Hell's bells it cost forty-seven thousand dollars shit Larry's gonna sue me double shit.

Enough for a man to live in Guatemala for the rest of his life.

Shit.

But the battered Betacam was just where she'd left it.

She sat for ten minutes, calming down, then started to clean. An hour later a good percentage of order had been restored. The burglar hadn't been particularly subtle. To unlock the door, he'd pitched a rock through one of the small windows looking out on the Jersey side. She swept the glass up and nailed a piece of plywood over the opening.

She'd thought about calling the cops again, but what would they do?

Why bother? They'd be too busy protecting nuns and the mayor's brother and celebrities.

She was just finishing cleaning when she glanced at the Betacam once more.

The door on the video camera's recording deck was open and the cassette of Shelly was gone.

The man in the red jacket had robbed her.

A moment of panic... until she ran to her bedroom and found the dupe tape she'd made. She cued it up to make sure. Saw a bit of Shelly's face and ejected the cassette. She put it in a Baggie and slipped it into the cornflakes box with her money.

Rune locked the doors and windows, turned out the outside lights. Then she made herself a bowl of Grape-Nuts and sat down on her bed, slipped the tear gas canister under a pillow, and lay back against the pile of pillows. She stared at the ceiling as she ate.

Out the window, a tug honked its deep vibrating horn. She turned to look and caught a glimpse of the pier. She remembered the attack, the man in the red windbreaker.

She remembered the terrible burst of explosion, the pressure wave curling around her face.

She remembered Shelly's blonde head turning into the room to die.

Rune lost her appetite and put aside the bowl. She climbed out of bed and walked to the kitchen. She opened the phone book and found the section on colleges and universities. She began to read.

Death of a Blue Movie Star

CHAPTER SEVEN

The problem was that his voice kept trailing into silence as he answered her questions.

As if everything he said brought to mind something else he had to consider.

“Professor?” Rune prompted.

“Right, sure.” And he'd continue on for a few minutes. Then the words would meander once again.

His office was filled with what must have been two thousand books. The window overlooked a patch of quadrangle grass and the low sprawl of Harlem beyond that. Students strolled by slowly. They all seemed dreamy-eyed and intense. Professor V.C.V. Miller sat back in his creaky wooden chair.