ch.doublewhammy-第18部分

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；　four　miles　outside　the　town　limits　of　Harney。
　Clinton　Tyree　had　selected　Harney　not　only　because　of　its　natural　beauty…the　lake　and　the　ranchlands；　the　cypresses　and　the　pines…but　also　because　of　its　profound　political　retardation。　Harney　County　had　the　lowest　voter　registration　per　capita　of　any　county　in　Florida。　It　was　one　of　the　few　places　to　be　blacklisted　by　both　the　Gallup　and　Lou　Harris　pollsters；　due　to　the　fact　that　sixty…three　percent　of　those　interviewed　could　not　correctly　name　a　vice…president；　any　vice…president；　of　the　United　States。　Four　out　of　five　Harney　citizens　had　not　bothered　to　cast　ballots　during　the　previous　gubernatorial　election；　mainly　because　the　annual　bull…semen　auction　was　scheduled　the　same　day。
　This　was　a　town　where　Clinton　Tyree　was　sure　he'd　never　be　recognized；　where　he　could　build　himself　a　place　and　mind　his　own　business　and　call　himself　Rajneesh　or　Buzz；　or　even　Skink；　and　nobody　would　bother　him。
　Skink　waited　all　day　to　get　rid　of　the　body。　Once　darkness　fell；　he　took　the　truck　and　left　R。　J。　Decker　in　the　shack。　Decker　didn't　ask　because　he　didn't　want　to　know。
　Skink　was　gone　for　an　hour。　When　he　got　back；　he　was　regarbed　in　full　fluorescence。　He　stalked　through　the　screen　door　and　kicked　off　his　Marine　boots。　His　feet　were　bare。　He　had　two　limp　squirrels　under　one　arm；　fresh　roadkills。
　〃The　Armadillo　is　still　there；〃　he　reported。
　Immediately　Decker　guessed　what　had　happened：　Skink　had　hauled　the　other　body　out　to　Morgan　Slough。　And　he　probably　had　hooked　it　on　the　same　fish　stringer。
　〃I　can't　stay　here；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Suit　yourself。　Sheriff　cars　all　over　the　place。　There's　a　pair　of　'em　parked　out　on　the　Mormon　Trail；　and　they　hate　it　out　there；　believe　me。　Could　be　something's　in　the　wind。〃
　Decker　sat　on　the　bare　wooden　floor；　his　back　rubbing　against　the　unvarnished　planks　of　a　bookcase。　He　needed　sleep；　but　every　time　he　closed　his　eyes　he　saw　Ott　Pickney's　corpse。　The　images　were　indelible。　Three　frames；　if　he'd　had　a　camera。
　First：　the　crest　of　the　skull　breaking　the　surface；　Ott's　hair　dripping　to　one　side　like　brown　turtle　grass。
　Then　a　shot　of　the　bloodless　forehead　and　the　wide…open　eyes　focused　somewhere　on　eternity。
　Finally：　a　full　pallid　death　mask；　fastened　grotesquely　on　the　stringer　with　a　loop　of　heavy　wire；　and　suspended　from　the　water　by　Skink's　tremendous　arms；　visible　in　the　lower…left…hand　corner　of　the　frame。
　That　was　how　R。　J。　Decker　was　doomed　to　remember　Ott　Pickney。　It　was　a　curse　of　the　photographic　eye　never　to　forget。
　〃You　look　like　you're　ready　to　quit；〃　Skink　said。
　〃Give　me　another　option。〃
　〃Keep　going　as　if　nothing　happened。　Stay　on　Dickie　Lockhart's　ass。　There's　a　bass　tournament　this　weekend…〃
　〃New　Orleans。〃
　〃Yeah；　well；　let's　go。〃
　〃You　and　me？〃
　〃And　Mr。　Nikon。　You　got　a　decent　tripod；　I　hope。〃
　〃Sure；〃　Decker　said。　〃In　the　car。〃
　〃And　a　six…hundred…millimeter；　at　least。〃
　〃Right。〃　His　trusty　NFL　lens；　it　could　peer　up　a　quarterback's　nostrils。
　〃So？〃　Skink　said。
　〃So　it's　not　worth　it；〃　Decker　said。
　Skink　tore　off　his　shower　cap　and　threw　it　into　a　corner。　He　pulled　the　rubber　band　out　of　his　ponytail　and　shook　his　long　hair　free。
　〃I　got　some　supper；〃　he　said。　〃I'll　eat　all　of　it　if　you're　not　hungry。〃
　Decker　rubbed　his　temples。　He　didn't　feel　like　food。　〃I　can't　believe　they'd　kill　somebody　over　a　goddamn　fish。〃
　Skink　stood　up；　holding　the　dead　squirrels　by　their　hind　legs。　〃This　thing　isn't　about　fishing。〃
　〃Well；　money　then；〃　Decker　said。
　〃That's　only　part　of　it。　If　we　quit；　we　miss　the　rest。　If　we　quit；　we　lose　Dickie　Lockhart；　probably　forever。　They　can't　touch　him　on　the　killings；　not　yet　anyway。〃
　〃I　know；〃　Decker　said。　There　wouldn't　be　a　shred　of　evidence。　Ozzie　Rundell　would　go　to　the　chair　before　he'd　rat　on　his　idol。
　Decker　asked；　〃Do　you　think　they　know　it's　us？〃
　〃Depends；〃　Skink　said。　〃Depends　if　the　other　guy　in　the　pickup　saw　our　faces　this　morning。　Also　depends　if　the　Armadillo　told　'em　about　you　before　he　died。　If　he　told　'em　who　you　are；　then　you've　got　problems。〃
　〃Me？　What　about　you？　It　was　your　gun　that　waxed　the　guy。〃
　〃What　gun？〃　Skink　said；　raising　his　hands。　〃What　gun　you　talking　about；　officer？〃　He　flashed　his　anchorman　smile。　〃Don't　worry　about　me；　Miami。　If　you've　got　the　urge　to　worry；　worry　about　setting　up　some　good　fish　pictures。〃
　Skink　cooked　the　squirrels　on　sticks　over　the　outdoor　fire。　Decker　drank　a　cold　beer　and　felt　the　night　close　down　over　Lake　Jesup。　They　ate　in　silence；　Decker　was　hungrier　than　he'd　thought。　Afterward　they　each　popped　open　another　beer　and　watched　the　embers　burn　down。
　〃Jim　Tile　is　with　us　the　whole　way；〃　Skink　said。
　〃Is　it　safe？〃　Decker　asked。　〃For　him；　I　mean。〃
　〃Not　for　him；　not　for　us。　But　Jim　Tile　is　a　careful　man。　So　am　I。　And　you…you're　catching　on。〃　Skink　balanced　the　beer　can　on　one　knee。　〃There's　an　Eastern　nonstop　to　New　Orleans；〃　he　said；　〃leaves　about　noon　from　Orlando。〃
　Decker　glanced　over　at　him。　〃What　do　you　think？〃
　Skink　said；　〃Probably　smart　if　we　drive　separate。〃
　Decker　nodded。　They'll　never　let　him　on　the　plane；　he　thought；　not　dressed　like　that。　〃Then　I　guess　I'll　see　you　at　the　airport。〃
　Skink　dumped　a　tin　of　water　on　the　last　of　the　coals。　〃Where　you　headed　tonight？〃　he　asked。
　〃There's　somebody　I　need　to　see；〃　Decker　said；　〃though　I'm　not　sure　where　she's　staying。　Actually；　I'm　not　even　sure　she's　still　in　town。　It's　Dennis　Gault's　sister。〃
　Skink　snorted。　〃She's　still　in　town。〃　He　peeled　off　his　rainsuit。　〃She's　at　the　Days　Inn；　least　that's　where　the　little　gumdrop　Vette　is　parked。〃
　〃Thanks；　I　can　find　it。　What　about　the　deputies　up　on　the　Trail？〃
　〃Long　gone；〃　Skink　said。　〃Shift　ended　a　half…hour　ago。〃
　He　walked　Decker　to　the　car。
　〃Be　careful　with　that　lady；〃　Skink　said。　〃If　you　get　the　urge　to　tell　her　your　life　story；　I　understand。　Just　leave　out　the　part　about　today。〃
　〃I'm　too　damn　tired；〃　Decker　sighed。
　〃That's　what　they　all　say。〃
　
　She　was　still　at　the　Days　Inn。　Room　135。　When　she　answered　the　door　she　wore　a　nightshirt。　One　of　those　expensive　silky　tops；　it　barely　came　down　far　enough　to　cover　her　pale　yellow　panties。　R。　J。　Decker　noticed　the　color　of　her　panties　when　she　reached　up　to　get　a　robe　from　a　hook　on　the　back　of　the　closet　door。　Decker　did　a　pitiful　job　of　trying　not　to　stare。
　Lanie　said；　〃What's　in　the　bag？〃
　〃A　change　of　clothes。〃
　〃You　going　somewhere？〃
　〃Tomorrow。〃
　〃Where？〃
　〃Up　north　a　ways。〃
　Lanie　sat　in　the　middle　of　the　bed　and　Decker　took　a　chair。　An　old　James　Bond　movie　was　on　television。
　〃Sean　Connery　was　the　best；〃　Lanie　remarked。　〃I've　seen　this　darn　thing　about　twenty　times。〃
　〃Why　are　you　still　in　town？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃I'm　going　tomorrow；　too。〃
　〃You　didn't　answer　the　question。　Why　are　you　still　here？　Why　didn't　you　go　home　after　Bobby's　funeral？〃
　Lanie　said；　〃I　went　out　to　the　cemetery　today。　And　yesterday。　I　haven't　felt　like　leaving　yet；　that's　all。　We　each　deal　with　grief　in　our　own　way…isn't　that　what　you　said？〃
　Very　sharp；　Decker　thought。　He　just　loved　it　when　they　filed　stuff　away。　〃Know　what　I　think？〃　he　said。　〃I　think　the　Gault　family　needs　to　be　tested。　Scientifically；　I　mean。　I　think　maybe　there's　a　genetic　deficiency　that　prevents　you　people　from　telling　the　truth。　I　think　the　Mayo　Clinic　might　be　very　interested。〃
　She　rolled　her　eyes；　a　little　ditty　right　out　of　high　school。　It　was　supposed　to　be　cool　but　it　came　off　as　nervous。
　〃I　won't　stay　long；〃　Decker　said；　〃but　we　need　to　talk。〃
　〃I　don't　feel　like　talking；〃　Lanie　said；　〃but　you're　wele　to　stay　as　long　as　you　like。　I'm　not　tired。〃
　She　crossed　her　legs　up　under　the　robe　and　glanced　over　at　him。　Something　in　the　stale　motel　room　smelled　fresh　and　wonderful；　and　it　definitely　wasn't　Parfum　de　Days　Inn。　It　was　Lanie；　she　was　one　of　those　women　who　just　naturally　smelled　like　a　spring　day。　Or　maybe　it　just　seemed　that　way　because　she　looked　so　good。　Whatever　the　phenomenon；　Decker　had　the　sense　to　realize　he　was　in　trouble；　that　by　walking　into　her　room　and　letting　her　hop　into　bed　he　had　lost　all　leverage；　all　hope　of　getting　any　answers。　He　knew　he　was　wasting　his　time；　but　he　didn't　feel　like　leaving。
　〃You　look　like　hell；〃　Lanie　said。
　〃Been　a　long　day。〃
　〃Hot　on　the　trail？〃
　〃Oh；　right。〃
　〃Anything　new　about　Bobby's　death？〃
　〃I　thought　you　didn't　feel　like　talking；〃　Decker　said。
　〃I'm　curious；　that's　all。　More　than　curious。　I　loved　him；　remember？〃
　〃You　keep　saying　that；〃　Decker　said；　〃like　you've　got　to　keep　reminding　yourself。〃
　〃Why　don't　you　believe　me？〃
　Lee　Strasberg　material。　Lanie　the　wounded　lover。　Her　tone　of　voice　was　exquisite…hurt　but　not　defensive。　And　not　a　flicker　of　doubt　in　those　beautiful　eyes；　in　fact；　she　looked　about　ready　to　cry。　It　was　such　a　splendid　performance　that　Decker　reconsidered　the　question：　Why　didn't　he　believe　her？
　〃Because　Bobby　Clinch　wasn't　your　type；〃　he　said。
　〃How　do　you　know？〃
　〃That　Corvette　parked　outside。　That's　you；　Lanie。　Bobby　was　pure　pickup　truck。　You　might've　liked　him；　laid　him；　maybe　even　given　him　that　blowjob　you're　so　proud　of；　but　you　didn't　love　him。〃
　〃You　can　tell　all　this　from　looking　at　a　damn　car！〃
　〃I'm　an　expert；〃　Decker　said；　〃it's　what　I　do。〃　It　was　true　about　cars：　there　was　no　better　clue　to　the　total　personality。　Any　good　cop　would　tell　you　so。　Decker　hadn't　thought　much　about　the　psychology　of　automobiles　until　he　became　a　private　investigator　and　had　to　spend　half　his　time　tracing；　following；　and　photographing　all　kinds。　On　long　surveillances　in　busy　parking　lots　he　made　a　game　of　matching　shoppers　to　their　cars；　and　had　gotten　good　at　it。　The　make；　model；　color；　everything　down　to　the　shine　on　the　hubcaps　was　a　clue　to　the　puzzle。　Decker's　own　car　was　a　plain　gray　1979　Plymouth　Volare；　stylistically　the　most　forgettable　automobile　Detroit　ever　produced。　Decker　knew　it　fit　him　perfectly。　It　fit　his　need　to　be　invisible。
　〃So　you　think　I　belong　back　in　Miami；〃　Lanie　was　saying　sarcastically。　〃Who　can　you　picture　me　with；　Decker？　I　know…a　young　Colombian　stud！　Rolex；　gold　necklace；　and　black　Ferrari。　Or　maybe　you　figure　I'm　too　old　for　a　coke　whore。　Maybe　you　see　me　on　the　arm　of　some