“The phone call, by itself, is stupidity—like you said, cowardly shit. Someone coming on your property in the middle of the night and killing something is more. All of it put together is more. How much more I don't know, but I'd rather be a little paranoid than get taken by surprise. After we spoke on the phone this afternoon I really wracked my brains about what was bothering me. Went back into the Basille files, found the video, and watched it. And realized it wasn't the phrase that I remembered, it was the screams. Someone had stuck Hewitt's screams on your little gift.”

He pulled his wet hand away from the dog's maw, looked at it, wiped it on his jacket.

“Where'd the video come from?” I said. “TV station's raw footage?”

He nodded.

“How much of it was actually broadcast?”

“Not much at all. This TV station has a twenty-four-hour crime-watch van with a scanner—anything for the ratings, right? They got to the scene first and were the only ones to actually record the whole thing. Their total footage is ten minutes or so, mostly no-action standoff before Hewitt comes out with Adeline. What you just saw is thirty-five seconds.”

“That's all? It seemed a lot longer.”

“Seemed like a goddamn eternity, but that's what it was. The part that actually made it to the six o'clock news was nine seconds. Five of Hewitt with Adeline, three of Rambo close-ups on the SWAT guys, and one second of Hewitt down. No blood, no screaming, no standing dead man.”

“Wouldn't sell deodorant,” I said, pushing the image of the teetering corpse out of my head. “Why was the sound off for most of it? Technical difficulties?”

“Yup. Loose cable on their parabolic mike. The sound man caught it midway through.”

“What did the other stations broadcast?”

“Postmortem analysis by the department mouthpiece.”

“So if the screams on my tape were lifted, the source had to be this particular piece of footage.”

“Looks that way.”

“Meaning what? Mr. Silk's an employee of the TV station?”

“Or a spouse, kid, lover, pal, significant other, whatever. If you give me your patient list, I can try to get hold of the station's personnel records and cross-check.”

“Be better if you give me the personnel list,” I said. “Let me check it against my patients, so I can preserve confidentiality.”

“Fine. Another list you might try to get is the one for your “bad love' conference. Anyone who attended. It was a long time ago, but maybe the hospital keeps records.”

“I'll call tomorrow.”

He got up and touched his throat. “Now I'm thirsty.”

We went into the kitchen, opened beers, and sat at the table, drinking and brooding.

The dog positioned himself between us, licking his lips.

Milo said, “He doesn't get to go for the gusto?”

“Teetotaler.” I got up and slid the water bowl over. The dog ignored it.