I didn't know what all this had to do with Hugger Mugger. But I was used to not knowing. I expected sooner or later that I would know. For now I simply registered that she hadn't wanted to talk about Cord and Stonie. I decided not to mention what SueSue had told me.
'Of course you are,' I said.
ELEVEN
I SAT WITH Walter Clive at the Three Fillies syndication office in downtown Lamarr. He wore some sort of beige woven-silk pullover, tan linen slacks, no socks, and burgundy loafers. His tan remained golden. His silver hair was brushed straight back. A thick gold chain showed at his neck. His nails were buffed. He was clean-shaven and smelled gently of cologne.
'Penny tells me you're making progress,' Clive said.
He was leaning back in his high-backed red-leather swivel chair, with his fingers interlocked over his flat stomach. There was a wide gold wedding band on his left hand. Past the bay window behind him I could see the white flowers of some blossoming shrub.
'Penny exaggerates,' I said.
'Really?' he said.
'I have made no progress that I can tell.'
'Well, at least you're honest,' Clive said.
'At least that,' I said.
'Perhaps Penny simply meant that you had talked to a number of people.'
'That's probably it,' I said. 'I have managed to annoy Jon Delroy.'
'Penny mentioned that too.'
'Thanks for having her talk with him.'
'Actually that was Penny's doing.'
'Well, it was effective.'
'Jon's been with me a long time,' Clive said. 'He's probably feeling a little displaced.'
'How long?'
'Oh, what, maybe ten years.'
'Really. What was he doing?'
Clive paused, as if the conversation had gone off in a direction he hadn't foreseen.
'I have a large enterprise here. There is need for security.'
'Sure. Well, he and I seem to be clear on our roles now.'
Clive nodded, and leaned forward and pushed the button on an intercom.
'Marge,' he said. 'Could you bring us coffee.'
A voice said that it would, and Clive leaned back again and smiled at me. The window to my right was partially open and I could hear desultory birdsong in the flowering trees.
'So,' Clive said, 'have you reached a conclusion of any sort?'
'Other than I'm not making any progress?' I said.
'Yes,' Clive said. 'Are you for instance formulating any theories?'
'I've mostly observed that this thing doesn't make any sense,' I said.
'Well, it is, sort of by definition,' Clive said, 'a series of senseless crimes.'
'Seems so,' I said.
'Meaning?'
'Meaning it seems so senseless that maybe it isn't.'
Clive hadn't become a tycoon by nodding in agreement to everything said.
'That sounds like one of those clever statements people make when they're trying to sell you something you don't need,' Clive said. 'Does it mean anything?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'I can't say I know much about animal shootings. But for serial killers of people, you look for the logic that drives them. It's not necessarily other people's logic, but they are responding to some sort of interior pattern, and what you try to do is find it. The horse shootings are patternless.'
'Or you haven't found it,' Clive said.
'Or I haven't found it.'
'They are all Three Fillies horses,' Clive said. 'Isn't that a pattern?'
'Maybe,' I said. 'But it is a pattern that leads us nowhere much. Why is someone shooting Three Fillies horses?'
'You're not supposed to be asking me,' Clive said.
