“No.”
“And you haven’t seen nor heard from Bradley Turner since?”
“No.”
I took out a business card and handed it to her.
“If you have any other thoughts,” I said.
“Sure,” she said.
“And good luck with the current marriage,” I said. She took the card and read it and smiled.
“Plus,” she said, “if it doesn’t work out, I have your card.”
“Bench strength is good,” I said.
50.
Ilay on the bed in my hotel room with the phone to my ear.
“Chollo did make the guacamole,” Susan said, “but the rest of his shopping turns out to have been takeout from Jose’s, which he reheated.”
“He cooks like you do,” I said.
“Except for the guacamole,” Susan said.
“Hard to imagine you peeling an avocado,” I said.
“Peeling avocados is icky,” Susan said. “And there’s a big, hideous stone in the middle.”
“I know,” I said. “Did you have another appointment with Alderson?”
“Yes.”
“Everybody where they should have been?”
“Vinnie outside. Chollo upstairs. Hawk in the study. My alarm system in place. My gun in the desk drawer.”
“Loaded.”
“Of course.”
“The drawer open wide enough to reach the gun,” I said.
“Of course,” Susan said. “Remember, I have a Harvard Ph.D.”
“Comforting,” I said. “What’s he doing in there?”
“He’s charming me,” Susan said.
“Has it occurred to him that others may have tried that?”
“No,” Susan said. “I don’t think it has.”
“As far as I can tell,” I said, “he’s had great success with it in the past.”
“I would imagine he has,” Susan said.
“Is he talking about matters of substance with you?” I said.
“It’s all substance,” Susan said. “No matter what they say. Even if he’s lying, it is of substantial interest to see why he chose those lies.”
“Is he still talking about his father?” I said.
“Yes, and his father’s heroism in the protest movement, and of his own attempts to emulate it.”
“But?”
“But if he’s forty-eight he’d be awfully young for it, and his father would almost certainly be older than the average sixties protester.”
“In fact he appears to be about fi fty-fi ve,” I said.
“The math works even worse,” Susan said.
“Isn’t that dumb?” I said. “To make up a story that doesn’t make sense in terms of simple chronology?”
“It may be. But troubled people often fuse themselves with a parent or someone else when they are talking about themselves.”
“So is he troubled?”
“Yes. But he’s not talking about what’s troubling him,”
Susan said.
“You have a thought what that might be?” I said.
She laughed.
“You, probably,” she said.
