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good bit, I expect."

"Yep."

"Can I help you?"

"I just don't have a lock on anything, Molly. There's not enough information. Well, there's a lot of information, but I haven't done enough with it."

"Will you be inAtlantafor a while? I'm not bugging you about coming home, I just wonder."

"I don't know. I'll be here a few more days at least. I miss you."

"Want to talk about fucking?"

"I don't think I could stand it. I think maybe we better not do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk about fucking."

"Okay. You don't mind if I think about it, though?"

"Absolutely not."

"We've got a new dog."

"Oh hell."

"Looks like a cross between a basset hound and a Pekingese."

"Lovely."

"He's got big balls."

"Never mind about his balls."

"They almost drag the ground. He has to retract them when he runs.

"He can't do that."

"Yes he can. You don't know."

"Yes I do know."

"Can you retract yours?"

"I thought we were coming to that."

"Well?"

"If you must know, I retracted them once."

"When was that?"

"In my youth. I had to clear a barbed-wire fence in a hurry."

"Why?"

"I was carrying this watermelon that I had not cultivated."

"You were fleeing? From whom?"

"A swineherd of my acquaintance. Alerted by his dogs, he burst from his dwelling in his BVD's, waving a fowling piece. Fortunately, he tripped over a butterbean trellis and gave me a running start."

"Did he shoot at you?"

"I thought so at the time, yes. But the reports I heard might have issued from my behind. I've never been entirely clear on that."

"Did you clear the fence?"

"Handily."

"A criminal mind, even at that age."

"I don't have a criminal mind."

"Of course you don't. I'm thinking about painting the kitchen. What color do you like? Will? What color do you like? Are you there?"

"Yeah, uh, yellow. Let's paint it yellow."

"Yellow is a bad color for me. I'll look green at breakfast."

"Blue, then."

"Blue is cold."

"Well goddammit, paint it baby-shit tan for all I care... No, look, I'll probably be home before long and we'll go to the paint store and get some chips and stuff, okay? And maybe some new handles and that."

"Let's do, let's get some handles. I don't know why I'm talking about this stuff. Look, I love you and I miss you and you're doing the right thing. It's costing you too, I know that. I'm here and I'll be here whenever you come home, or I'll meet you anywhere, anytime. That's what."

"Dear Molly. Dear Molly. Go to bed now."

"All right."

"Good night."

Graham lay with his hands behind his head and conjured dinners with Molly. Stone crab and Sancerre, the salt breeze mixed with the wine.

But it was his curse to pick at conversations, and he began to do it now. He had snapped at her after a harmless remark about his "criminal mind." Stupid.

Graham found Molly's interest in him largely inexplicable.

He called police headquarters and left word forSpringfieldthat he wanted to start helping with the legwork in the morning. There was nothing else to do.

The gin helped him sleep.

Chapter 6

Flimsy copies of the notes on all calls about theLeedscase were placed on Buddy Springfield's desk. Tuesday morning at seven o'clock whenSpringfieldarrived at his office, there were sixty-three of them. The top one was red-flagged.

It saidBirminghampolice had found a cat buried in a shoebox behind the Jacobis' garage. The cat had a flower between its paws and was wrapped in a dish towel. The cat's name was written on the lid in a childish hand. It wore no collar. A string tied in a granny knot held the lid on.

TheBirminghammedical examiner said the cat was strangled. He had shaved it and found no puncture wound.

Springfieldtapped the earpiece of his glasses against his teeth.

They had found soft ground and dug it up with a shovel. Didn't need any damned methane probe. Still, Graham had been right.

The chief of detectives licked his thumb and started through the rest of the stack of flimsies. Most were reports of suspicious vehicles in the neighborhood during the past week, vague descriptions giving only vehicle type or color. Four anonymous telephone callers had toldAtlantaresidents: "I'm gonna do you like the Leedses."

Hoyt Lewis' report was in the middle of the pile.

Springfieldcalled the overnight watch commander."What about the meter reader's report on this Parsons? Number forty-eight."

"We tried to check with the utilities last night, Chief, to see if they had anybody in that alley," the watch commander said. "'They'll have to get back to us this morning."

"You have somebody get back to them now,"Springfieldsaid. "Check sanitation, the city engineer, check for construction permits along the alley and catch me in my