Shakespeares Counselor Page 0,55

I said, trying not to sound as though I were begging. "Don't write about Jack. Don't do it." If he could not hear the despair, he was a stupid man.

If he had smiled I might have killed him.

But - almost as bad - he looked cool and detached. "I'm just here in Shakespeare following the Tamsin Lynd story," he said after a long pause, during which the sound of the rain dripping from the roof became preternaturally loud. "A middle-class woman of her level of education, in her line of work, being stalked by a madman as she moves around America? That's a great story. You know Tamsin and Cliff have moved twice to escape this guy? But somehow he always finds out where she is and begins leaving her tokens of his - what? His hatred of her? His love of her? And she's this perfectly ordinary woman. Bad haircut, needs to loose some pounds. It's amazing. It could happen to anyone." Gerry McClanahan was speaking with such gusto that I could tell he was delighted to have someone to talk to.

"But it's happening to her. She's living this. You're not watching a movie," I said, slowly and emphatically. Talking to this man was like talking to glass. Everything I said bounced off without penetrating.

"This case has even more twists than even you can imagine. Look at finding you, such a name in true crime books already, and Jack Leeds, whose television clip is a true piece of Americana."

He was referring to that awful footage of Karen's brains flying all over Jack's chest when her husband shot her. I had a moment of dizziness. But McClanahan hadn't finished yet.

"And you're just sidebars! I mean, think. One of the counselees getting killed in the counselor's office? That's amazing. This case has turned upside down. When it's over, and I wrap up my book, think of how much women in America will know about being stalked! Think of all the resources they'll have, if it ever happens to them."

"You don't give a tinker's damn about the resources available to the women of America," I said. "You care about making money off of someone else's misery."

"No," he said, and for the first time I could tell he was getting angry. "That's not it. This is a great story. Tamsin is an ordinary woman in an extraordinary situation. The truth about this needs to be told."

"You don't know the truth. You don't know what is really happening."

He put his hands on the yellow legal pad on his desk and leaned on it as if he were guarding its contents. He focused on me. "But I'm very close. I'm right here; working on the investigation into the murder that took place in Tamsin's office! The death of a woman who was killed just to make some weird point to Tamsin! How much closer can you get?" He was flushed with excitement, the bottle-green eyes alight with elation.

I thought of many things to say, but not one of them, or even all of them, would have made any impression on this man. He was going to ruin my life. I once again thought of killing him.

"I'll bet that's how you looked before you pulled the trigger," he said, his eyes eating me up. For an interminable moment I felt exposed before this man.

"Listen," he said. "Keep quiet, let me see this through, and I'll leave you out."

I stared at him. Bargaining?

"I'm doing as good a job as any other policeman on this force. I'm really working, not just playing at it. If you let me follow this story to the end... you're home free."

"And since you're so honest, I should believe you?"

He pretended to wince. "Ouch. The truth is, I've done more watching out for Tamsin than any cop could ever do. In case you hadn't realized it, I bought this house because it backs catty-cornered to Tamsin and Cliff's. I watch. Every moment she's home and I'm not at work, I watch."

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You're stalking her, too?"

His face flushed deeply. He'd never put it that way to himself, I was willing to bet. "I'm observing her," he said.

"No, you're waiting for someone to get her."

I got up and left his house.

"Remember!" he called after me. "If I get to keep my job, you get to keep out of the book!"

I went right to Claude. I was in that period of grace, the time between the moment the bullet