‘Give.’
‘Okay, I’ve waked up too early a few times since the last time we talked.’
‘What are you calling a few?’
‘Four.’
‘Talked to Max about it?’
‘Yeah, some. He gave me a couple things to think about.’
‘But you haven’t talked to Jana and the girls about the farm.’ Not a question.
‘Would you believe it if I said I was working on it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’d believe you think you are.’
‘Maybe the problem’s not really knowing where I belong.’
‘I saw how you were when you were working the place that last year, troop. Nobody could belong there more than you. Except maybe Casey and Jordie.’
I looked again at the pictures of the two of them on the wall. She was right; both were natural riders, as much at home on horseback and in the open country as birds in the air. If anybody belonged out there it was them.
‘Yeah, they’d be great with it,’ I said. ‘What worries me is how they’re handling the separation. I’m taking them out for lunch tomorrow, probably to the marina. I know it won’t fix anything, but I really need to spend some time with them.’
‘The main thing they need is for you to keep being who you are – the guy they can count on, who loves ’em like a rock. So who’re you sleeping with and how long has it been?’
With therapists there are certain constants, one of them being that you’ve got to account for your sex life.
‘It’s still Jana when it’s anybody,’ I said. ‘It’s been three weeks. Why?’
‘Because I hear skin hunger in your voice,’ she said, awakening new images of Gold’s violated skin in my mind. ‘You need more human contact.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But first, question number one: what’s the difference between a hallucination and a vision?’
‘Sometimes nothing, but generally you call it a hallucination – meaning it’s a symptom – when you’re nuts,’ she said. ‘A vision is just an experience. Why?’
I described what I’d seen on my computer monitor, and the memories that went with it.
‘Sounds like flashbacks,’ she said. ‘Anything happen lately that took you back to the farm or football or anything like that?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I mean, I see Johnny now and then, but that’s about it. Losing Jana and the girls might have triggered something, but I can’t really think of anything else.’
‘You haven’t lost Jana yet,’ LA said. ‘And you’ll never lose the girls. But your brain’s working on something. Give it a little time – things like that come when they’re ready.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thing number two is a murdered psychologist I want to talk to you about.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s hittin’ a little close to home, troop. But I don’t know how much I can help with something like that. I’m no criminalist.’
‘But you’re kind of smart,’ I said. ‘And you know a bunch of psychology words.’
‘Okay, Bis, let’s hear it.’
I said, ‘This woman used to do our employment screenings. She was hung up in a tree.’ Hearing myself, I realised how weak and obtuse this sounded. If I wanted to keep my communication skills anywhere above rock bottom I needed more interaction with people who had the kind of mind LA did, though I wasn’t exactly sure where to find anybody like that.
‘Hung up how?’
‘She was crucified.’
There was a short silence as LA processed this. She said, ‘Any religious connection?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like she was about to blow the whistle on some monsignor for embezzlement, a child-abusing cult, anything like that?’
‘Not that I know of,’ I said. I outlined what we had so far, including the anatomical switch the killers had performed. I’d been worried about this part, but the non-negotiable standing price of a conversation with LA had always been the naked truth or nothing.
‘Jesus, Bis, that’s some pretty incredible rage – but at least I’d say it eliminates most of your likely suspects.’
Seeing no way around having to admit I didn’t get it, I said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Not trying to play junior detective here, but this sounds too complicated for plain sexual sadism. And I’d bet your killer wasn’t her husband, or her lover. The killing was some kind of punishment, no doubt about that, but this isn’t the kind of anger you get when a guy’s wife or girlfriend cheats on him at the Christmas party or runs off with the tennis pro. When a man is mad enough to murder his woman, if he doesn’t shoot her it’s usually either spur of the moment, where he goes for the face or neck, or else it’s a premeditated thing like an insurance killing and he’ll try to make it look accidental. Or hire a guy to fake a burglary.’
‘Doc Stiff,’ I said.
‘Explain that.’
‘A homicide detective I knew. Used to be a biology teacher. His thinking was, the hotter the blood, the sooner and simpler the killing. He called it the Index of Passion. Not saying these doers kept a cool head exactly, but this took thinking and planning and patience.’
‘Doc sounds like a pretty smart guy,’ she said. ‘Anyway, your bad guys went to all that trouble for some reason. Any messages around the body, or on it?’
‘No note, no anonymous calls, no hieroglyphics carved on her chest,’ I said, watching Mutt groom himself. ‘Wayne found a Roman coin, but there’s no telling how it got there or if it had anything to do with the killing.’
‘A Roman coin?’
Suddenly Mutt came to attention. He looked first toward the back door, then the garage entrance, the fur along his back standing up, his eyes huge. Hearing nothing myself. but catching his mood like an instantaneous virus, I said, ‘Hold on a minute, LA. I’ll be right back.’ I grabbed the Glock and a flashlight, checked to be sure there was a round in the pistol’s chamber, and slipped out the front door. As I waited for my eyes to adjust I listened carefully to the night. I hadn’t expected to hear crickets or cicadas at this time of year, but even taking that into account it seemed unnaturally quiet out here. I started working my way slowly around the house, staying as deep in the shadows as possible. Nothing in front, nothing in the driveway, nothing anywhere around the house that I could see. I stood motionless again, listening, hearing only the menacing rumble of a Harley somewhere in the middle distance, and behind that the faint hum of the interstate that could only be heard from here on a quiet night. I switched the flashlight on and made a non-stealth circuit of the house. Still nothing.
Back inside, I picked up the phone, saying, ‘I’m here.’
‘What happened?’
‘The cat spooked,’ I said.
‘Only you would have a watchcat. What spooked him?’
‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe some colleague of his dropping by. Coyotes come through sometimes, but usually not before three, four in the morning.’
After a short silence LA said, ‘I don’t like the sound of that, Bis.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Where were we?’
‘The coin.’
‘Right