Luv rose from the bed and hurried to the bathroom, closing the door.
'Are you all right?' she called.
In the tiny bathroom, Luv stared at himself in the mirror, shaken by his own stupidity. He had been about to kill her when he had suddenly remembered that he did not have his car with him, he did not have his equipment. If he took her car he had no adequate way to clean it, no way to dismemher her, no way to transport her. He could not believe he had been guilty of such a lapse of good sense. He prided himself on being smarter than his adversaries and yet he had been about to act as stupidly as any impulse killer. He had very nearly let his emotions get the better of him.
You're a fool, he told himself A careless, humbling fool, and you're beginning to make mistakes. You were nearly caught in the Caprice-because you went back to help! Idiotic. You didn't even know they were onto the Caprice in the first place. It had to have been because of that incident with the moron Metzger in the woods during the aborted burial of Inge's body. A cop came that close, your car was exposed, and you assumed nothing would happen. Stupid. Now this. You are in peril because of your own behavior, he chided himself. It's nothing they've done, it's never anything that cops do, it's only what people leave behind, the clues they give, the traces they're too stupid to hide. As he heard Denise moving on the other side of the door, coming toward the bathroom, his attitude began to change. There was another side to it, he told himself.
'Are you okay?' she asked diffidently. He could tell she had her ear to the door, imagining him in a heap on the floor, collapsed and overfucked.
'I'm fine,' he said, turning on the tap to give her a noise to concentrate on. 'In fact, I'm great.' And he was, he knew he was. He was Cap'n Luv, not some ordinary skirtchasing philanderer. He was the best. And he was not a blood-crazed psychopath, cutting and slashing random victims. Cap'n Luv killed without pain and left no trail, no bodies, no crime. There had been a flood, that was all. A freak of nature. A fucking fluke. And now, even at the height of his anger with himself, he realized that what had just happened with Denise was not a mistake but a great triumph. Luv had been in the grip of his demon, the mania was fully upon him-and he had resisted. He had won. He had shown that he was truly in charge, Luv was in command, not a mania, not some outer force, not some raving bit of subconscious, but Cap'n Luv. Luv was the king, even of himself. He was exultant, for he now knew in a way he had never fully realized before that he was the complete master.
Of himself, of others. Of his destiny. Of the destiny of others. From here on, the world would be what he made of it.
Luv smiled at himself in the mirror, approving heartily, admiring. His smile broadened until he began to laugh, and he watched his reflection as he did so, monitoring himself even at the height of his gaiety.
Denise began to chuckle in sympathy and he suddenly swept open the door, took her in his arms and whirled her around the room, filling the space with his booming laughter. 'The best!' he cried. 'The best.'
'No, you're the best,' Denise laughed, her feet off the floor as he twirled her. He did not argue.
AT ONE A.M. Tee's alarm sounded, again hissing static from a station that was never quite tuned in. He rose and made his way toward the door, where he stopped by the foot of the bed, looking at Marge's shape in the gloom. She was on her side, her back turned to him as they lay in bed, one pillow under her head, one over it, and a third clasped to her chest and stomach like a doll. In good times it was a pose that amused Tee but now it was suggestive of pain, as if she clutched the third pillow with the desperate valor of a cancer victim seeking an anodyne. He was her pain, of course, and did not know what to do about it that would not make it worse.
He had denied having an affair, denied it vigorously and vociferously, denied it to the point where he thought any reasonable person would have to believe him, denied it to the point where he nearly believed it himself The only alternative seemed to be to admit it, but he was convinced that that way lay disaster. There was hope in sticking with his claim of innocence, none in confessing to guilt. He had seen men succumb to unwavering suspicion, men on whom Tee and the police had no evidence beyond a bone-deep certainty that they knew what they knew.
Unaware of the genuinely protective nature of the criminal code's presumption of innocence, of the difficult, sometimes impossible task of proving guilt without substantial evidence, they had confessed because Tee or some other inquisitor had simply waved aside excuses and alibis and continued to bear down, to bore in with the hard finger of blame.
Had they held on longer, Tee knew, they would have remained free, but they saw relief in confession, as if the balm of forgiveness would be given them if they but bared their conscience at last. Sniveling and snotty-nosed, they finally gave in. High school boys confessing to acts of vandalism, bleary-eyed drunks admitting to a variety of stupid, larcenous, violent, self-destructive adventures, the occasional true criminal acknowledging his miscreant ambitions.
Tee did not believe that confession was good for the soul. He believed it represented the point of no return. Say you did, and there was no going back to the time when you did not. He would hang on as long as he had to and if necessary lie himself into his grave. Marge had not moved a muscle since he had awakened, and he knew that she was tense and alert. She had lain like that for the past two nights, no tossing and turning like someone trying to sleep, but catatonically stiff, as if she were listening for a pin drop in the outer rooms. Hostility radiated from her rigid body like heat from a stove; Tee was afraid to touch her for fear of pulling back his hand seared to the bone.
'I'm going to call McNeil,' he said. 'You can listen in if you want to.'
She did not stir, did not make a sound, lay there like a corpse in rigor.
'You're welcome to listen to every word,' he said. 'I'm just going to see if he's home. That's all it is.'
It was worse than talking to a wall; one had no expectation of response from a wall.
'I'd make the call from in here, but…' He shrugged, aware that she could not see his gesture. He did not know why he didn't make the call from the bedroom.
'Are you coming? I know you're awake.'
She still did not move. Tee gave himself permission to leave, still easing quietly out the door, maintaining her charade that she was asleep.
Ginny's door was closed. Tee considered opening it, giving himself another glimpse of his sleeping angel, something to lighten his heart in the gloom that had prevailed for the past several days. With infinite care he turned her doorknob, and found it locked, a puzzling development. As far as he knew, Ginny did not lock her door, had not done so since a screaming argument with her mother over a year ago. Tee had gone to his daughter to comfort her and found the door secured against him. Enraged at being suddenly sealed off from her, he had threatened to remove the door entirely if it was ever locked again, and to his knowledge, it had not been. In return he had sworn to respect her privacy by always knocking and awaiting a response before entering.
This had presented no problem, since she was always glad to see him, even if she gave him only fleeting attention because of the telephone glued to her ear.
There was no light coming from under the door, no sound emerging from the room. Tee decided that it was not the hour or the occasion to press the issue.
In the kitchen he waited a few moments to hear if Marge was coming, before closing the door and picking up the phone. He let it ring fifteen times before hanging up.
Moving now with a sense of urgency, Tee returned to the bedroom and dressed. Marge did not move at all although he was making no effort to be quiet.
'I'm going out,' he said, pulling on his shoes. 'McNeil wasn't home.'
He looked at the heavy utility belt atop his dresser and debated whether he wanted it-the gun went with the belt. If he had the gun, there was a chance he might use it. After a hesitation he strapped the belt around his waist and left the house.
Metzger sounded startled to receive a call, and Tee wondered ifhe he had been asleep.
'What are you doing up, Chief?'
'I'm looking for McNeil,' said Tee. 'Have you seen him?'
'Tonight?'
'Yes, tonight. Since you've been on duty.'
'No, but I wasn't really looking for him.'
'You'd recognize McNeil, wouldn't you, Metzger? You wouldn't have to be looking for him especially in order to see him, would you?'
'No sir. I haven't seen him at all. Have you tried calling him?'
