We heard scratching and thumping at the door. I got up and opened it and the dog bounded in. He headed straight for Robin's side of the bed, stood on his hind legs, put his paws on the mattress, and began snorting. She lifted him up and he rewarded her with lusty licks.

“Settle down,” she said. “Uh-oh—look, he's getting excited.”

“Without testicles, yet. See the effect you have on men?”

“But of course.” She batted her lashes at me, turned back to the dog, and finally got him to lie still by kneading the folds of flesh around his jowls. He lapsed into sleep with an ease that I envied. But when I leaned over to kiss her, he opened his eyes, snuffled, and insinuated himself between us, curling atop the covers and licking his paws.

I said, “Maybe Milo can get hold of Paprock's and Shipler's medical histories, see if de Bosch's name or the Corrective School appears on them. Sometimes people conceal psych treatment, but with the cost, it's more likely there's some kind of insurance record. I'll ask him when I see him tonight.”

“What's tonight?”

“We were planning on going back to the freeway, try to talk to more of the homeless people in order to get a handle on this Gritz character.”

“Is it safe going back there?”

“I'll have Milo with me. Whether or not it's productive remains to be seen.”

“All right,” she said uneasily. “If you want it to be productive, why don't you stop at a market and get those people some food?”

“Good idea. You're full of them today, aren't you?”

“Motivation,” she said. She turned serious, reached up and held my face in both of her hands. “I want this to be over. Please take care of yourself.”

“Promise.” We managed to maintain a convoluted embrace despite the dog.

I fell asleep, smelling perfume and kibble. When I woke up my stomach was sour and my feet were sore. Inhaling and letting out the air, I sat up and cleared my eyes.

“What is it?” Robin mumbled, her back to me.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” She rolled over and faced me.

“Someone in a therapy group, getting wounded and keeping it inside all these years.”

She touched my face.

“What the hell do I have to do with it?” I said. “Am I just a name on a damned brochure, or did I hurt someone without ever knowing it?”

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER

15

I heard the unhealthy-sounding engine from inside the house. Milo's Fiat, reduced to a squat little toy on the monitor.

I went outside. The wind had stopped. The car expelled a plume of smoke, then convulsed. It didn't look as if it would survive the evening.

“Figured it would blend in where we're going,” he said, getting out. He carried a large, white plastic bag and was wearing work clothes. The bag smelled of garlic and meat.

“More food?” I said.