?” I said.
“Wow,” Susan said. “I’ve never heard it described that way.”
“One of the women I talked to told me I was fun,” I said.
“She has no idea,” Susan said.
We were quiet for a moment listening to the soundless distance between us.
“I miss you,” Susan said.
“I know,” I said. “I don’t like this either.”
“How soon?” Susan said.
“I got a guy to talk with tomorrow. Then maybe I can come home.”
“Good.”
“Who’s with you now?”
“Chollo and Vinnie are downstairs in the study. Hawk is in the living room with Pearl reading the New York Times from this morning.”
“I wonder who’s reading to whom,” I said.