“Detective” I said. “This guy has my wife. Maybe you've never been married—”

“Twice” he said. “It didn't work.”

“Well, it works for me” I said. “I'd like to get her back in one piece.”

He stared at me for a very long moment before he finally said, “Who is this guy? I mean, you know.”

“Brandon Weiss” I said, not sure where this was going.

“That's just his name” he said. “Who the fuck is he?” I shook my head, not truly sure what he meant, and even less sure that I wanted to tell him.

“But this is the guy that, you know. Did all those fancy dead body displays that the governor was pissed off about?”

“I'm pretty sure he did” I said.

He nodded and looked at his hand, and it occurred to me that there was no Mountain Dew bottle hanging from it. The poor man must have run out.

“Be a good thing to nail this guy” he said.

“Yes, it would” I said.

“Make all kinds of people happy” he said. “Good for the career.” I suppose so” I said, wondering if perhaps I should have hit him with the chair after all.

Coulter clapped his hands. “All right” he said. “Let's go get him.” It was a wonderful idea, very decisively delivered, but I saw one small problem with it. “Go where?” I said. “Where has he taken Rita?” He blinked at me. “What? He told you” he said.

I don't think so” I said.

“Come on, you don't watch public television?” he said, sounding like I had committed some kind of crime with small animals.

“Not very much” I admitted. “The kids have outgrown Barney.”

“They been running promos for it for three weeks” he said. “The Art-stravaganza.”

“The what?”

“The Art-stravaganza, at the Convention Center” he said, starting to sound like the promo. “Over 200 cutting edge artists from across North America and the Caribbean, all under one roof.” I could feel my mouth moving in a game attempt to make words, but nothing came out. I blinked and tried again, but before I could make any sound at all, Coulter jerked his head at the door and said, “Come on. Let's go get “em.” He took one step backward. “Afterwards we can talk about why that looks like you with the guy in the tub.” This time I actually got both of my feet on the floor, together, ready to propel me up and out —but before I could take it any further my cell phone rang. Out of habit more than anything else, I answered it. “Hello” I said.

“Mr Morgan?” a tired young female voice asked.

“Yes” I said.

“This is Megan? At the after-school program? That, you know, um, with Cody? And Astor?”

“Oh, yes” I said, and a new alarm began to clatter on the main floor of my brain.

“It's like five after six?” Megan said. “And I gotta go home now?