He touched the spot where the back of his neck met his skull. "The medulla, Alex. Basic respiration. She was gone. I got some plastic tarp out of the car—I keep it there for when Marge and I buy plants at the nursery—wrapped her up and took her somewhere."
"Where?"
He didn't answer. "Maybe I should talk to a lawyer."
"Sure," I said. "There'll be plenty of time for talk. But think about it: Any way you can garner sympathy's gonna help you. Agnes Yeager would like to say good-bye."
He opened a desk drawer, and for one panicky moment I thought he'd secreted a weapon there. But he pulled out paper and pencil. Drew a square. Several curving lines.
"I'm diagramming you a map. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," I said, in someone else's dead voice.
40
GOOD MAP. Gene had always been precise.
The Hollywood Hills, not far from where Shawna had fallen.
I called Milo first, asked for permission to let Agnes Yeager know.
"Why don't you let me get a crew there first?" he said. "Make sure the guy didn't lie. Make sure we pick him up too. Full name?"
I told him, feeling all sorts of things but pushing them aside with images of Shawna's Christian burial. No doubt Agnes would invite me. Maybe I'd attend, maybe I wouldn't.
"Okay," said Milo. "I'm to call Petra because it's Hollywood territory. Meet her up there and see what we've got. How'd you do it, Alex—no, don't tell me. We'll talk later."
"Sure," I said, hanging up and dialing another number.
Adam Green answered. "Hey."
"This is Alex Delaware, Adam."
"Al— Oh, the shrink. What, something finally go down about Shawna?"
"Maybe," I said. "It could hit the papers. I wanted to reach you beforehand, keep my word."
"The papers? Hey, your word was give me the story. For my screen-play."
"That's the thing, Adam. There really is no story."
41
ON THE EVENING of the third day, several hours after I'd returned from my visit to Ben Bugger's sickroom, Robin called. I'd been lying around, watching TV, had switched off the set as the tag line for the six o'clock news blared, and poured myself a triple Chivas.
Grinning anchorman. Overlays of familiar faces.
"Professor arrested in coed's death!"
I'd taken a swallow, was listening to the whiskey whisper in my throat when the phone rang.
"Hi, it's me."
"Hi, you."
"You all right?"
"Serene."
"Guess where I was today?" she said.
"The zoo?"
Silence. "How'd you know that?"
"With San Diego, my first association is always the zoo."
"Well, that's where I was."
"You and the dentist?"
"Me, myself. The dentist has a boyfriend, and they went down to Tijuana for the day. Invited me but..."
"Abandoned," I said. "Sorry. So how're the animals?"
"Fine— I can't believe you guessed the zoo."
"Blind luck."
"Or no one knows me like you do."
"I don't know about that."
"Come join me down here," she said. "I'll rent us a room at the Del Coronado."
"When?" I said.
"The sooner the better— You don't want to do it. You're angry at me."
"No," I said. "Everything you said was true. I've been trying to process."
"It was true but, still, I walked out on you— It hit me, walking around the zoo, alone. How did I do that? Talk about abandonment. Will you come, Alex? Meet me at the hotel?"
"What about Spike?"
"Debby's got a little Peke, and she and Spike are fast friends."
"Till he steals her food," I said.
"Alex?"
"It'll take me a couple of hours. You're sure you want this?"
"How can we work things out if we're not together? If I react by ... what does Milo call it—rabbiting?"
"San Diego," I said.
"I know it's not Paris, but . . . would you rather I come back home? I can go back to Debby's place and pack up my stuff."
"No," I said. "I'll be down there soon as I can."
"I'll arrange everything at the Del Coronado. Meet me up in the room— I love you, baby. Love you so much."
"Even if I am crazy."
"Even if."
I locked up the house, was nearly at the door when I changed my mind.
Returning to my office, I booted up the computer, fooled around for a while until I found an on-line travel service. Did some comparison shopping and purchased two nonstop tickets to Paris.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jonathan Kellerman is one of the world's most popular authors. He has brought his expertise as a child psychologist to numerous bestselling tales of suspense (which have been translated into two dozen languages), including fourteen previous Alex Delaware novels; The Butcher's Theater, a story of serial killing in Jerusalem; and Billy Straight, featuring the Hollywood homicide detective Petra Connor. His most recent novel is Dr. Death. He is also the author of numerous essays, short stories, and scientific articles, two children's books, and three volumes of psychology, including Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children. He and his wife, the novelist Faye Kellerman, have four children.
ABOUT THE TYPE
This book was set in Galliard, a typeface designed by Matthew Carter for the Mergenthaler Linotype Company in 1978. Galliard is based on the sixteenth-century typefaces of Robert Granjon.