"Fine."

Chip Wiggins stood in deep thought for a moment, perhaps the deepest thinking he'd done in some time, and said, "You know, I always knew… I mean, I told Bill that day, after we'd released and were heading back… I told him those bastards weren't going to let that one go… oh, shit… Bill is dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Bob? Bob Callum?"

"He's under close protection."

I spoke up and said to Chip, "Why don't you go visit him?"

"Yeah… good idea. He's at the Air Force Academy?"

"Yes, sir," I said,. "We can keep an eye on both of you there." And it's cheaper that way.

Well, no use hanging around, so Kate and I made our farewells, while Chip went off to pack. He looked like the kind of guy who'd loan you a pair of underwear, but he had enough on his mind.

Kate and I went outside and stood in the balmy air, waiting for Chuck. Kate observed, "Chip Wiggins is a very lucky man."

"No kidding. Did you see that babe?"

"Why do I even try to talk to you?"

"Sorry." thought a moment, then said, "Why did he need the rifle?"

"Who? Oh, you mean Khalil."

"Yeah. Khalil. Why did he need the rifle?"

"We don't know it was a rifle."

"Let's say it was. Why did he need the rifle? Not to kill Chip in his house."

"That's true. But maybe he wanted to kill him someplace else. In the woods."

"No, this guy is up close and personal. I know he talks to his victims before he kills them. Why does he need the rifle? To kill someone he can't get close to. Someone he doesn't need to talk to."

"I think you have a point there."

The car came, and we got in-me in the front, Kate in the back, Chuck at the wheel. He said, "Tough break. You want a good motel?"

"Sure. With mirrors on the ceiling."

Someone behind me smacked my head.

So, off we went, toward the ocean, where Chuck said there were a few nice motels with an ocean view.

I asked Chuck, "Is there an all-night, drive-thru underwear place in the area?"

"A what?"

"You know. Like California has all these all-night, drive-thru places. I wondered if-"

Kate said, "John, shut up. Chuck, ignore him."

As we drove, Chuck and Kate talked about logistics and scheduling for the next day.

I was thinking about Mr. Asad Khalil and our conversation. I was trying to put myself into his disturbed mind, trying to think what I'd do next if I were him.

The one thing I was sure of was that Asad Khalil was not heading home. We would hear from him again. Soon.

CHAPTER 49

Chuck made a call from his cell phone and reserved us two rooms at a place called the Ventura Inn, on the beach. He used my credit card number, got the reduced government rate, and assured me it was a reimbursable expense.

Chuck handed a small paper bag to Kate and said, "I stopped and got you a toothbrush and toothpaste. If you need anything else, we can stop."

"This is fine."

"What did you get me?" I asked.

He produced another paper bag from under his seat and handed it to me, saying, "I got you some nails to chew on."

Chuckle, chuckle.

I opened the bag and found toothpaste, a toothbrush, a razor, and a travel-size can of shaving cream. "Thanks."

"On the government."

"I'm overwhelmed."

"Right."

I put the stuff in my jacket pockets. Within ten minutes we reached a high-rise building, whose marquee announced itself as the Ventura Inn Beach Resort. Chuck pulled up to the reception doors and said, "Our office will be staffed all night, so if you need anything, give a call."

I said to Chuck, "If anything pops, make sure you call us, or I'll be very, very angry."

"You're the man, John! Tom was impressed with how you got that delivery guy to voluntarily cooperate."

I said, "A little psychology goes a long way."

"To tell you the truth, there're a lot of lotus-eaters out here. It's good to see a meat-eating dinosaur once in a while."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Sort of. So, what time do you want to be picked up in the morning?"

Kate replied, "Seven-thirty."

Chuck waved and drove off.

I said to her, "Are you crazy? That's four-thirty in the morning, New York time."

"It's ten-thirty A.M., New York time."

"Are you sure?"

She ignored me and walked into the motel lobby. I followed.

It was a pleasant place, and I could hear a piano playing through the lounge door.

The check-in guy greeted us warmly and informed us that he had deluxe ocean-view rooms for us on the twelfth floor. Nothing too good for the guardians of Western Civilization.

I asked him, "What ocean?"

"Pacific, sir."

"Do you have anything overlooking the Atlantic?"

He smiled.

Kate and I filled out the registration forms, and the guy made an impression of my American Express card, which I think let out a groan as it passed through the machine. Kate took a photo out of her bag, along with her credentials, and said to the clerk, "Have you seen this man?"

The clerk seemed less happy than he'd been when he thought we were just passing through for the night. He stared at the photo of Asad Khalil, then replied, "No, ma'am."

Kate said, "Keep that. Call us if you see him." She added, "He's wanted for murder."

The clerk nodded and put the photo behind the counter.

Kate told him, "Pass it on to your relief person."

We got our keycards, and I suggested a drink in the lounge.

Kate said, "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

"It's only ten."

"It's one A M. in New York. I'm tired."

I had this sudden unhappy thought that I was going to drink alone and sleep alone.

We went to the elevators and rode up in silence.

At about the tenth floor, Kate asked me, "Are you sulking?"

"Yes."

The elevator reached the top floor, and we got out. Kate said, "Well, I don't want you to sulk. Come into my room for a drink."

So, we went into her room, which was big, and with no luggage to unpack, we quickly made two Scotch and sodas from the mini-bar and retired to the balcony. She said, "Let's forget the case tonight."

"Okay." We sat in the two chairs with a round table between us and contemplated the moonlit ocean.

This somehow reminded me of my convalescent stay at my uncle's house on the water on eastern Long Island. It reminded me of the night Emma and I sat drinking cognac after a skinny-dip in the bay.

I was sliding into a bad mood and tried to get out of it.

Kate asked me, "What are you thinking about?"

"Life."

"Not a good idea." She said, "Did it ever occur to you that you're in this business, working long, hard hours because you don't want to have the time to think about your life?"

"Please."

"Listen to me. I really care for you, and I sense that you're looking for something."

"Clean underwear."

"You can wash your fucking underwear."

"I never thought of that."

"Look, John, I'm thirty-one years old, and I've never come close to getting married."

"I can't imagine why."

"Well, for your information, it wasn't for lack of offers."

"Gotcha."

"Do you think you'd get married again?"

"How far a fall do you think it is from this balcony?"

I thought she'd get angry over my flippancy, but instead, she laughed. Sometimes a guy can do no right, sometimes a guy can do no wrong. It has nothing to do with what a guy does; it has to do with the woman.

Kate said to me, "Anyway, you did a hell of a job today. I'm impressed. And I even learned a few things."

"Good. When you ram your knee into a guy's balls from that position, you may actually pop his nuts into his abdomen. So you have to be careful."

Smart lady that she was, she said, "I don't think you're a violent or sadistic man. I think you do what you have to do when you have to do it. And I think you don't like it. That's important."