her life Casey had been what Jana called an ‘easy upchuck’, like a cat, throwing up for any reason, or no reason. When there was a purpose it was usually evil – to duck chores, an exam, or some adverse social situation – and it had earned her the nickname Hairball. She was a little sensitive about it. ‘Well, just up yours, Little Susie Einstein,’ she said, giving her hair a sulky toss.
The soundtrack clicked off. ‘Speak, troop,’ LA’s telephone voice said. ‘Start by telling me you’re not relapsing.’ I imagined her leaning back in her desk chair, sporting one of her two main looks – denim and boots that would look spot-on in a boardroom, or a serious suit in toned-down colours that she could wear to a dogfight without raising an eyebrow. Not much jewellery or makeup, probably no high heels – you don’t paint extra stripes on a tiger. Of course with her the concept of a hairstyle had never had any actual meaning because no matter what she or anybody else tried to do with it, she still ended up with the same dark, unconquerable mop that our grandmother had said always looked freshly dynamited.
‘Hi, girl,’ I said. ‘I’m fine, but I need your wisdom.’
‘Some things never change,’ she said. ‘How’s your appetite?’
‘Not too bad,’ I said. ‘But junk food has kinda lost its taste.’
A brief pause. ‘How long since you’ve been fishing?’
‘I don’t know – quite a while.’
‘But you’ve still got the boat?’
I said, ‘Yeah. And tackle. And a fishing licence. I just don’t go.’
‘What’s your weight?’
‘One-seventy-five.’
‘Still a light heavyweight. How well are you sleeping?’
‘No way to know,’ I said. ‘I’m always asleep at the time.’
‘Give.’
‘Okay, I’ve waked up too early a few times since the last time we talked.’
‘What are you calling a few?’
‘Four.’
‘Talked to Max about it?’
‘Yeah, some. He gave me a couple things to think about.’
‘But you haven’t talked to Jana and the girls about the farm.’ Not a question.
‘Would you believe it if I said I was working on it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’d believe you think you are.’
‘Maybe the problem’s not really knowing where I belong.’
‘I saw how you were when you were working the place that last year, troop. Nobody could belong there more than you. Except maybe Casey and Jordie.’
I looked again at the pictures of the two of them on the wall. She was right; both were natural riders, as much at home on horseback and in the open country as birds in the air. If anybody belonged out there it was them.
‘Yeah, they’d be great with it,’ I said. ‘What worries me is how they’re handling the separation. I’m taking them out for lunch tomorrow, probably to the marina. I know it won’t fix anything, but I really need to spend some time with them.’
‘The main thing they need is for you to keep being who you are – the guy they can count on, who loves ’em like a rock. So who’re you sleeping with and how long has it been?’
With therapists there are certain constants, one of them being that you’ve got to account for your sex life.
‘It’s still Jana when it’s anybody,’ I said. ‘It’s been three weeks. Why?’
‘Because I hear skin hunger in your voice,’ she said, awakening new images of Gold’s violated skin in my mind. ‘You need more human contact.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But first, question number one: what’s the difference between a hallucination and a vision?’
‘Sometimes nothing, but generally you call it a hallucination – meaning it’s a symptom – when you’re nuts,’ she said. ‘A vision is just an experience. Why?’
I described what I’d seen on my computer monitor, and the memories that went with it.
‘Sounds like flashbacks,’ she said. ‘Anything happen lately that took you back to the farm or football or anything like that?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I mean, I see Johnny now and then, but that’s about it. Losing Jana and the girls might have triggered something, but I can’t really think of anything else.’
‘You haven’t lost Jana yet,’ LA said. ‘And you’ll never lose the girls. But your brain’s working on something. Give it a little time – things like that come when they’re ready.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thing number two is a murdered psychologist I want to talk to you about.’
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s hittin’ a little close to home, troop. But I don’t know how much I can help with something like that. I’m no criminalist.’
‘But you’re kind of smart,’ I said. ‘And you know a bunch of psychology words.’
‘Okay, Bis, let’s hear it.’
I said, ‘This woman used to do our employment screenings. She was hung up in a tree.’ Hearing myself, I realised how weak and obtuse this sounded. If I wanted to keep my communication skills anywhere above rock bottom I needed more interaction with people who had the kind of mind LA did, though I wasn’t exactly sure where to find anybody like that.
‘Hung up how?’
‘She was crucified.’
There was a short silence as LA processed this. She said, ‘Any religious connection?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like she was about to blow the whistle on some monsignor for embezzlement, a child-abusing cult, anything like that?’
‘Not that I know of,’ I said. I outlined what we had so far, including the anatomical switch the killers had performed. I’d been worried about this part, but the non-negotiable standing price of a conversation with LA had always been the naked truth or nothing.
‘Jesus, Bis, that’s some pretty incredible rage – but at least I’d say it eliminates most of your likely suspects.’
Seeing no way around having to admit I didn’t get it, I said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Not trying to play junior detective here, but this sounds too complicated for plain sexual sadism. And I’d bet your killer wasn’t her husband, or her lover. The killing was some kind of punishment, no doubt about that, but this isn’t the kind of anger you get when
