'Do you want to socialize with those people? They are not a happy couple.'
'He's happy, that ought to count for something.'
'I'm sure it does, with him,' Becker said.
'She looks like a model, doesn't she? Or like she could have been one.'
'Like a model who has grown up and allowed herself to eat once in a while,' said Becker.
'If I were single and younger and a good deal more agile, I wouldn't mind jumping her bones. She looks like she could wrap those legs around your neck and make you do awful things your mother wouldn't approve of.'
'What do you think it means when a woman never calls her husband by his name?'
'Is this slightly off the point? I'm talking about things done only by circus performers.'
'She calls him 'him' or 'this one.'
'What should she call him, 'Dr. Kom'?' 'Stanley'? 'Stan'? Don't you think it's a little distancing to refer to someone only in the third person? It sounds like he belongs to her but she doesn't much care for him.'
'Some sonofabitch of a doctor put me in a million-dollar home with a pool and a tennis court and covered me with enough gold and trinkets to break my back, I wouldn't like him either. Particularly if the bastard positively glowed with pride every time I showed up, praised my cooking, told the world how gorgeous I was. What's to like there?'
'You're looking at it from the man's point of view, Becker said.
'No I'm not.'
'Sure you are. You're saying, 'Look at all the stuff I give you, why aren't you happy? How ungrateful not to be happy.' We have no idea what things are like from her perspective.'
'I have no idea what things are like from her perspective, John. Somehow I suspect that you not only know but you're going to enlighten me right about now.'
'No I'm not.'
'Sure you are,' said Tee. 'You know everything else, you must know this, too. Go ahead, tell me what it's like being the doctor's wife.'
'Skip it.'
'I'm dying to hear.'
'I'm through with the subject,' said Becker.
'Good,' snapped Tee.
The men rode in silence until Tee dropped Becker off at his house.
'See you,' said Becker, as the cruiser pulled away. Tee did not respond.
McNeil walked the right side of the Saugatuck River and Officer Metzger covered the left, holding his German shep herd on a long leash. The dog, which was still not much more than a puppy, belonged to Metzger and had been trained to sniff out illegal substances, not old bones. It appeared to be taking the long trek as a lark, and was continually distracted by squirrels. The river was only a stream at this point but earlier in their travels it had been over a hundred yards wide; the dog in its adolescent enthusiasm had nearly pulled Metzger into the water several times.
McNeil yawned. It had been a late night last night and he resented being put on a fruitless foot patrol. Normally, if he was on the day shift, he would sneak a half-hour nap in the cruiser while lying by in the speed trap.
He glanced at his watch, then took a squint at the sun as if to verify the time by more ancient means.
'This is far enough,' McNeil said.
Metzger looked at him across the happy bounce of water. 'Tee said to go all the way to the reservoir,' he said. McNeil looked around to find something dry enough to sit on. Although the waters had receded, the ground this close to the banks was still sodden. He perched on a rock and examined his muddy boots. His feet were as wet as if he had gone wading barefooted.
'We're practically there,' he said. 'This is good enough.'
Metzger hesitated, leaning to one side to counter the tug of the dog on the leash.
'Go ahead, if you want to,' said McNeil. 'You really think you're going to find anything in the last quarter- mile? Don't be a jerk.'
Metzger, who often secretly wondered if he might be a jerk, did not like to be called one. He barked a command to the dog, which stopped sniffing and sat instantly, eyeing his master expectantly. 'So you going to tell him we went to the reservoir?' Metzger asked.
'Unless you want to.'
'I don't want to.'
'There's nothing between here and the reservoir except another quarter-mile of trees.' The reservoir was the necessary cutoff of their search because the town limits bisected the body of water. Beyond the reservoir lay the jurisdiction of another police force. 'You think you're going to find any bones in the last quarter-mile if we haven't found any in the first six miles?'
'Guess not,' said Metzger, although he wasn't certain why. It seemed to him they were as likely to find bones in one spot as any other, and not very likely to find them anyplace at all, outside of a cemetery. There were a few tiny and ancient cemeteries scattered throughout the town, most of them in churchyards, of course, but a few on private property, tucked away on land that had once been farmed but had long ago been allowed to return to woodlands. The headstones stood or lay where they had fallen, neglected, forgotten, of no more interest to the average Clamden resident than the forsaken stone fences that snaked through the forested portion of everyone's backyard, toppled by nature, gravity, and desuetude. The known graveyards had been untouched by the high waters.
It appeared to Metzger that the unknown would stay unknown, at least as far as he and McNeil were concerned. There was an edgy, aggressive quality to McNeil that Metzger didn't like to go up against. It wasn't that he thought McNeil was smarter, but McNeil definitely had greater faith in his own opinions than did Metzger, and vastly more energy, which could manifest itself in a snarling surliness when the man was crossed.
Metzger made a kissing noise through pursed lips and the dog trotted to his side, burrowing its nose into his hand to be petted.
'There's just one thing,' Metzger said.
'There's always some shit with you,' McNeil growled. 'You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?'
Metzger turned his attention to the dog, rubbing its head and ears. The dog was quick comfort against the incivilities of his fellow humans.
'Well, what is it?' McNeil demanded, after Metzger's moment with the dog had stretched into a minute's sulk.
'How we going to get home?' They had parked one cruiser at the reservoir and driven another to a church parking lot a few hundred yards from the Leigh lawn, where the bone was found. 'We walk to the car,' McNeil said.
'Well, since we're walking there anyway.
'We walk on the goddamned road and not halfway up to our knees in mud, that's the difference, but hell, if you want to keep dragging your ass through this swamp, be my guest. It'll only take you another half hour.
I'll be there in five minutes and take a nap while I'm waiting. If you feel like telling Tee about it, go right ahead.'
'I wasn't going to tell Tee.'
'I wouldn't put it past you.' McNeil rose again and took a step in the direction of the road. 'Well… come on.'
Metzger leapt over the stream, landing a foot short and sinking into the ooze. The dog splashed happily through the water, ignoring its master's curses. When they caught up with McNeil, who was waiting at the roadside, the dog scampered happily about him although McNeil ignored the animal. Metzger harbored unpleasant thoughts about the perfidy of the beast before admitting to himself that he, too, was currying McNeil's approval. He didn't know why the other officer's rough affection and lopsided grin meant so much to him. When McNeil patted him on the back and called him buddy, Metzger felt a sense of self-betrayal that he had known all his life.
They walked along the side of the road, McNeil now voluble and hearty, the dog at his heels after its explorations as if he, and not Metzger, were its owner.
Tee overtook them less than a hundred yards from their car.
