up the same time every night people might start to work around us.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “You have any thoughts on the stalker?”
“Like who he is?”
“Un huh.”
“Well, the ex-whatever is usually the one you look at, if there is somebody.”
“You have any reason to think there might not be a stalker?” I said.
“Well, you’ve talked to the lady,” O’Connor said. “What’s your impression?”
“Good-looking,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Seems as if she might be sexually forthcoming,” I said.
“You bet,” O’Connor said.
“You got any information on that?”
“Nope, just instinct.”
“Nice combo,” I said. “Good-looking and easy.”
“The best,” O’Connor said, “if there wasn’t the next morning to think about.”
“That could be grim,” I said. “But what’s your point?”
“Just that she seems like she ain’t wrapped too snug,” O’Connor said. “Nothing about her bothered you?”
“She seemed a little contrived.”
“Contrived? I heard you was a tough guy. Tough guys don’t say contrived.”
“Probably don’t say sexually forthcoming either,” I said.
“A course they don’t,” O’Connor said.
“Part of my disguise,” I said. “So you haven’t seen any sign of a stalker.”
“No.”
“Telephone records?”
“She hadn’t talked to the phone company when we talked with her. They weren’t keeping track.”
“I suggested she do that,” I said.
“We did too.”
“Damn. She acted like I was smarter than Vanna White when I suggested it.”
“Sure.”
“So why would she make it up?” I said.
“You’ve seen broads like her, probably more than I have. Husband dumps them, they’re alone out in the suburbs, and they want men around. They want to be looked after. So they call the cops a lot. Maybe Mrs. Roth just took it a step farther and hired a guy to look after her.”
“Me,” I said, “after you broke her heart.”
“Could be.”
“On the other hand, you look like her, you probably don’t have to hire anyone,” I said.
“After they get dumped,” O’Connor said, “they’re pretty crazy. Ego’s fucked. Maybe she don’t know she’s good- looking.”
“She knows,” I said.
O’Connor thought about it for a minute. “Yeah,” he said. “She does.”
“And there’s at least two ex-whatevers,” I said.
“Boyfriend?” O’Connor said.
“Yep. Way she told me,” I said, “she left her husband for the boyfriend and the boyfriend dumped her.”
“Fucking her was one thing,” O’Connor said. “Marrying her was another.”
“I guess,” I said. “You know the other thing that bothers me, her husband’s got the kid.”
“She got a kid?”
“Yep.”
“And the kid’s with the husband.”
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t fit with your usual stalker,” O’Connor said.
“Custody of the kid?”
