"How many times?"
Adam pointed out, "You said one question and she answered it."
Chief Arenson sighed. "All right. Let it go."
Adam was aware of Erica glancing his way gratefully, then wondered if he had been wrong to intercede. Perhaps it might have been better if everything came out, since the chief had already promised immunity. Then Adam thought: The place for more revelations was in private, between himself and Erica.
If Erica chose to tell him. There seemed no certainty she would.
Even now, Adam had no idea how they were going to handle this when he and Erica got home. How did you handle the fact that your wife was a thief?
He had a sudden flash of anger: How could Erica do this to him?
It was then that Chief Arenson delivered his stern lecture to Erica, which she acknowledged.
The chief continued: "In this single special instance, because of your husband's standing in the community and the unfortunate effect which a prosecution would have on both of you, the store concerned has been persuaded not to press charges and I have decided to take no further action."
Adam said, "We know it was your initiative, Chief, and we're grateful."
Chief Arenson inclined his head in acknowledgment. "There are advantages sometimes, Mr. Trenton, in having a local suburban police force instead of a big metropolitan one. I can tell you that if this had occurred downtown, with the city police involved, the outcome would have been very different."
"If ever the question comes up, my wife and I will be among the strongest advocates of keeping a local force."
The chief made no acknowledgment. Politicking, he thought, should not become too obvious, even though it was good to have gained two more supporters of local autonomy. One day, if this man Trenton was going as high as predicted, he might prove a strong ally. The chief liked being a chief. He intended to do all he could to remain one until retirement, not become a precinct captain - as would happen under a metro force - taking orders from downtown.
He nodded, but did not stand - no sense in overdoing things - as the Trentons went out.
Smokey Stephensen was no longer in the corridor, but waiting in his car outside. He got out as Adam and Erica emerged from police headquarters.
It was now dark. The rain had stopped.
While Adam waited as Smokey approached, Erica went on alone to where Adam's car was parked. They had arranged to leave Erica's convertible in the police garage overnight and pick it up tomorrow.
"We owe you some thanks," Adam told Smokey. "My wife doesn't feel up to it now, but she'll tell you herself later." It required an effort to be polite because Adam still resented bitterly the auto dealer's blackmailing tactics. Reason told him, however, that without Smokey on hand he might have fared worse.
Then Adam remembered his anger at Erica inside. Something else she had done, he realized, had been to put him at the mercy of Smokey Stephensen.
Smokey grinned and removed his cigar. "No need for thanks. So long as you keep your side of the bargain."
"It will be kept."
"Just one thing, and maybe you'll tell me it's none of my business, but don't be too hard on your wife."
"You're right," Adam said, "it is none of your business."
The auto dealer went on unperturbed, "People do funny things for funny reasons. Worth a second look sometimes to find out what the reasons really were."
"If I ever need some amateur psychology, I'll call you." Adam turned away. "Goodnight."
Thoughtfully, Smokey watched him go.
They had driven half the way to Quarton Lake.
"You haven't said anything," Erica said. "Aren't you going to?" She was looking straight ahead, and though her voice sounded tired, it had an edge of defiance.
"I can say what I have to in just one word: Why?" While driving, Adam had been struggling to control his indignation and temper. Now, both erupted. "In Gods name! Why?"
"I've been asking myself that."
"Well, ask again and see if you can get some kind of sane answer. I'll be damned if I can."
"You don't have to shout."
"You don't have to steal."
"If we're only going to fight," Erica said, "we won't accomplish much."
"All I'm trying to accomplish is the answer to a simple question."
"The question being: Why?"
"Exactly."
"If you must know," Erica said, "I rather enjoyed doing it. I suppose that shocks you."
"Yes, it shocks me like hell."
She went on, musing aloud, as if explaining to herself. "Of course, I didn't want to get caught, but there was a thrill in knowing I might be.
It made everything exciting and somehow sharper. In a way it was like the feeling you get when you've had one drink too many. Of course, when I was caught, it was awful. Much worse than anything I imagined."
"Well," Adam said, "at least we're making a start."
"If you don't mind, that's all I want to make tonight. I realize you have a lot of questions, and I guess you're entitled to ask them. But could we leave the rest until tomorrow?"
Adam glanced sideways. He saw that Erica had put her head back and her eyes were closed. She looked young and vulnerable and weary. He answered, "Okay."
She said, so softly that he had to strain to hear, "And thank you for coming. It's true what I said - I wasn't going to send for you, but I was glad when you were there."
He reached out and let his hand cover hers.
"You said something" - Erica still spoke dreamily, as if from a distance - "about making a start. If only we could make a whole new start!"
"In what way?"
"In every way." She sighed. "I know we can't."
On impulse, Adam said, "Perhaps we can."
It was strange, he thought, that today of all days Perceval Stuyvesant should have suggested one.
Sir Perceval and Adam were breakfasting together at the Hilton Hotel downtown, where Perce was staying.
Adam had not talked with Erica since their return home last night. She had gone exhausted to bed, fallen asleep immediately and was still sleeping soundly when he left the house early to drive into the city.
He had considered waking her, decided against it, then half way to the breakfast appointment wished he had. He would have gone back, except that Perce had a midmorning flight to New York - the reason they made the arrangement by telephone last night; also, suddenly, Perce's proposition seemed more relevant and important than it had the day before.
One thing Adam had noticed last night was that while Erica went to sleep alone in the guest bedroom, as she had for the past month, she left the door open, and it was still open when he tiptoed in this morning.
He decided now: He would telephone home in another hour. Then, if Erica wanted to talk, he would rearrange his office schedule and go home for part of the morning.
Over their meal, Perce made no reference to the interruption in their talk the previous day; nor did Adam. Briefly Perce inquired about Adam's sons, Greg and Kirk, then they talked about superconductors - the area in which the small scientific company, now offering its presidency to Adam, was hopeful of a breakthrough.
"One extraordinary thing about superconductors, old boy, is that the public and the press know so little of them." Perce sipped his brew of mixed Ceylon and India teas which he carried with him in canisters and had prepared specially wherever he happened to be.
"As you probably know, Adam, a superconductor is a metal or wire which will carry a full load of electricity without any loss whatever."
Adam nodded. Like any eighth-grade physics student, he was aware that all present wires and cables caused at least a fifteen percent loss of power, called resistance.