"Postcoital languor is more difficult with Pearl," Susan said.

"But not impossible," I said.

"Nothing's impossible for us."

I looked at the familiar form of the crown molding along the edge of Susan's bedroom ceiling. On the dresser was a big color photograph of Susan and me, taken fifteen years ago on a balcony in Paris, not long after she had come back from wherever the hell she had been. We looked pretty happy.

"We were pretty happy in that picture," I said.

"We had reason to be."

"Yes."

"We still do."

"Yes."

"Would you be happier now if Mr. Clive hadn't been killed in Georgia?"

"Yes."

"Even though you were not responsible for him getting killed, nor could you have been expected to prevent it?"

"Yes."

"Send not therefore asking for whom the bell tolls," Susan said.

"Well, sometimes," I said, "it actually does toll for thee."

"I know."

"On the other hand," I said, "we do what we can, not what we ought to."

"I know."

"And you can't win 'em all," I said.

"True."

"And all that glitters is not gold," I said.

"And a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," Susan said.

"I always thought that saying was sort of backwards," I said.

I couldn't see her face: it was too close to my neck. But I could feel her smile.

"Well-bred Jewesses from Swampscott, Massachusetts," she said, "do not lie naked in bed and talk about bushes."

"Where did you go wrong?" I said.

"I don't know, but isn't it good that I did?"

At the foot of the bed, Pearl lapped one of her forepaws noisily. Susan rubbed my chest lightly with her right hand.

"Is there anything you can do to clean that up in Georgia?" she said.

"No one wants me to," I said.

"When has that ever made a difference to you?" Susan said.

"I have no client," I said. "No standing in the case."

"You think it was the person shooting the horses?"

"Reasonable guess," I said. "I had no clue who was doing that, and no clue really about where to go next."

"And?"

"And," I said, "I've been away from you about as long as I can stand."

"Good."

"So I'm going to put this one in the loss column and start thinking about the next game."

"Wise," Susan said.

"After all," I said, "a bush in the hand…"

"Never mind," Susan said.

TWENTY-TWO

IT WAS MONDAY morning, bright, still early June and not very hot. I was in my office, drinking coffee and reading the paper while I waited for business. I'd drunk my allotment of coffee, and read the paper, and put it away before any showed up, but when it came it was interesting. A woman came into my office, briskly, as if offices were designed for her to walk into. I began to stand up. She indicated there was no need to, but by that time I was on my feet anyway.

"I'm Valerie Hatch," she said, and put out her hand. "You're Spenser."

"Right on both counts," I said, and shook her hand.

"Owen Brooks suggested I might speak to you about my situation. You know Owen?"

"Yes."

Owen Brooks was, improbably, the district attorney of Suffolk County. He was black, Harvard-educated, smart, humorous, pleasant, tolerant, and tougher than a Kevlar gumdrop. In a political office, he seemed primarily concerned with the successful prosecution of criminals.

"He said this was a circumstance that might best be dealt with informally, that is to say, by someone like yourself."

"Then it will have to be myself," I said. "There's no one else like me."

"Owen also told me that you found yourself amusing."

"How do you know Owen?" I said.

"I am a litigator at a major law firm in this city-which one is not germane to my reason for being here."

"Sure," I said. "What is your reason?"

"I am a single mother," she said. "And a woman with a career. To balance those two responsibilities I employ a nanny."

"That's what I'd do," I said.

She paid no attention to me. I didn't feel bad. I was pretty sure she didn't pay much attention to anyone, engrossed as she was with being a single mother and a woman with a career.

"Kate is a lovely girl," Valerie said, "but she has made some unwise choices in her past life, and one of them now threatens not only my nanny but my child."

"Kate is the nanny?" I said.

Valerie looked surprised. "Yes. Kate Malloy."

"And what is her problem?" I said.

"She is being stalked by a former lover."

"She been to the cops?" I said.

"She has, and I've spoken with Owen. We have a restraining order, but…" She shrugged.

I could tell that she didn't like shrugging. She wasn't used to it. She was used to nodding decisively.

"She call the cops when the lover shows up?" I said.

"Yes. Sometimes they come promptly. Sometimes they don't."

"What is the lover's name?"

" Ex-lover. His name is Kevin Shea."

"Has Kevin threatened her?"

"Yes. And he poses a threat to my child."

"Whose name is?"

"Miranda."

"And she's how old?"

"Sixteen months. Why are you asking all these questions?"

"So I can follow what you say. Has Kevin harmed Kate?"

"When they were together he beat her."

"And has he threatened Miranda?"

"His presence threatens Miranda. Kate can't take care of her if she's being harassed by this ape."

"And you wish to employ me?" I said.

"Yes. Owen said you were the man."

"What do you wish to employ me to do?"

"Make him go away."

"Do you have a course of action in mind?"

"No, of course not, how would I? That's what you're supposed to know. I wish he were dead."

"Dead is not generally a part of the service," I said.

She shook her head as if a fly were annoying her.

"It was just a remark. I am at my wit's end. I need you to help me straighten this out."

"Okay," I said.

"How much do you charge?"

I told her.

"Isn't that a lot of money?" she said.

"You came here asking me to save your child," I said.

"So you boosted the price?"

"No. That's the price. I was trying to help you decide if it's worth paying."

"By playing on a mother's guilt?"

I didn't remember anything about guilt, but I let it ride.

"Can you do it?"

"Sure," I said. "I can eat this guy's lunch."

"Do you require payment to start?"

"No. I'll bill you when it's done."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll speak with Kate."

"She's very frightened. You'll have to be careful with her."

"I'll need an address."

Valerie took out a business card and wrote on the back.

"I'd prefer that you talk to her when I'm there."

"Sure."

"This evening?"