Now and then - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,15

want to see this guy lose his job, too,” I said.

“Because of his wife.”

“Because he told things he shouldn’t have told to a woman he thought loved him,” I said.

“They’d fi re him for that?”

“You bet,” I said.

“Maybe she did love him,” Susan said.

“Funny way to show it,” I said.

“Maybe she was doing what she had to,” Susan said.

“Maybe we all are, all the time,” I said. “But if you really believe that, there’s not much point to either of our jobs.”

“Yes,” she said. “Even if it’s an act of self-deception, it’s one we need.”

I smiled.

“So we aren’t exactly free,” I said, “even to believe in free will?”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

“Oh, pooh,” she said. “It’s an academic game. We both believe in individual responsibility, and we both know it.”

I smiled at her.

“And if we didn’t before, we do now,” I said.

Pearl had been asleep in the big leather wing chair across from us. She rose quite suddenly and came and stared at us.

“Has Timmy fallen down a well?” I said.

“It’s suppertime,” Susan said. “She wants Daddy to feed her.”

“I would have said she was looking at you,” I said.

“Did you go to Harvard?” Susan said.

“No.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” I said.

“She wants her daddy to feed her.”

“Sure,” I said, “now that you’ve explained it.”

I got up and went to the kitchen and gave her a bowlful of dog food and came back to the couch. Pearl ate noisily. Susan 69 looked at me over her wineglass. She had big eyes, which she made up artfully.

“I hope you don’t get mired in Doherty’s issues,” she said.

“I hope I don’t get mired in anything,” I said.

“It wouldn’t be too hard to do with Doherty,” she said. Pearl finished her supper and came in and looked at us again. I got up and gave her a cookie for dessert. While I was up I got myself a second drink and brought it back to the couch.

“Because of what happened to us twenty years ago?” I said.

“What do you think?” Susan said.

Pearl came in from the kitchen and wedged herself between us on the couch and put her head on Susan’s thigh.

“I’ve thought of it,” I said. “It resonates.”

“Want to talk about it?” Susan said.

“Sex might make it better,” I said.

“You think sex makes everything better,” Susan said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Susan said. “Let’s see.”

18 .

I was in the shower the next morning when Susan came in wearing La Perla lingerie.

“Vinnie’s on the phone,” she said.

I got out and toweled off a little.

“You want to stand and admire my glistening body while I take the call?” I said.

“No,” she said and handed me the cordless phone and departed.

I said, “Yeah?”

Vinnie began without preamble.

“I follow the professor the other night to Alderson’s place. She don’t meet him for drinks. She goes straight there. I see Hawk there, scouting Alderson. Professor’s got a suitcase. She goes in. I wait. Hour later she comes out. Still got the suitcase. She gets in her car. Drives about a hundred feet to the hotel next door. Parks in the garage. Checks in to the hotel. I wait awhile. She don’t come out, so I go home. Hawk’s still there. This morning I’m there when she comes out of the hotel. No suitcase. Gets in her car, drives to the college. Parks in the lot, gets out and starts for her building. Guy walks up behind her and shoots her in the back of the head. I put one in him. Go over and check. She’s dead. He’s dead. I get back in the car and watch for a little while. Nothing happens. No one comes out for a look. I don’t hear no sirens. So I screw. I’m in the parking lot at Dunkin’ Donuts down near Fresh Pond Circle.”

I was quiet for a minute. Pearl wandered in to admire my glistening body. I patted her head while I thought.

“Any witnesses?” I said.

“No.”

“Anybody looking out a window,” I said, “maybe got your plate numbers?”

“Plates are bogus,” Vinnie said. “I put on new ones before I called you.”

“How long since the shooting?”

“Hour, probably,” Vinnie said.

“Cops should be there,” I said.

“Sooner or later,” Vinnie said.

Pearl heard Susan moving around in the kitchen and hustled out of the bathroom to investigate. You could never be certain someone wouldn’t give you a second breakfast.

“Recognize the shooter?” I said.

“No. Little guy. Five-six, five-seven, skinny. Dark hair cut short. Maroon sweatsuit. Cheap black running shoes.”

“Don’t be a fashion snob,” I said.

“Don’t matter anyway,” Vinnie said. “He