Even the portion of his brain that never lost itself could not say if the mania still held sway, or if this was just himself who felt so buoyant, so cheerful. The great aching need was gone, vanished when she pitched forward onto the bed, her brain starved for oxygen, but this mood, this tittering, self-satisfied feeling of accomplishment still lived within the aura of the madness. It was like the taste and scent of a woman that sometimes lingered with him long after he had left her, keeping her presence a part of his life for some time afterwards. The excitement of the mania was still in the room now, confusing him as to whether the mania itself was still there, or if he was operating on his own.
'Ooohhh, Captain Luvvv gwine operate. Cap'n Luv's a cut-up. '
He flushed the condom down the drain, watching carefully to see it swirl into oblivion. He would check again later to be sure it did not float back up. It never had, but it paid to take the pains. He then dressed himself completely and stepped outside to his car. In the trunk he selected what he needed-his implement, his change of clothing, his gloves, the gray-green trash bags. Back in the motel room, he undressed and dressed again, neatly stacking his regular clothes far away from the corpse. The room was scarcely larger than the bed itself and it was a matter of only a few steps to lift lnge's body and carry it to the shower. He lifted carefully, using his legs. His back had bothered him lately and it would not do to have it go into spasm while he was dissecting a corpse in a motel room. Very hard to explain that, he thought, sniggering. Someone bound to misinterpret that. It wouldn't do to tell them that Luvvv luved Inge to death.
He turned the shower on to a slow stream, adjusted the temperature, and let it play on Inge's body while he went to the front door to check that he had locked it and put on the chain. He had, of course. It was not the sort of mistake he made. He looked in the.toilet once more, then stepped into the shower himself. This motel had free samples of shampoo encased in a styrene container-sometimes there was nothing but a bar of soap. He opened the shampoo container and started to shampoo Inge's head. Hair was amazingly retentive, all sorts of evidence could adhere to it, bodily secretions, fibers of his clothing, even his own pubic hairs. Luv scrubbed her hair thoroughly, then did the same with her genital region, where the hair was even more retentive.
The cleaning done, he sat on the floor of the shower and pulled Inge's body against him, back to front.
It was not much of a work area, he would have preferred a bathtub, but what could you expect for thirty dollars? The shower trickled down on both of them, washing Inge's fluids down the drain. Since her heart was not pumping, there was no danger of anything spurting; gravity and the shower would take care of the mess, there would be very little to clean up afterwards. He peeked through the shower curtain, checking his watch, which he had put on the linoleum floor. He had more than an hour until checkout. Plenty of time, no need to rush. He would have to come up with a new burial site now, of course, but he could think about that while he worked. Taking the cutting implement in his gloved fingers, he cradled her body to his and began to cut her into manageable pieces.
As he worked, he sang softly to himself. 'Luvvv is all around you, don't be blind, he's every-where!'
6
Karen walked into the little spare bedroom they had dubbed their study, where Becker was tapping keys on the computer. Their small machine was hooked up via modern to the Bureau system, allowing Karen, as an associate dep duty director, to conduct work from her home office. It was not a privilege allowed to most field agents because of the potential breach of secrecy if too many agents had access to the main terminal, but Karen was not most agents.
Becker turned to look at her as she came up behind him, then leaned his head against her, dropping one arm to en circle her legs.
'Interesting phone call,' Karen said.
'Has it occurred to you that our domestic life is a little unusual?'
'I'd say it's pretty normal.'
'Except that while you're on the phone talking to somebody about the PTO function for the sixth grade, I'm in the other room searching Bureau files for anyone who puts bodies in trash bags and plants them under trees.'
'You find something unusual in that?' she asked. She handed him the glass of wine he had left half finished on the dining room table.
'It seems to me you should be researching friend Johnny while I do something more manly in the evenings, like bowl. '
'What did you call him?' Karen asked.
'I'm calling him Johnny, for Johnny Appleseed, another lover of trees.'
'Disney will be pleased,' Karen said. 'Have you found anything yet?'
'Nothing useful. A couple of woodsy types in the Northwest who liked to tie people to trees while they killed them, but I don't think that's much of a connection. What was the interesting call? I thought it was the P'TO.'
'That was the first call. I got another one from someone named Tovah Kom.' Becker chuckled mirthlessly. 'Know her?'
'I met her. I told you about her. The doctor's wife.'
'Yes, she made that clear. Is 'Mrs. Doctor Kom' really the way to say that? Isn't it just 'Mrs. Kom'?'
'They do that in the Army, too. Mrs. General Jones. Like Doctor is a first name.'
'Or a rank.'
'Some people look at it like that, I guess. So she actually called. I was hoping it was just one of those things people say, like let's have lunch.'
'She invited us to dinner,' Karen said.
'Did you tell her no, I hope, I hope.'
'Oh sure. I told her no, we don't eat.'
'You could have told her I was antisocial.'
'You said she'd met you. She must have figured that out for herself.
Apparently she doesn't care.'
'You could have told her you were antisocial.'
'We have to keep that our little secret,' Karen said. 'Remember, social ineptitude is perfectly all right for a big strong man, but for women it's still not done, liberation or no. Anyway, it might be fun.'
'Alternately, it might not.'
'Do you have anything in particular against the Koms, Doctor and Mrs.
Doctor? Or is it just your general dyspep sia'?'
Becker sighed. 'Not really, I suppose. The truth is, I would rather spend the evening alone with you, or with you and Jack, than with anyone else in the world.'
'I know. Me too. But it's just one evening. We'll be alone again when it's over.'
'if I must, then I am, as always, your slave.'
'Dinner sounds good at least,' she said. 'Mrs. Doctor tells me we're having lobster.'
McNeil entered the jail cell with the warder of the Bridgeport police behind him. The perpetrator, looking young, nervous, and sullen, sat on the cot. His eyes never met McNeil's directly, but seemed transfixed on the bars at the opposite end of his cage. McNeil was accustomed to the middle-distance stare; it came as regulation issue to everyone he contacted in the Bridgeport jails. From some it arose from a rage so deep that direct eye contact must lead to violence. From others, from most, it was the ghetto version of a teenager's feigned indifference to authority. It sprang, McNeil knew, from confusion, from profound ignorance of the way the world worked, and from an intense desire to appear cool, regardless of the circumstance. Occasionally he would come to pick up a Clamden youth who had wandered into Bridgeport in search of drugs or trouble and had found both. They were quick to abandon the stare when they saw McNeil, a familiar face in a bad situation, appealing to him with all the sincerity and innocence they could muster.
At that moment at least, they looked on McNeil as a friend.
Tyrone Kiwasee did not regard McNeil as a friend, and he was right in his assessment. 'I'm Sergeant McNeil of the Clamden police,' McNeil said, giving himself a promotion as he often did under these circumstances. 'You
