"Why don't you come over here?" she said.
"When?"
"When would you like to?"
"Now," he said.
"Give me half an hour," she said. "This is a little early in my day."
As he dressed, Becker remembered the crows. If they came to feast, their prey would have to be very large to support such a hopeful number.
He wondered bitterly if the trapped and wounded beast they waited for was himself.
Tovah chose green for the meeting and Becker could see why she had needed the half hour of lead time. Her eyeshadow matched her fingernails and even her lipstick had the hue of fresh grass. The effect on her skin of so much surrounding green was to give it the faintly sickly look of skim milk.
"You're early," she said, smirking. "Does this mean you're eager to see me?"
"You're ready," Becker said sourly. "Does that mean you couldn't wait?"
"You're not in a very good mood this morning, Mr. Becker. You've lost that light touch that makes you so much fun."
"I figure you're fun enough for both of us."
"I can be," she said, walking toward the tennis court.
She did not bother to look back to see if Becker followed her. "At least some people tell me I can be fun. Not to Stanley, apparently, but to some."
"Were you planning to play a set or two, or are we going to talk?"
Becker asked, as she slouched into a chair beside the court. She positioned both legs in front of her in a vertical — circumflex, a pose he had only seen on models and actresses.
"The housekeeper is in the house," she said. "I didn't think we wanted to be overheard."
"This way she gets the thrill of watching us through the window and using her imagination. What do you know about Karen and your husband?"
"Well, that's direct. No more chitchat…" She leaned back in the chair, stretching her legs in front of her with the indolence of a man.
Becker knew she was aware that her legs were an impressive feature; he also knew that she was aware that he was aware. "So how much do you know about them?"
"I don't know anything. I'm not even certain that there is anything to know."
"Oh, you know," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"
"Probably not."
She smiled at him, seemingly unfazed by his lack of interest in her.
"No, you wouldn't be here just for me. I'm not good company," she said.
Her pause demanded a rebuttal.
"You're fine," Becker said impatiently. "How gallant."
"Tovah… Tovah, please tell me anything you know about your husband and my wife…"
"Do I detect an 'or' at the end of that sentence?"
"Or I'll have to kill Stanley without just cause."
"Promise?"
"Do I have good reason?"
"Why is it that they always want to kill Stanley and so seldom offer to murder their wives?"
"I love my wife."
"I know that. The funny thing is, I love my husband." Becker sat still, trying to control his impatience with his breathing.
"Shall I begin with Stanley first?" she asked.
"All right."
"I hope you've got plenty of time," she said.
19
Tee awoke to Marge shaking his shoulder.
"That thing is going off," she said. "You said to wake you. "
In the darkness of the bedroom, a tiny red light flashed on and off frantically, accompanied by an unrelenting beeping noise emitted by the receiver that sat atop the television set.
"Shit oh dear," said Tee, dragging himself fully awake. "How long has it been going?"
"Maybe a minute."
Tee was already out of bed, pulling on his clothes.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"I did," Marge said.
"You said it had been going for a minute."
"I had to wake up myself, first. Do you have to go out in the middle of the night like this?"
"Do you think I'm doing it for fun?"
Marge looked at him in a way he had not seen for many years.
"Tee, you're not meeting someone, are you?"
"Becker and maybe Mr. Appleseed."
"I mean you're not seeing anyone, are you?"
Tee bent over to lace his shoes, keeping his eyes away from her.
"Christ's sake, Marge."
"Are you?"
"Like this? Half awake? I'm chasing a car."
"I don't mean right this second."
"I'm too old for that shit," he said, starting for the door. He paused for a second, trying to soften his response, and touched her foot, which was out from under the covers. "Why would I see anyone else when I've got you? I'd have to be crazy. "
She pulled the sheet over her head to hide the pain on her face. "Can you turn that thing off, at least?"
Tee grabbed the receiver and started out the door, still tugging at his clothing. In the car, he called Becker.
Becker had slept poorly, wrestling with the effects of the venom that Tovah had put in his ear. He did not believe it. He would not believe it until he had proof, he told himself, although he knew that if he was thinking of proof he had already given the idea too much credence. Karen had not mentioned seeing Kom. At one point he had thought she was going to, but ultimately she had not. He had given her an opportunity. When he spoke of seeing Tovah, she could, would, naturally have said she had been with Tovah's husband. If she had been. He did not know with certainty that she was. He did not even know that the car he saw driving away was coming from his house. His was not the only house on the road. Nor was Kom the only one who could have been in the car.
He told himself to stop tormenting himself, he had no grounds for suspicion beyond the word of a very peculiar, bitter woman. And that was no grounds at all, he told himself. Nothing. And yet the thought of Karen with another man filled him with such a plunging despair that he could think of nothing else.
Tee's call had come as a relief. He hurried from the torturous bed and into the night, seeking surcease from thought in action.
Tee saw the taillights in the distance and instantly slowed his own car.
He did not want to overtake the beige Chevy Caprice by himself, wanted nothing to do with a one-onone confrontation with a serial killer. That was the sort of thing that required a team of men. Or just Becker perhaps, if the stories were true. But then if the stories were true, Becker would not confront Johnny Appleseed, he would swoop down upon him like a hawk or fall upon him like a leopard from a tree, tearing and ripping and leaving nothing behind but a shower of blood and a few shredded scraps for the crows. If the stories were true, Becker would materialize in front of Johnny like Dracula, spread his cape and bite his neck, then change his shape and vanish into the night as a bat or a spider. If the stories were true. But if the stories were true, Becker would already have found Johnny, he would have sniffed him out like a wolf, sensed his presence by his body heat like a pit viper, tracked him through the woods like Daniel Boone, whistled him out of hiding like the Pied Piper, spied him with his X-ray vision.
He didn't believe the stories, of course, even those that dealt with some version of possibility. He knew Becker was a damned good agent, but not superhuman. Still, he wished he'd hurry up and join in the chase.
The taillights in front of him brightened temporarily as the car braked before a turn, then vanished around a curve. Newtown Road lay ahead, one of the few long, straight roads in Clamden. Tee slowed so that he would not be too obvious in his pursuit. He rounded the bend, saw a motion in the corner of his eye take on shape as the shadows coalesced and leapt in front of his headlights. A buck deer arched in flight in front of him, head twisted toward Tee, the animal's eyes wide with astonishment, its movement seemingly suspended in midair. Tee braked instinctively, knowing it was already too late. The car swerved to the right and jumped from the road just as it made impact with the buck. Incredibly, insensible to the fate of their comrade, more deer leapt onto the asphalt and passed to the woods on the other side, their frightened eyes flashing at Tee as they bounded past.