"Why don't you stay here and relax before you set out?"

"I appreciate the offer, but no, thanks. I'm really tired, just want to crawl into bed."

"Want some coffee?"

"No, I'll be fine- it's more emotional fatigue than sleepiness."

"You're sure you want to go right now?"

"Yes, please. Sorry for the hassle."

"It's no hassle at all, Lucy."

"Thanks for your time- we'll figure it out." Looking to me for confirmation.

I nodded and walked her to the door. She opened it and thanked me again.

"I don't want to add to your load," I said, "but you're going to see it on the evening news. A body was found today that matches the Bogeyman victims. There may be a copycat out there."

"Oh, no," she said, leaning against the doorpost. "Where?"

"Santa Ana."

"That's Orange County- so Milo won't be in on it. Too bad. He could solve it."

7

Phil Austerlitz called me the following day at five.

"Clean bill," he said. "Healthiest person I've seen in a long time, except for her anxiety. Even with that, her blood pressure was great. Wish mine was as good."

"What kind of anxiety did you notice?"

"Jumpy. Nervous about being touched- wanting to know exactly what I was going to do to her, how, when, why. Want to know my guess? Extreme sexual inhibition. Is that what she originally came to you for?"

"I'm not dealing with her sex life right now, Phil."

"No? What kind of shrink are you?"

She didn't call for an appointment that day, or the next. The murder down in Santa Ana was a page-ten story, the victim a twenty-one-year-old prostitute named Shannon Dykstra who'd grown up a couple of blocks from Disneyland and had gotten addicted to heroin while still in junior high. The media had fun with that- lots of ironic comments about the Magic Kingdom gone wrong.

That night I cooked a couple of steaks and made a salad, and at seven Robin and I sat down to dinner, with Spike begging for sirloin. When we were through, Robin said, "If you've got no big plans, I thought I might do a little work. The time I'm spending at the house is crimping me."

"Want me to take a shift?"

"No, honey, but if I could catch up, it would help."

Spike watched her depart with longing, but he decided to stay and finish his table scraps. He hung around as I washed the dishes and followed me to the couch when I played guitar, settling next to me, loose lips blowing out B-flat snores that missed harmony by a mile.

Shortly after nine, Milo called and I asked him if he was involved in the Dykstra case.

"Involved but not committed- know the difference? In a ham-and-egg breakfast, the chicken's involved, the pig's committed. Santa Ana called me to compare notes, and they're driving down tomorrow to look at the Shwandt file."

"Is it that similar?"

"Damn near identical. Body position, wound pattern, decapitation with the head put back in place, shit smeared all over the body and stuffed in the wounds. But all that came out at the trial; anyone could have copied it."

"Another monster," I said.

"The press made such a goddamn celebrity out of Shwandt, they pump this one up as Bogeyman Two, we'll really have fun. Anyway, glad I'm not on it. Keeping busy with some nice old-fashioned drive-bys… So how's Miss Lucy?"

I cleared my throat.

"I know, I know," he said. "You can't get into clinical details. Just tell me she's basically okay. 'Cause she left four messages at my desk today. Called her back but got some lazy-sounding guy on a machine."

"That's her brother. I haven't heard from her for a couple of days. When'd she call you?"

"This morning. I was just wondering if some problem had come up- you are still seeing her- no, scratch that, you can't even tell me that, right?"

"Let's put it this way," I said. "If a patient's in imminent danger of self-injury, it's my ethical duty to call the police and/or appropriate medical personnel. I haven't called you or anyone else."

"Okay, good. So I'll try her tomorrow. How's everything by you?"

"Rolling along. How's Rick?"

"Cutting and suturing. With our schedules, there ain't much quality time. We keep talking vacation, but neither of us is willing to make plans."

"Commitment," I said. "Men have such a problem with it."

"Bullshit," he said. "I'm totally committed. I'm a pig, right?"

She called on Friday morning. "If you have time today, I could come in."

"After work?"

"Any time. I'm home."

"Sick?"

"No, I haven't gone back since the… fall. Dr. Austerlitz was very nice, by the way. He says I'm fine."

"I know. I spoke with him. How've you been sleeping the last couple of nights?"

"Pretty well, actually, since I spoke to you. No dream, and I wake up in my bed, so maybe it was just a short-term thing and I needed to get things off my chest."

I recalled the last session. Lots of questions, no answers. "Did you ever reach Detective Sturgis?"

"He told you I phoned?"

"He called me last night wanting to know if some sort of emergency had come up. Said he hadn't been able to reach you."

"The two of you are close friends, aren't you?"

"Yes, we are."

"He talks about you as if you're some kind of genius. Did you tell him I was okay?"

"I didn't tell him anything. Confidentiality."

"Oh. That's okay; you can talk to him any time. I give you permission."

"There'd be no reason to, Lucy."

"Oh. Okay. All I'm saying is I trust him, and after what I've been through, I'm a good judge of men. Anyway, I reached him. The reason I wanted to talk to him is just, I've been getting some phone calls over the last few weeks."

"What kind of phone calls?"

"Hang-ups. I'm sure it's no big thing."

"How many?"

"Couple a week, maybe four or five in all, mostly when I'm cooking dinner or watching TV. For all I know it's some screwup with the phone lines. Milo didn't seem that concerned. Said I should hang up right away, and if it didn't stop there was a machine I could get from the phone company that would record the caller's number."

"Sounds like a good plan," I said, keeping my voice calm. The killer who'd burned down my house had worked up to it with harassment. "Would you like to come in at noon?"

"Oh," she said, as if she'd forgotten she'd called to make an appointment. "Sure. Noon would be perfect."

She was five minutes late and breezed in wearing a snug white cotton turtleneck and red bandanna over jeans, white socks, and moccasins. Tiny ruby studs in her ears and her hair was loose. First time I'd seen it that way. It flattered her.

She said, "Everything's really pretty fine."

"Glad you're feeling better," I said.

"I really am. Maybe it's taking a break from work. I always thought my job was so important to me, but after being away from it for a couple of days I don't miss it."

"Are you thinking of quitting permanently?"

"I'm not much of a spender, so I've got enough saved up to last awhile." She gave an embarrassed smile.

"What is it?"

"I've also got a trust fund- not enough to live rich, but it is a thousand a month, so that's a pretty good cushion. That's what I meant by others having things a lot worse."

"Are you uncomfortable having a cushion?"

"Well," she said, "I didn't do anything to earn it. And it comes from his side of the family- his mother. A generation-skipping thing, they call it. To save taxes. I generally give a big chunk of it away to charity, but if it can help me mellow out a little now, why not take advantage of it?"