"Like me," I said. "I keep pretending you're naked on the bed."
"On the other hand, it may be more subtle than that. She may be simply enacting her condition."
"Her condition is smoking the cannoli in a parking lot?"
"It's good to know that you haven't lost that keen edge of your sophistication. Perhaps her activities in the parking lot are, at least symbolically, how she experiences herself."
"Because of her husband?"
"Not only her husband," Susan said. "You said her father got her husband out of a couple of boy-love jams."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Appearances," I said. "Save the family from scandal."
"So he knows her marriage is probably a sham. Other than covering up for the husband, does he do anything about it?"
"Not that I can see."
"So as far as we can tell, her father and husband don't value her beyond whatever ornamental use they put her to."
"I get it," I said.
"I knew you would," Susan said.
"There's another thing bothering me," I said. "The shooting of the horse over in Alton."
"Why does that bother you?"
"Becker and I speculate that it might be to distract me," I said. "And that's a reasonable speculation."
"But?"
"But if it's the work of some kind of serial psychopath, which is what it seems like, then distracting me would seem to be too rational an act."
"Possibly," Susan said.
"I mean, the compulsion isn't about me."
"You may have been added to what it is about," Susan said.
"Or maybe it's
not a compulsion," I said.
"Are you just casting about, or have you any other reason to think it's something else?"
"Well, what kind of compulsion is this? A compulsion to shoot horses, with no concern for the result?"
"No way to know," Susan said. "Compulsions are consistent only to their own logic."
"Well, I remain skeptical."
"As well you should."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Will that be Visa or MasterCard?" Susan said.
"I'll recompense you in full," I said, "when I get home."
"Soon?"
"I have no idea."
"It's annoying, isn't it," Susan said, "to have our life scheduled by the pathology of someone we can't even identify."
"You should know," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Sometimes I think we're doing the same work."
"Do you think that absence makes the heart grow fonder?"
"No. I'm already as fond as I'm capable of being," Susan said. "Makes me miss you, though."
"Yes," I said. "I feel the same way."
"Good," Susan said. "And stay away from the truck stops."
EIGHTEEN
THE HORSE SHOOTER upped the ante on a rainy Sunday night by shooting Walter Clive dead in the exercise area of Three Fillies Stables. I was there at daylight, with Becker and a bunch of Columbia County crime scene deputies.
"Exercise rider found him this morning when she came into work," Becker said. "Right there where you see him."
Where I saw him was facedown in the middle of the open paddock in front of the stables, under a tree, with the rain soaking the crime scene. Someone had rigged a polyethylene canopy over the body and the immediate crime scene, in hopes of preserving any evidence that was left.
"Where is she now?"
"In the stable office," Becker said. "I got one woman deputy, and she's in there with her."
"Will I be able to talk to her?"
"Sure."
I stepped to the body and squatted down beside it. Clive was in a white shirt and gray linen slacks. There were loafers on his feet, without socks. His silver hair was soaked and plastered to his skull. There was no sign of a wound.
"In the forehead, just above the right eyebrow," Becker said. "Photo guys are already done-you want to see?"
"Yes."
Becker had on thin plastic crime scene gloves. He reached down and turned Clive's head. There was a small black hole above his eyebrow, the flesh around it a little puffy and discolored from the entry of the slug.
"No exit wound," I said.
"That's right."
"Small caliber," I said.
"Looks like a.22 to me."
"Yes."
"Figure he caught the horse shooter in the act?" Becker said.
"Be the logical conclusion," I said.
"Yep. It would."
"Where was Security South during all this?" I said. "Busy polishing their belt buckles?"
"Security guy was in with the horse," Becker said.
"Hugger Mugger."
"Yeah. When I say the horse, that's who I mean. He heard the shot, and came out, ah, carefully, and looked around and didn't see anything, and went back inside with the horse."
"It was raining," I said.
"All night."
"How far out you figure he came?"
"His uni was dry when I talked to him," Becker said.
"No wrinkles?"
"Nope."
"Probably didn't want to be lured away from the horse."
"Hugger Mugger," Becker said.
I looked at him. He was expressionless.
"Of course Hugger Mugger," I said. "What other horse are we talking about?"
Becker grinned.
"So nobody sees anything. Nobody but the guard hears anything," Becker said. "We're looking for footprints, but it's been raining hard since yesterday afternoon."
"Crime scene isn't going to give you much," I said.
"You Yankees are so pessimistic."
"Puritan heritage," I said. "The family's been told?"