She glanced at me. I tried to plead with my eyes. "What the f.u.c.k is going on here?"

"I don't like it when a lady swears," he told her.

"What are you, my minister? I don't give a rat's s.h.i.t bag puss f.u.c.k t.i.t what you like. I want to know what's going on here."

"Got me a trespa.s.ser," Doe said. "That's all. Maybe more than one. Still got to check out the grounds. And this here is Meadowbrook Grove's jurisdiction, not to mention my own personal property. So if you don't mind staying out of our business, I promise not to stick my nose in yours." He unveiled another grin. "Nope, I won't stick nothing in your business."

She met his gaze. "Jim, you know perfectly well you can't order a county cop out of a munic.i.p.ality, and if I think you might be up to something, I can have a look around. It's a little something called 'probable cause'-a concept pretty well-known among cops. And let me tell you, that sad-looking boy in your car, licking the snotty blood off his face, gives it to me."

Doe turned away from her, pressed one finger to his left nostril, and blew out a wad of snot onto the ground. "You want to play hardball with me, sugar?"

"What I want is to know what's going on. So how about you stop jerking me around."

"Maybe you want to jerk me around a little?" Before the county officer could speak, Doe let out an exasperated sigh and pointed toward the hog lot. "I came to check on my property, and I happened to notice this suspicious-looking fellow prowling around, looking to break in, I guess. What should I have done? Called the police?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "That's what you should have done. Get him out of that car."

"I don't much like the tone of your voice."

"You're not going to like the tone of the county jail, either. Get him out of there."

He put his hands on his hips. "What crawled up you? Is this because I forgot Jenny's birthday? Is that what this is about? Because if Pam told you to give me a hard time about that, why, that's nothing but hara.s.sment, is what that is. I might file me a complaint."

"You don't want to play it this way."

"I don't understand why you folks at County don't have more respect for your fellow law enforcement officers from other jurisdictions."

"We have plenty of respect for other law enforcement officers," she told him. "We just don't respect you. Get him out of there now, unless you want me to radio for backup. Because if that happens, things are going to get ugly."

"It got ugly the minute you showed your face," Doe mumbled.

He opened the door and yanked me out, sending another wave of pain through my arms. "Don't make me mad," he whispered, hardly more than a hot breath, into my ear. "Don't think for a second you're getting away with anything. I know who you are, boy."

The other cop gave me an appraising, almost sympathetic, once-over. I couldn't figure out my move. Cops were no longer my friends, but I had to believe that she would be a better bet than Jim Doe, a better bet by a long stretch. Frankly, at that moment I believed I'd be willing to face charges and trial and testify against Melford if I could get away from Jim Doe. Maybe not very loyal, but I hadn't seen Melford running to my rescue, and I wouldn't be involved in any of this if Melford hadn't killed b.a.s.t.a.r.d and Karen for reasons he still wasn't talking about.

"Jesus f.u.c.king Christ," swore the county cop, looking at my bloodied nose.

"I found him that way," Doe said.

She ignored him. "What's your name, son?" she asked, even though she was still in her twenties, possibly even early twenties, and had no business calling me "son."

"Lem Altick." No point in lying when she could, and certainly would, pull my license.

"What were you doing here?"

I told her the same story I'd told Doe, about looking for shade and then just wandering around in the absence of NO TRESPa.s.sING NO TRESPa.s.sING signs. It found a more sympathetic audience with her, perhaps because of the blood. signs. It found a more sympathetic audience with her, perhaps because of the blood.

"You resist the man in any way?" She gestured toward Doe with her head.

"No, ma'am. I explained myself like I did with you."

"Turn around," she told me.

I did.

"Jesus f.u.c.k," she whispered. "Take those off of him now."

"I got a right to handcuff a perp."

"Doe, I'm going to count to three, and if those cuffs aren't off, then you're going to be the perp here."

He grumbled but took out his keys and unlocked the cuffs, getting in a few rough jerks while he fumbled to fit the key in the lock.

"What a bulls.h.i.t move, putting them on too tight. What, did you knock his head against the door when you put him in the car, too?"

It had been a rhetorical question, but I answered for Doe. "Yes, ma'am, he did. Punched me in the stomach, too."

"This f.u.c.ker is lying," Doe said as the cuffs came off.

I felt a rush of pain as the blood began to flow. It stung horribly, and I winced as my eyes watered, but I was determined to show nothing more than the wincing. I kept my hands behind my back, not wanting to see them until the pain dissipated.

"It sure doesn't look that way, Jim. I'm going to have to bring you up on charges."

But she didn't move. She didn't go to cuff him. Instead, she smiled thinly and stared at him, waiting to see how he planned to take it.

"Is this because I wouldn't f.u.c.k you?" he asked. "Is that what this is about? It's just that I don't like women without t.i.tties."

"Unless you have something useful to say that would make me view this matter in a better light, I'm going to have to take you over to the station."

I didn't know I was going to say it until it came out. "I don't want to press charges."

The cop turned to me so fast, I was surprised her hat stayed on her head. "Why in h.e.l.l not?"

I shrugged. "I don't want any trouble. I don't live near here, and I wouldn't be able to come back for the trial or anything. And I guess I was trespa.s.sing, even if he got a little mean about it. I'd just as soon forget the whole thing."

Doe grinned at me as though we were co-conspirators. Or something else. As though he hadn't been appeased, and this effort to get on his good side would only hurt me in the end.

Still, it was the right move. Best to let the whole thing disappear. Get the cops and the courts and maybe the media involved, I might end up in jail. Way things were now, it might just turn out okay. It was a long shot, but it was something to hope for.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

I nodded.

She turned to Doe. "This is your lucky day. Why don't you get on out of here."

"Why don't I get on out of here?" he asked, scratching his head. "Let me think about that one. How about this? Because it's my f.u.c.king land. How about you get out of here?"

"Do us both a favor and take a hike. And let me be clear about something. If anything happens to this boy, Jim, anything at all, I'm coming after you, so I suggest you be careful."

"I ain't never seen a woman with such small t.i.tties," he answered, and then got into his car. The engine came on with an angry growl, and the car pulled out at about fifty miles an hour.

The county cop watched it go. "I ought to give him a speeding ticket," she said. "See how he likes it." The she looked over at me. "So, what were were you doing here?" you doing here?"

"Just like I said," I told her. "I was wandering. I sort of plan to quit selling encyclopedias when I get home, and I didn't have the energy to work today. So I was walking along, and I came here."

"Come on, there must be more to it than that. You smoking pot or something? I don't care. I just want to know."

I shook my head. "Nothing like that. I was walking is all."

She shook her head. "Fine. Let me give you a ride."

I thought about the offer for a minute. Melford was back there somewhere, but what had he done for me but hang me out to dry? Either he hadn't seen what was going on, which showed he couldn't be trusted to watch my back, or he had and decided not to help me. Either way, I figured I ought to have no problem washing my hands of him.

For want of anyplace else to go to, I asked her to give me a ride to the motel, then I climbed into her car, fully aware that sitting in a cop car, front seat or back, was just about the last place I wanted to be. As we pulled out along the pine-lined road, and I caught a glimpse of Jim Doe's car hidden behind a few trees, I knew taking the ride had been the smart move.

The cop, Officer Toms according to her badge, decided the silent treatment was the best way to go. She handed me a tissue for my nose, which had already stopped bleeding, but I dabbed at it anyhow because it seemed the polite thing to do. Finally, without turning to look at me-though she might have given me a sidelong glance behind her mirrored sungla.s.ses-she said, "You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you."

"Not anymore."

"Yeah, you are."

"What makes you think that?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Because you were the victim of an a.s.shole cop's brutality, and now you're happy to forget it ever happened. In my experience, only people who are afraid of the law are content to look the other way when a cop steps over the line."

I shrugged, and then the lies started flowing. I'd never been a saintly paragon of truth, but I wasn't a habitual liar, either. Still, it was getting to be pretty easy. "I'm scared of the guy. I'd rather he forgot I exist. I've got nothing to gain by trying to beat him in some legal contest. All I wanted was to get away from him, which I did thanks to you."

"What's he up to, anyhow?"

She had a distant tone in her voice. I knew she wasn't talking to me, so I didn't have to tell her that he was up to hiding dead bodies and searching for a whole bunch of money.

"We've been trying to get a search warrant on that lot for months," she told me, "but I think he's got connections at the courthouse. The judges keep telling us there's no probable cause. But I sure as h.e.l.l don't think he's doing nothing more than raising hogs."

I was about to say something nondescript, like "I wouldn't know about that," but I thought better of it. Instead I opted for a Melfordian strategy. "Well, what do you think he's up to?"

She turned her head, but her eyes were invisible behind the gla.s.ses, so her face was illegible to me. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just making conversation with the nice police officer who rescued me."

"Good for you," she said.

"Good for me what?"

"Police 'officer.' Mostly I get police 'woman,' like I'm Angie d.i.c.kinson or something."

"True equality can only be achieved through gender-sensitive language," I told her.

She glanced at me again. "Right you are."

I'd never seen a car drive away skeptically before, but that's how Officer Toms did it. One last dubious glance, and she eased her cruiser away. And there I was, back at the motel. It was a few minutes before two now, and I didn't know what to do with myself.

Then a remarkable idea occurred to me. I could sleep. I could go back to my room, sleep for hours, and then wake up in time to hoof it over to the Kwick Stop and claim to have blanked. I could make the tedium of the day disappear, get some sleep, and and remain hidden from rednecks, crooked cops, and compa.s.sionate a.s.sa.s.sins. Opportunities like that didn't come along every day. remain hidden from rednecks, crooked cops, and compa.s.sionate a.s.sa.s.sins. Opportunities like that didn't come along every day.

I climbed the stairs to my room, already full of sleepy satisfaction. I pa.s.sed Lajwati Lal, Sameen's wife. She wheeled her cleaning cart along the balcony, her face impa.s.sive, hard, and lined. But she smiled at me when I pa.s.sed by, giving her a little wave.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Lal," I said, thinking myself enlightened because I cast a friendly greeting at an immigrant busy toiling over a stranger's bed.

She nodded agreeably in my direction. "I hope you're staying out of trouble."

My stomach flipped. What could she know? "Trouble," I said, my voice a rasp.

"My husband told me about those very wicked boys," she said with a sympathetic smile.

I let out my breath. "He was great to help me."

"Oh, yes. He fancies himself a real hero with his cricket bat," she said. "But I think he only wanted an excuse to teach those fellows a lesson."

I asked her to thank him again for me. Once inside my room, I turned up the air conditioner and sat on the edge of the newly made bed. The stillness, the dark of the room with its reddish orange curtains drawn-all of it felt too luxurious for words. I would at last sleep.

After splashing water on my face and rubbing off the last of the blood, I was happy to see I didn't look like someone who had been beaten up. A little red but nothing more. I lumbered over to the bed and lay down, fully dressed, arms stretched, ready to fall asleep. Then I sat upright. How could I afford to sleep when I was a potential murder suspect? If I were arrested, tried, and convicted and had to spend the rest of my life in jail, I'd spew curses at myself forever for having squandered this time. Time I could have used for . . . For what, exactly?

For trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on, I supposed. Melford seemed absorbed by the mystery of the third dead body, but that bothered me less than it did him. I was more troubled by the Gambler's involvement in all of this. Of course, I knew knew about the Gambler's involvement and Melford did not. Best not to think about Melford too much, since for all I knew he was sitting in the back of Jim Doe's police car with a b.l.o.o.d.y nose and his hands cuffed tight behind his back. about the Gambler's involvement and Melford did not. Best not to think about Melford too much, since for all I knew he was sitting in the back of Jim Doe's police car with a b.l.o.o.d.y nose and his hands cuffed tight behind his back.

I, however, was at the motel, and the Gambler was not. It occurred to me that being here at the motel presented a golden opportunity.

I stood up and headed out of my room, very slowly. Down the hall I saw Lajwati's cleaning cart and no sign of Lajwati herself. I walked slowly along the balcony, trying to look anything but furtive and probably failing miserably. When I got to the cart, I saw that luck was on my side-or perhaps fate was simply setting me up for an even greater tumble. There, hanging on a hook on the side of the cart, were the extra pa.s.s keys, the ones Ronny Neil and Scott had stolen in order to wreak havoc. I could take one and Lajwati would never notice-or, at the very least, never suspect me.

I heard the sound of running water coming from the open room, and when I peered in, there was no sign of Lajwati herself-except for one small, white-sneakered foot protruding from the bathroom. She was in there, scrubbing with the water running. With a casual swipe, I took one of the keys and kept on walking.

I went around to the side of the motel to the Gambler's room. There was no one around and no sign of lights on in the room. To be safe, I knocked and then ducked around the corner to watch. But the door didn't open. I went back, looked both ways, and stuck the key in the door.

It worked. I'd been half hoping it wouldn't. If the key had failed me, I could tell myself I'd done my level best but the black bag operation simply wasn't in the cards. Now I had no choice but to go forward. I sucked in my breath and pushed open the door.

And that was it. I'd broken into the room of a dangerous criminal. I couldn't imagine having done this twenty-four hours earlier, but twenty-four hours earlier I'd been a different person, living a different life.

I looked around the Gambler's room. Lajwati had already cleaned here, too, which was good since it meant I didn't have to worry about her barging in. It also meant that I didn't have to be paranoid about putting everything back exactly as I found it. Things would have been moved anyhow, giving me the freedom to look around as I pleased.

But what was I looking for? Some clue to who the Gambler really was, why he would be involved in covering up a triple homicide.

His burgundy garment bag was entirely unpacked, but I went through it anyway. Nothing. He had a few shirts and pants hung up and a pile of dirty laundry shoved in the bottom of the closet. I poked at it with my shoe, in case his dirty underwear was meant to disguise something of consequence, but a little shifting around revealed nothing. I went through the drawers, carefully lifting the undershirts, T-shirts, briefs, and socks, but found nothing of interest there, either. Nothing under the newspaper on the nightstand. A whole lot of nothing.

In the bathroom, I discovered the Gambler used cheap disposable Bic razors, off-brand shaving cream, and Crest. But I discovered little else except that he took three prescription medicines, none of which I'd ever heard of.

This was turning out to be a big bust. But then I saw it, hiding in plain sight. h.e.l.l, it was so obvious that it was a miracle I saw it at all. Right in the middle of the gla.s.s table toward the back of the room, next to the clean ice bucket with fresh plastic liner. His date book.

It would have everything everything in there. It was one of those date books that was about as broad as a paperback novel and almost as long. It had a little clasp and pockets on the inside and outside jackets. The pages were disposable, to be replaced each year, and there were too many of them shoved into a small ring, which made it hard to turn them. As I flipped through, I began to see that this wasn't the gold mine I'd been hoping for, it was a barely legible scribble mine. Each spread of two pages represented one week, and there was an entry for at least one day each week, generally more. The problem was that the entries didn't mean anything to me. "Bill. 3:00. Pancake." Somehow this tidbit didn't exactly clarify things. in there. It was one of those date books that was about as broad as a paperback novel and almost as long. It had a little clasp and pockets on the inside and outside jackets. The pages were disposable, to be replaced each year, and there were too many of them shoved into a small ring, which made it hard to turn them. As I flipped through, I began to see that this wasn't the gold mine I'd been hoping for, it was a barely legible scribble mine. Each spread of two pages represented one week, and there was an entry for at least one day each week, generally more. The problem was that the entries didn't mean anything to me. "Bill. 3:00. Pancake." Somehow this tidbit didn't exactly clarify things.

Then I noticed that one name appeared over and over again: BB. "Expect BB call PM." "Get instructions BB." "BB 9AM Denny's." This was surely something, I thought. I checked the back of the date book, which had an alphabetized section for addresses. It was pretty well maxed out, so I concentrated on the Bs but found nothing that looked right. Then I checked the front and back pockets, overflowing with business cards. Anything, I thought, with the initials B.B. But nothing. Salesmen, lawyers, real estate agents, doctors, appointment cards. It was all c.r.a.p. I was putting them back, trying to remember the right order, when one card grabbed my attention. It read, "William Gunn, livestock wholesaler."