particularly. I'd talk to her at meetings, but that speaking engagement was the only real time we ever spent together.'
'And on the strength of that—'
'Right.'
'You're sure it wasn't suicide? Of course you are. That's a stupid question. Do you think—'
'I'm not sure what I think,' I said. 'He got out of prison four months ago. He could have spent the whole four months tagging along behind me and he wouldn't have seen me spending time with you. But I don't know what he knows, who he talked to, what kind of research he might have done. You want to know what I think you should do?'
'Yes.'
'I think you should get on a plane first thing in the morning. Pay cash for your ticket and don't tell anyone where you're going.'
'You're serious.'
'Yes.'
'I have good locks on the door. I could—'
'No,' I said. 'Your building's not secure, and this is a man who gets in and out of places and makes it look easy. You can decide to take your chances, but don't kid yourself that you can stay in the city and be safe.'
She thought for a moment. 'I've been meaning to visit my—'
'Don't tell me,' I cut in.
'You think the line is tapped?'
'I think it's better if nobody knows where you're going, myself included.'
'I see.' She sighed. 'Well, Matthew, you've got me taking it seriously. I might as well start packing right now. How will I know when it's safe to come back? Can I call you?'
'Anytime. But don't leave your number.'
'I feel like a spy, and an inept one at that. Suppose I can't reach you? How will I know when to come in from the cold?'
'A couple of weeks should do it,' I said. 'One way or the other.'
On the phone with her, talking with her, I had to fight the urge to grab a cab to Lispenard Street and set about the business of protecting her. We could spend a few hours drinking gallons of coffee and having one of the intense conversations that had characterized our relationship from the night we met.
I missed those conversations. I missed her, and sometimes I thought about trying to make it work again, but we had already made that attempt a couple of times and the reality of the situation seemed to be that we were through with each other. We didn't feel through with each other, but that was how it seemed to be.
Back when it all fell apart I'd called Jim Faber. 'It's just hard for me to grasp,' I told him. 'The whole idea that it's over between us. I honestly thought it would work out.'
'It did,' he said. 'This is how it worked out.'
I almost called him now.
I could have. Our arrangement was that I wouldn't call him after midnight, and it was well past that. On the other hand, I could call him any hour of the day or night if it was an emergency.
I thought about it and decided the present circumstances didn't qualify as an emergency. I wasn't in danger of taking a drink, which is the only sort of emergency I could think of that would justify waking the guy up. Curiously enough, I didn't even feel like drinking. I felt like hitting someone, or screaming, or kicking the wall down, but I didn't much feel like picking up a drink.
I went out and walked around. The rain had tuned itself down to a light drizzle. I walked over to Eighth Avenue and let myself be drawn eight blocks downtown. I knew her building, I'd walked her home. It was on the northwest corner, but I didn't know whether her apartment fronted on the street or the avenue so I couldn't tell just where she'd come down.
Sometimes a jumper lands with enough force to break up the concrete. I didn't see any broken pavement. Of course she'd had Fitzroy there to break her fall and absorb most of the force of it.
No stains on the pavement. There would have been blood, probably a lot of it, but there had been plenty
of rain to clean up whatever the janitorial crew might have missed.
Of course it doesn't always wash away. Sometimes it soaks in.
Maybe there was blood there and I just wasn't seeing it. It was night, after all, and the pavement was wet. You wouldn't be likely to spot bloodstains under such conditions, especially if you weren't sure exactly where to look for them.
There are bloodstains all over the city, if you know where to look.
All over the world, I suppose.
I must have spent an hour walking. I thought of stopping at Grogan's but I knew that wasn't a good idea.
I wasn't up for conversation, nor did I want to allow myself the self-indulgence of barroom solitude. I just kept on walking, and when the rain picked up I didn't even mind. I walked on through it and let it soak me.
All your women, Scudder. Jesus, a madman wanted to take from me women I didn't have. I had barely known Connie Cooperman and hadn't thought of her in years. And who were his other targets? Elaine, who played a shopworn Lady of Shalott to my corroded Lancelot. Anita, my wife years and years ago, and Jan, my girlfriend
