But I don’t like being used like a port of convenience, either.”
“I understand.”
“If you don’t want to come around, don’t come around. But don’t come around at all.”
Becker looked at his feet. Cindi began a series of pull-ups on her heels and the fingers of one hand. She’s stronger than I am, Becker thought. And wiser.
“You going to say anything?” she asked finally. Becker wished that she would give some sign of exertion, at least. She didn’t appear to be even breathing hard.
“I’ve never been any good talking to angry women,” he said.
“If you always act the way you do with me, you must have had lots of practice.”
“I told you I was no good for you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t?”
“Of course not,” she said. “You wanted to sleep with me.”
“I still do.”
“Look, Becker, I like you, you’re an interesting man, but basically I don’t like the way you want to treat me. I’ve got better things to do. So do you, apparently.”
Becker sighed. “I don’t have anything better to do than you.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” she said. She dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups on her fingertips, her spine rigid as a plank. Becker watched the muscles in her shoulders work under the spandex. He resisted an urge to grab her buttocks.
“I mean to say I’m worth something, you understand?” she continued. “You’ve got nothing better going in your life than me. You just happen to be too stupid to appreciate it.”
“I do appreciate it,” Becker said. “I already said so. You’re the best thing I’ve got going.”
“I’m young and I’m smart and I’ve got a good heart.”
She rolled onto her back and lifted first one leg and then the other and hooked them behind her neck. Sweat finally broke forth, bursting like a sudden freshet on her skin.
“In fact, I’ve got a great heart,” she said. “I’m a damned nice person. Better than you are.”
“A lot better,” Becker agreed.
“A lot better,” she said. Her voice finally showed some sign of her exertions. “Plus you’re too old for me.”
“I warned you about that, too,” he said.
“No, you didn’t. I didn’t need you to tell me. All I have to do is look at you. You’re too old for me, Becker. And you’re not nice enough, and generally you’re not worthy.”
“I wish you’d call me John,” he said.
“What I’m saying is, I think you’d better take a hike.”
“The reason I go to the shrink is-I’m a mess.”
“I could have told you that.”
“You might have saved me a few trips to Washington.”
“You’re closed up like a tin can. I can’t get close to you, I doubt if anybody ever has. I don’t know if you’re worth the effort. You may be hollow for all I can tell.”
“I’m not hollow,” he said.
“How would you know?”
“Because if I were hollow, I wouldn’t hurt.”
For the first time she stopped exercising and looked directly at him. Becker felt suddenly overcome by shyness and could not hold her gaze.
“Why do you hurt, John?” she said finally.
Becker pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know,” he said in a small voice. “But I don’t want to take a hike,” he said.
“No.”
“I want to move m,” he said.
Cindi paused for a long moment, looking at him. She lifted his face so he could not avoid her eyes. Becker tried to grin but could not sustain it.
“Well, okay,” she said finally.
Chapter 12
Hatcher shook a small bag and the stones clunked together dully.
“The only source of gravel within thirty-five miles is a quarry in Clamden. They made one hundred thirty-five deliveries of grade-C gravel-this is grade C, it goes by size-within a fifty-mile radius of Clamden in the six weeks before we found Dyce’s-uh- operation.”
Hatcher laid a computer printout in front of Becker before he continued.
“These were still covered with dust-a fine rock powder, actually-that’s the residue of the crushing machine. Did you know they actually make gravel by crushing rock? I didn’t know that. I thought they just dug it out of a gravel pit, but they have to break up the big rocks into smaller ones, then run them through this machine-anyway, these still had the powder on them, which meant it hadn’t rained on them between the time they were crushed until Dyce acquired them-you realize this doesn’t tell us anything about when he actually got hold of them. They could have been sitting in his rock collection for ten years. Maybe he got a wheelbarrowful at a time and was just keeping them handy.”
“You know anybody who bothers to store gravel indoors?”
“So he got a fistful, put them in a flower pot.”
“And never watered the plant? Besides, he didn’t plan these things. He didn’t sit down and decide to kill eight men.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s not the way it happens.”
“Statements like that worry me, Becker.”
Becker studied the printout. “How do you think they make me feel? Look, Hatcher, you’re right. We don’t know when or where or how Dyce got the gravel. My bet is he didn’t take it until he needed it, and he didn’t need it until he’d already acted, but I don’t know that. I don’t know anything about Dyce. I’m just hoping to get lucky. You cross-checked with the weather bureau, right?”
“Right. Assuming Dyce got the gravel to use as a…”
“Headstone.”
“So you say. Assuming he got it on or within a day of the time he murdered Mick, and eliminating all deliveries from the quarry that happened before the last rainfall, which was fourteen days earlier, we have seven places the gravel was unloaded. They are marked with asterisks on your printout.”
Becker put his finger on one of the names.
“I know,” said Hatcher. “I thought that would appeal to you. They were using it for the pathways.”
“Riverside Cemetery,” said Becker.
“I know, I know.” Hatcher shrugged. “It’s ironic. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I agree,” said Becker.
“You agree?”
“Probably just an ironic coincidence.”
“Then why are you smiling? I really wish you wouldn’t do that, Becker.”
“Smile?”
“Smile if you have to. Just not at me.”
“Why?”
“Humor me. I don’t like it.”
“Did you interview the people who work at the cemetery?”
