"I like autonomy," I said.

"I'm not surprised."

"Did Montana reciprocate any of Jocelyn's affection?"

"I'm not sure 'reciprocate' is the right word. He might have exploited it briefly."

"I've heard of that being done," I said.

"I wouldn't make too much of this," Christopholous said.

"Jocelyn has her crushes, and they are as changeable as April weather."

"You know of any connection between her and the Wus?"

"The Wus? God, Spenser, you move too fast for me. Why would she have any connection with the Wus?"

"Why indeed," I said.

"Of course she knows Rikki. I want my company to shmooze the board members. It's part of the job."

"And one they savor," I said.

Christopholous shrugged.

"You have a goose laying a golden egg, you feed it," he said.

"Rikki in particular enjoys being shmoozed."

"How about Mr. Wu?"

"He indulges her," Christopholous said.

"That's really all I know about him. He comes very rarely to an event with her.

When he does come he seems quite remote. But he seems willing to underwrite her without limit."

"He ever meet Jocelyn?"

"Oh, I wouldn't think so. Beyond a formal 'this-is-my-husband-Lonnie' kind of meeting. And if he had that, I'm sure he wouldn't register her. He never seems to be in the moment when he's here."

"I know the feeling," I said.

Through Christopholous' window I could see the rows of three story clapboard houses, flat-roofed, mostly gray, mostly needing paint, with piazzas on the back. The piazzas were mostly devoid of furniture, except occasionally a dejected folding chair kept up the pretense. They seemed to be the place where people kept their trash. Clotheslines stretched across barren backyards at all three levels, but no clothes hung on them in the unyielding drizzle. The backyards grew a few weeds, unconnected and random in the mud.

"No further sign of your shadow?" I said.

"No, none. I guess you've scared him off."

"Something did," I said.

CHAPTER 20

When I got to the lobby, Hawk was sitting on a bench against the wall, arms folded, feet thrust straight out, crossed at the ankles. The rain had made little impact on his polished cowboy boots. Vinnie was standing at the glass doors, looking out at the rain. He was a medium-sized guy with good muscle tone, and even features; and maybe the quickest hands I've ever seen. Hawk could catch flies with his hands. In fact, so could I. Vinnie could catch them between his thumb and forefinger. I sat beside Hawk. Vinnie kept staring out at the rain.

"Nobody following that broad," Hawk said.

"I know."

"We going to stay on her, anyway?"

"Yeah."

Hawk looked at me for a moment.

"Well, 'spite what everybody say, you not a moron."

"You're too kind," I said.

"I know. So I figure you going to follow her around for a while, see if she had any special reason for wanting you."

"And then I'll see what she does when I stop following her around," I said.

Hawk nodded.

"And then maybe we know something," he said.

"That'll be a nice change."

"Christopholous says he never had any kind of affair with her."

"She say he did."

"So we have a lie," I said.

"I'm betting it's the broad," Hawk said.

"I think she whacko."

"She seems a better bet to be lying than Christopholous," I said.

"But at least it's an allegation can be tracked. If they were romantically involved, somebody must have noticed."

"So you ask around."

"Yep. Hawk says she was hot for the Director, Lou Montana."

"And me and Vinnie stay in the area, case the Chinks strike again."

"Asian Americans," I said.

"I forgot," Hawk said.

"How much time you be spending in Cambridge?"

"Ever alert," I said, "for racial innuendo."

"Wasn't there a petition over there, keep the nigger kids out of that school on Brattle Street?"

"Of course," I said.

"Everybody signed it, but no one ever called them niggers."

"Sensitive," Hawk said.

"Absolutely," I said.

"Everybody knows words have the power to hurt."

"They do that."

Hawk grinned.

"But not like a kick in the balls," he said.

"No," I said.

"Not like that."

We were quiet. Actors and stage technicians, dressed very informally, came and went through the lobby.

"So I'll follow Jocelyn a couple of days," I said.

"Make her think I'm protecting her. And while she's rehearsing or whatever I'll ask around about her romantic interests, and you and Vinnie hang around in case the Chinks strike again."

"Good plan," Hawk said.

CHAPTER 21

I stayed close to Jocelyn Colby for the rest of the week. Every morning when she came out of her apartment I was lurking somewhere out of sight: parked in my car up the street; strolling aimlessly by in the other direction; at a pay phone on the corner, talking animatedly to my answering machine. And all the time I did this, Hawk and Vinnie sat at a distance in Hawk's car and kept me in sight. I knew it was pointless. If there had been a shadow, Hawk would have spotted him. And the shadow would not have spotted Hawk. Hawk could track a salmon to its spawning bed without getting wet. But to make it work I had to pretend there was a shadow. So there I was in the rain, with the collar of my leather jacket turned up, and my hands in my pockets, and my black Chicago White Sox baseball cap pulled down over my forehead, staying alert for assassins, and pretending to shadow a shadow who didn't exist. My career did not seem to be taking off.

Friday, when Jocelyn came home from the theater, I didn't tail her. I walked with her. If Port City downtown was ever going to look good, which it wasn't, it was now. Mid-October, late afternoon when the light was nostalgic, and the endless drizzle made everything shiny. As we walked, Jocelyn put her hand lightly on my arm.

Ill "How nice," she said.

"I haven't been walked home in a long time."

"Hard to imagine," I said.

"Oh, it's brutal out there," she said.

"Most men are such babies.

The good-looking men you meet, the ones with manners and a little style, are gay. The straight ones are cheating on their wives.

Or if they're single, they want to whine to you about their mother.

Or their ex-wife."

"Where are all the good ones?" I said.

"God knows. Probably aren't any."

"I protest."

She laughed.

"I got a friend," she said, "insists that men are only good for moving pianos."

"They make good fathers, sometimes."

"And, the truth is," Jocelyn said, "I wouldn't mind if one galloped up and rescued me."

"From what?"

"From being a divorced woman without a guy," she said.

"From being alone."

"Alone is not always such a bad thing," I said.

"You're not alone."

"No."

"You have Susan."