"What would get you jumping up and down?" Tee asked.
"Something to work with. If this guy wore linen shirts, maybe you would have something to look for. But it's all cotton or a cotton and synthetic mix. The same shirts everyone else wears, in other words.
There is one area with plenty of prints though."
"Where's that?"
"The gas tank. There are latents all over the surface surrounding the tank opening, on the tank door, on the screwtop. "The sonofabitch,"
Becker said.
"That's what I figured," said Andreassi, nodding agreement.
"What are you talking about?" Tee demanded.
"You can bet money he doesn't pump his own gas," Andreassi said. "We'll check them all out, but I'd be willing to bet that all of those prints belong to gas station attendants. "Lot of different attendants too,"
Becker said. "So we waste time checking all of them out. A little diversion from Johnny."
"What makes you so sure?" Tee asked.
"This is a guy who doesn't want to be identified with this car. Thus the tinted windows, which certainly don't come as standard equipment.
The last thing he wants to do is be seen standing next to the car for five minutes while he fills up. So he sits in there behind the tinted glass and pays extra for someone else to do the work. And I'll bet he goes to many different stations to further reduce the chance that anyone will connect him with the car. Then he leaves the prints there, the only place he leaves prints, so we can find him and get a hard-on about finding a clue. You did get a hard-on, didn't you, Andreassi?"
"For about a minute, until I figured it out. It was fun."
"They usually are. How long before you can give me a final report?"
"A few days," said Andreassi. "I'll try to push it through for you as fast as I can."
After Andreassi left, Tee asked, "Can't Karen get them to make this top priority?"
"She could. But it's not. If the Caprice were top priority you'd have so many agents here you wouldn't be able to get into the men's room without a half-hour wait. But Karen's got other cases and other issues.
This is my top priority. And yours. Not the Bureau's.":,I saw him. You did too, didn't you?",Saw who?"
The driver of the Caprice. When he passed through our headlights, just for a second there, not very clear but you could make him out. I could."
"Why didn't you say so?"
"I wanted to be sure. I wanted to hear it from you, too, so I'd be sure it wasn't my imagination."
"Who did you see, Tee?"
"Who did you see, John?"
"I saw a shape, a suggestion of a man, nothing more."
"I saw him. I'm sure of it."
"Who?"
"You really didn't see him?"
"Who, — goddamnit?"
"McNeil."
"Oh shit, Tee. You wanted to see McNeil."
"You didn't see him?"
"No."
"Are you sure it wasn't him?"
"I can't be sure of who I saw."
"And then I called him. While you were chasing the Caprice I called McNeil's house. The phone rang four times before an answering machine picked up."
"He was asleep."
"Or he wasn't there. What kind of cop puts on the answering machine?"
"A Clamden cop? A tired cop?"
"How about a cop who's out running through the woods to get away from John Becker?"
"Maybe. Arrest him if you're so sure."
"With me as the only witness? He wouldn't even need a lawyer to walk on that one. You're sure you can't identify him?"
"That's not who I saw, Tee."
"You did see someone, then. Who did you see?"
"A shadow, a shape. A leap of my imagination. No one, nothing. Forget it. Have you done anything about your domestic problem yet?"
"Are we officially changing the subject then?"
"If I start chasing shadows, they're going to be my own, not yours," said Becker. "Until then, let's try for some evidence."
"You did see someone," Tee said accusingly. "Who?"
"I didn't see anyone, Tee. All right? I didn't see any recognizable face in the car. Neither did you."
"I saw what I saw."
"No, you saw what I saw and you want it to be McNeil and it's easy to make it McNeil because you hate him, you're fixated on him, and you didn't see a face clearly enough to be certain that it wasn't him."
"Piss on that whole train of thought, if I may speak to a federal agent in those terms."
"I wish you would… Have you left her yet?"
"Not yet," Tee said. He rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm not sure I can. Jesus Christ, John."
"It won't be easy. I know that."
"Have you ever been in this situation?" Becker hesitated. "No," he said at last. "Not really."
"Then what do you know about it? Let me rephrase that. What the fuck do you know about it?"
"Not a goddamned thing."
"All right then."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to sound sympathetic or anything. "
"It's going to kill me to do this. I mean, it's going to kill me."
"Are you sure you have to do it?"
"What else can I do?"
"I don't know."
"I wasn't asking. There is nothing else I can do. I have to leave her … and it's going to kill me."
Tee heaved himself to his feet and walked out of his office. He looked to Becker like a wounded animal going off in search of a place to lie down and suffer in silence.
Becker wondered if he looked like that himself. He knew he felt like it. Tovah's words had thrust a spear of doubt into his side and everything since then had driven it in farther. He was sure that was what accounted for the fact that the face he had seen through the tinted glass of the Caprice was Stanley Kom's.
21
Tee was resolved and feeling strong about what he had to do until he saw her eyes, those incredible wolflike pale blue eyes peering at him from under the red headband.
"You're looking awfully glum, General," she said, putting her hands on her hips and swaggering slightly, mocking him. The day was brutally hot, even in early morning, and sweat coursed down her bare arms.
Tee started to speak, but she ducked as if anticipating a blow and stepped forward, grabbing his belt. "Don't," she said. "Not yet. I had the most horrible fight with my husband this morning-let me just hold on to you for a minute." She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. He could smell the grapy scent of her hair.
"You're so dependable," she said, her lips against the cloth of his shirt. "So uncomplicated. Tommy is like a nest of snakes. Some days you just can't step anywhere without stirring him up. He's so sensitive-that's his 'artistic' termperament, you know. I don't care how much women are carrying on these days about wanting a sensitive man, I'm here to tell you that you can have too much of a good thing. Give me your typical American male who doesn't necessarily know when he's being wounded because he's too busy being stoic. They're a whole lot easier to live with, believe me. All these women swooning over sensitivity, they just make me sick. Let them spend a week with Tommy Leigh and see how they like it. That'll cure them real quick."
"Is that how you see me?" Tee asked. "Some kind of insensitive brute?"
She unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her cheek to the skin of his chest.
"You're so cool," she said. "How can you be so cool on such a hot day?"
Her hands fluttered across the skin of his back and Tee sighed with pleasure.
"I've been here long enough to cool down," he said. He had been atop the rock a half hour earlier than usual, rehearsing what he intended to say. "There's a nice breeze."