He put an offensive smile on his face and said, "Berni! Thanks for dropping by."

She turned in the plastic chair and said, "You motherfucker," and came up out of the chair and Virgil thought she might be going for his eyes. The cop behind the desk felt it, too, and stood up, but Virgil put his hands up and said, "Whoa, whoa. Just want to talk."

She started to cry, and he saw that she'd already been crying, and that her eyeliner had started to run. "I think Wendy's gonna kick me out of the band."

"Really?"

"Aw, that guy who came up here with you, Jud, he's telling her that she needs a better drummer."

"You talked to Jud about it?"

"No, he told her, and she's telling me. They say they haven't made a decision, but they've made a decision… and then you go and get that fuckin' deputy to drag me outa there."

"Still got a mouth on you," the cop said.

She turned around and said, "Shut up, Carl," and to Virgil, "Carl's wanted to fuck me since he was in the ninth grade and I was in the fifth. Isn't that right, Carl?"

Carl said to Virgil, "You want to take her in the interview room? I don't want to put up with her anymore." And to Berni, "Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things, are worthy of death."

"Oh, yeah, I heard you got born again," she said. "Which you needed, since they fucked up the first time."

Virgil edged her toward the interview room. "C'mon, let's go talk," he said, and to Carl, who'd pissed him off, "The soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."

"That didn't mean they were queer," Carl called after them, as they went into the interview room. He sounded anxious about it.

Berni asked, "What was that all about?"

"I'm a preacher's kid," Virgil said. "I know all that stuff, for and against."

"Was David queer?"

Virgil said, "Who knows? Donatello apparently thought so."

"Don who?"

VIRGIL SAT HER DOWN on the opposite side of the conference table and said, "Berni, we've been through all the evidence, the sheriff and I, and it's pretty obvious that you're involved in these killings somehow."

She started to protest but he held up his hands. "Hear me out. First of all, we've had two band-related killings, plus a third shooting, which was done with the same rifle that killed McDill. You have no real alibis. So we started putting together a case, including the tracks back into the sniper's nest, which were left by a woman-"

"I didn't do it," she groaned. "I never went back there."

"Look: we can make our case, and what we're really looking at now is state of mind. If you feel that you were… upset… that could always be worked into a pretty good defense. If you were emotionally unstable because of McDill's relationship with Wendy-"

"I didn't know about that," she said.

"We've got the tracks," Virgil said.

"Not mine. "

"But everybody else has an alibi," Virgil said. "And you gotta admit, these killings are tied to the band."

"McDill's woman, down in the Cities…"

"Has an absolute watertight alibi," Virgil said. "Look, I don't know how familiar you are with the legal system. If you cooperate, this will count toward some leniency, if that's the way the court wants to go. You don't have any prior record-"

"But I didn't do it."

"Well…" Virgil threw his hands up; he was helpless, apologetic. Getting to the point. "We believe you're involved. I mean, you say you didn't do it, but if you didn't, who did?"

She looked sideways, and then said, "Oh, God, I was hoping you'd catch him yourself. Wendy's gonna kill me."

"If it wasn't you… I mean, if you know something, you better speak up. He seems to be shutting down everybody who knows something," Virgil said.

She looked up: "You think?"

"I don't think anybody's safe," Virgil said. "This person is unbalanced. He, or she, needs help. If you did it, that's the way we'd go: get you some help."

"I didn't…" She turned away and began humming again, thinking, and then said, "I don't know. I don't know a single thing about it, but I think you need to look at the Deuce."

"The Deuce? Not Slibe?"

"Slibe… I don't know. I do know that the Deuce has this sex thing going for Wendy, and always has. Ever since they were little. If you get Wendy off by herself, she'll tell you that. Deuce would never want her to go away. Never."

"Is the Deuce sexually active?"

"Oh, hell yes, all the time. With himself. Him and his little Hormel."

"I meant, does he have a girlfriend?" Virgil asked.

"As far as I know, he's a virgin," she said. "If he's not, he paid for it. But he's… really… different. He watches you, all the time. Pretends like he isn't, but you can see that his eyes are on you."

"Maybe he's interested in you, not in Wendy," Virgil suggested.

"I think he's all slobbery interested in sex," she said. "I mean, God, he's seventeen, you know he wants it-but Wendy's the center of the universe."

"Huh."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Wendy seems to be the center of a lot of universes," Virgil said.

"Yeah. Including her own," Berni said.

Virgil tried to look like he was thinking it over. Then he said, "I don't know, Berni. I admit we haven't been looking at the Deuce. I don't know what his alibi is, but you have to admit that there's good reason to think you might be involved."

He continued to push her around, coming back for more about Wendy, Slibe, and the Deuce, whenever she gave him the opening. Cranking her up.

Setting her up.

She'd talk to Wendy, Wendy would talk to everybody…

And the killer would hear; and might do something.

HE LET HER GO at five o'clock, told her to stay around town.

Back at the motel, he took a short nap, showered, shaved again, put on a fresh T-shirt, jeans, and a sport coat. For the T-shirt, he was torn between two of his newest, a Blood Red Shoes and an Appleseed Cast, and went with the Appleseed after deciding that in the circumstances, Blood Red Shoes might be in poor taste.

Sig was ready when he got there; came skipping out the door, wearing a cotton dress, kissed him in the driveway, slipped a couple fingers under his belt as she did it, then said, "Steak! Burnt!"

"Where're we going?"

"The Duck Inn. Back downtown. They are so cool that they've got little individual packets of sesame crackers on every table."

Virgil laughed: "Can't pass on that."

SIG TURNED OUT to be pretty funny, when he actually talked to her. She knew almost everybody in town, and their foibles; and she told him about finding out that Zoe had been experiment ing with a female friend of hers. "I was absolutely not shocked. For me, you know, if they don't got that thang, it doesn't make any sense. But I found out that Zoe liked women, it seemed perfectly normal."

Sig and Virgil had overlapped at the University of Minnesota, and, they thought, might have even had a common acquaintance, a woman who was methodically working her way through every art form known to mankind. Having demonstrated little ability in painting, sculpture, ceramics, architecture, botanical drawing, music, and dance-she'd played the classical guitar, badly, and the dance instructor had suggested that her true metier might involve a pole-she'd moved on to creative writing, where Virgil thought he'd met her.

"Can't remember a single thing she wrote, though," he said.

"I can remember one piece of art," Sig said. "She had a boyfriend who hunted, and she did an engraving of a skinned rabbit. Scared the shit out of everybody who saw it."

"Maybe it was good, then? If it had that effect?"

"No… it didn't look like a skinned rabbit, but you could tell it was, you know, an animal that something bad happened to," Signy said. "But it looked like a mutant. A mutant that had been beaten with a hammer or something… But you know, maybe you're right. I can't think of any other art that I remember that well, for that long. Maybe it was good. But she quit, anyway."