”And he stopped?“ I said.

”Randall can be very convincing,“ Rojack said. Leaning on the archway, Randall looked as pleased with himself as Rojack did. He was one of those rawboned, square-shouldered Yankee types with long muscles and big knuckley hands-all angles and planes, as if he’d been designed to go with the house.

”What’s this guy’s name?“ I said.

Rojack looked at Randall. ”Pomeroy,“ Randall said. ”Wilfred Pomeroy.“

”Where’s he live?“

”Place out in Western Mass., Waymark, one of those Berkshire hill towns.“

”Waymark?“

”Un huh.“

”What was Jill’s connection to him?“

Rojack pursed his lips for a moment. ”Pelvic,“ he said.

I nodded.

”So,“ I said, ”why were you after her this morning?“

Rojack picked up his coffee cup, saw that it was empty, gestured toward Randall with it. Randall came over, took it, filled it, put it back. During which time I watched the red roan horse browse beneath the soft snow.

Randall took a sip of coffee. He held the cup in both hands, like people do in coffee commercials, and then they say ahhh! He didn’t say ahhh! He stared for a moment into the cup and then he raised his eyes.

”We agree,“ he said, ”that Jill has many failings.“ I nodded. At the end of the pasture, the red roan browsed too close to a chestnut with a red mane. The chestnut stretched out its neck and took a nip at the roan. The roan shied, kicked at the chestnut, and moved away. The peaceable kingdom.

”But what you probably don’t see is the Jill that is so…“ He searched thoughtfully for the right adjective. He spoke as if every word were being reported to an eager world. ”Compelling,“ he said. ”When she is intimate with you she is totally intimate, she is completely yours and her…“ Again he examined a choice of several words, turning them over the way a housewife buys fruit. ”Her aura is so enveloping… it’s quite hypnotic.“

”So when she dumps you it’s hard to believe,“ I said.

”And harder still to accept,“ Rojack said.

”You tried calling, and stopping by, and such.“

”Without success,“ Rojack said.

”So you thought you’d get her early, and you brought Randall along to help you reason with her.“

”I always bring Randall along, everywhere,“ Rojack said.

”You been calling her anonymously, sending scary messages?“

”No. I’ve called her, yes; but she knew it was me, and she always hung up on me. The calls were not… criminal. I have written her, but again, there was nothing of an harassing nature.“

He actually said ”an harassing.“

”You haven’t threatened her?“

”No.“

”Dirty tricks of any kind?“

”Spenser, I am a man who does not find any need to resort to dirty tricks.“

”Too important for stuff like that,“ I said.

”Quite simply,“ Rojack said, ”yes.“

We sat wordlessly for a moment or two in the sunflooded glass room.

”Anything else you can tell me about Jill? “ I said.

Rojack shook his head.

”Sort of funny,“ I said. ”She got you to chase Wilfred away. Now she’s got me to chase you away.“

”I don’t plan to be chased away, Spenser. I am not a man who is used to being dumped, as you put it.“ Again the sunny silence. I shrugged. And stood. ”You seem very physical, Spenser. Do you work out?“

”Some,“ I said.

”Perhaps I can show you our gym, before you go. Perhaps,“ Rojack smiled, a formal gesture of self deprecation, as sincere as a congressman’s handshake, ”I can impress you.“

”Sure,“ I said.

Rojack stood and let me out of the atrium. Randall followed.

Chapter 11

THE gym was better than the Harbor Health Club, except Henry Cimoli wasn’t there. It had a full Nautilus setup, a complete set of York barbells, some parallel bars, some rings, a treadmill, a stair climber, jump ropes, a heavy bag, a speed bag. There was a lap pool off the gym part, and a sauna and steam and massage setup between the two. The walls of the gym were mirrored. The floor was done in some sort of resilient rubber padding. There were fluorescent Iights recessed in a textured ceiling, and there were skylights through which the bright blue sky glistened.

”Zowie,“ I said.

”Randall,“ Rojack said, ”perhaps you’d like to show Spenser how some of the equipment works.“

”I know how it works,“ I said.

Nobody paid any attention. Randall shucked off his warm-up jacket and stepped out of his canvas shoes. His bare feet were white and bony with long toes and a tuft of hair an each instep. There were many distended veins in his pale arms, and the knobby muscles knotted and slacked as he moved.

He jumped off the ground, caught the rings that hung straight down from the ceiling, and proceeded to do a series of gymnastic loops and frolics on them that were pretty impressive for a guy who looked to be about six feet four. He dismounted with a somersault and launched an all-out karate attack on the heavy bag, spinning in midair to kick it, whirling balletically to drive home an elbow or a sharp-knuckled fist. His movements were sometimes too quick to follow and the heavy bag pitched and shivered as he hit it, kicked it, slashed it, and butted it, all at what appeared to be the speed of sound. For the coup de grace he leaped into the air, scissor-kicked the bag with both feet and went into a backward somersault as he landed on his back, rolling to his feet in one continuous motion. He was breathing hard and his pale angular body was glistening with sweat as he stood erect, almost at attention, still wearing his rimless glasses, his flat blue eyes fixed on me. Rojack looked at him like the father of an Eagle Scout.

”That kind of thing happen to you often?“ I said.

Rojack said, ”We both felt it important that you understand about Randall, that you recognize clearly that this morning was merely a very lucky misjudgment on Randall’s part… lucky, that is, for you.“

Randall was so thrilled by his performance that his face was fluorescent with excitement.

”Is he going to do anything else?“ I said. ”Juggle four steak knives while whistling ’Malaguena‘? Something like that?“

Randall’s breath was still coming a little short. ”You like to… show us… what you… can do on the bag?“

I looked at Rojack.

”Be my guest,“ he said. I think the sound in his voice was mockery.

”Go ahead… big shot,“ Randall said.

I shrugged, reached under my left shoulder, pulled my gun and put a bullet into the middle of the body bag. The sound of the shot was shockingly loud in the silent gym. The body bag jumped. I put the gun back under my arm, smiled in a friendly way at Rojack and Randall, and walked out. As I headed through the house to the front door, the smell of the pistol shot lingered gently after me.

Chapter 12

THe next day was Saturday and Jill wasn’t working, so Susan and I took her to sightsee. Susan was a little annoyed that she had to share her weekend with Jill Joyce, and when I thoughtfully pointed out to her that I wouldn’t be stuck guarding Jill’s body in the first place if it weren’t for Susan, she didn’t seem any happier.

I was in the lobby when hotel security brought her down. She was wearing a pink cashmere workout suit, and white, high-topped, leather aerobic shoes with pink and white laces. She carried her black mink over her arm, her copper-blond hair glistened as if fresh from a hundred brush strokes, and her face looked as fresh and innocent as Daisy Duck’s. She hit the security guy with a smile so radiant that he’d probably have thrown himself on his sword, if she’d asked. If he’d had a sword.

”Well, my incredible hulk,“ she said. ”Where will you take me today?“

”Wherever you want to go,“ I said. ”Within reason.“

Jill linked her arm through mine. ”Lead on, Macbeth,“ she said.