For what?

Stepovich didn't have any answer to that. And when you start doing things that you don't have reasons for, and they're things that could get your ass chewed off, it's time to back off from the job and take a break. But get yourself clear. He should do something like lean back and then jerk forward, saying,"Oh, shit, I forgot the knife, it musta fell through the hole in my pocket." Then fish it out and hand it to Durand, and have him go explain to booking while Stepovich used the whiteout to fix the arrest report.Then everything would be all square. Easy.

His desk phone rang, and without even looking,Durand reached back and snagged the receiver off the cradle. "Hello," he answered it, irking Stepovich even more. Damn kid couldn't even answer a phone properly, didn't identify himself, didn't even say the caller had reached Stepovich's line. "Just a sec," he said, and handed the receiver to Stepovich.

"Who is it?" he asked as he took it.

Durand shrugged. "Dunno. They wanted to talk to you."

Stepovich swallowed an irritated response, took the phone- "Officer Stepovich here, can I help you?"

"Daddy?"

"Laurie! How's my girl?"

"Fine, Daddy, except that I'm in the school square-dance program this Friday, and I have a skirt that's okay for it, but I need a blouse, a white frilly blouse."

There had been a time when Laurie would have beaten around the bush, would have told him all about the program and who her dance partner was and if he was yucky or nice, and then hinted, ever so slyly, that she'd be able to dance better in a frilly white blouse. Not anymore. And Stepovich didn't know if it was because she was getting older and more direct,or because now she only called him when she really wanted something, and didn't want to bother with him any more than was necessary.

"Daddy?" came her voice, and he realized he hadn't answered her yet. "I know you sent the support check, and Mom got it and all, but this is the month she has to pay property taxes she says, so she says we can't afford it. But I thought, since you're in an apartment and don't have property taxes, maybe you…"

"Sure thing, pussycat. You want me to come by this evening and take you out to one of the malls to get it?"

"Um, well, actually, I know the one I want, it's twenty-two dollars at Carson's, and uh, if you said okay. Mom said I could go get it on her card right now, with Chrissy and Sue. They're like, you know, waiting right now."

"I see," Stepovich tried to think of some other words to say, something that would reach down the phone and touch her, pull her closer to him. He leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight, and the chair squeaked as the gypsy's knife pressed up against his spine. He straightened quickly. "Well,honey, you tell your mom I'll put an extra check in the mail, and you go get your shirt. When is this dance thing, anyway?"

"Friday at seven. We're doing it for the PTA meeting. Uh, Daddy, don't forget tax. I mean, it will probably cost more with tax and everything."

"Right. I won't forget." Stepovich scratched $30 on the corner of his blotter, drew a lazy circle around it-

"So, what else is new around there? Got a boyfriend yet?"

"No." The irritation in her voice was not feigned.He guessed that the old tease really wasn't funny anymore. Which meant that maybe, yes, she did have a boyfriend. She was what, almost fifteen? Already fifteen? He sampled foot in mouth, swallowed it.

"Just teasing, sweetheart. So, what is going on with you lately?"

"Nothing, really. Dad, just this dance thing. Look,Chrissy's waiting, and Sue has to phone home to make sure it's okay if she goes with us, so I've got to hang up now, okay? Oh, and if you make the check to me, I can cash it while Mom's at work, and she doesn't have to stop at the bank. Less hassle, you know. Thanks a bunch. I'll tell Jeffrey you said 'hi.' "

"Yeah, okay, Laurie. Listen, I'll try to make it Friday, okay, but if…"

"Okay, Daddy, that's great, I'll see you then. Bye."

And she was gone and he was holding the phone too tightly, listening to its emptiness. He wanted to reach out and punch her number in again, call her back, say something to her to make her understand how much he missed her, how afraid he was that she was growing up and leaving him behind like a wornout stuffed toy.

Instead he rolled the report pages out of the machine, scanned them quickly and inked in a couple of corrections and signed it. Then shoved it at Durand's butt.

"Here. You take care of the rest."

And before Durand could turn around and say anything, Stepovich got up and stalked out of the room.He had to move, had to be doing something, not sitting still.

He got a drink at the water fountain, then walked past the elevator, down the hall between walls the color of old sour cream to the door marked EXIT-STAIRWELL. He went up two flights, listening to his footsteps echo, not using the handrail, forcing his body to do this extra little bit just to prove it still could. The knife rubbed against him as he walked.The gypsy was up here, locked into one of the holding cells.

Stepovich slowed his progress up the stairs. The man's had shown no understanding of why he was being arrested. It hadn't felt good to Stepovich, not like a righteous collar. This wasn't the guy. He already knew it when they stopped him, and he hadn't really wanted to haul him in. But that damn Durand was like a pit bull, all jaw and no brain. The gypsy matched the description of the killer who had shot the liquor store clerk, right down to the clothes, and Durand was always dreaming those hot glory dreams,about commendations and the five o'clock news and grateful feminine hands groping his crotch. It had been an ugly killing, one of those things where the thief already had the money in his hands when he shot the guy. There'd been no reason to shoot the clerk at all. Ugly. The press would play with this one, and everyone would want blood.

Maybe that was why he'd held back on the knife. He was sure the gypsy was going to be shaken loose,eventually. But they would let him go reluctantly, and it was going to be damn tough on him until then. And maybe he felt the guy didn't deserve a concealed weapons charge that would stick, simply because he looked like someone else, someone who'd blown away a liquor store clerk for a hundred and seventynine dollars plus loose change.

They waved him through the checkthrough, not casual, but respectful. He was the guy who'd made the big collar for the day. No one was going to stop him from inspecting his catch. He replied to their congratulatory words without thinking, a few nods, a couple of sure, sure's. Holding cell three.

He walked down the hallway, and remembered for an instant the first time he'd walked through here. It had reminded him of visiting the zoo, of looking at animals made unreal by their unnatural enclosures.Now it seemed normal. Now when he went to the zoo, it reminded him of this place, and he'd stare at the animals and imagine what they'd been booked for and which ones would be found guilty. The zoo. Hell,it had been two years since he'd taken Jeffrey to the zoo. It only seemed more recent than that because of all the empty spaces between then and now. All the afternoon matinees of movies neither he nor Jeffrey really wanted to see. That was the trouble with this kind of fathering. Too much of doing stuff with the kids, and not enough of just being around. Too many organized outings and carefully planned days. Not enough watching the tube and knowing they were in their rooms doing homework or messing around with their friends. Too much acting like a father, and not enough being one.

Shit.

And here was holding cell three, and someone had screwed up, because the gypsy wasn't in it. He checked two and four, and then one, quickly and professionally. The gypsy wasn't in any of them, either. Funny. If this were the zoo and those had been animals, the gypsy wouldn't have been so out of place. He'd seemed feral to Stepovich, naturally dangerous the way some men pretended to be. The gypsy would have been right at home caged between the tigers and the wolves. But he didn't belong here. And that he wasn't here seemed to prove that.