As far as Hood could tell from looking at him, Hausen was once again his strong, outspoken self. Whatever had been bothering him earlier was either taken care of or somehow had been back burnered.

Hood thought sadly, If only I could do the same. In the office, he was able to manage pain. He kept Charlie's death from getting to him because he had to be strong for his staff. He'd felt bad when Rodgers told him about the hate game in Billy Squires's computer, but there had been so much hate back in Los Angeles that it didn't shock him very much anymore.

All of that, he could manage, yet the incident in the hotel lobby was still with him. All those fine thoughts about Sharon and Ann Farris and fidelity were just that: thoughts. Bullshit and words.

After just a few weeks, he had accepted Squires's death. Yet after more than twenty years she was still with him. He was surprised by the disorientation, the urgency, the near-panic he had felt speaking to the doorman.

God, he thought, how he wanted to despise her. But he couldn't. Now, as over the years, whenever he tried he ended up hating himself. Now as then, he felt that somehow he was the one who had screwed up.

Though you'll never know for sure, he told himself. And that was nearly as bad as what had happened. Not knowing why it had happened.

He absently ran his hand along the breast pocket of his sports jacket. The pocket with his wallet. The wallet with the tickets. The tickets with the memories.

As he looked out the window at the park, he asked himself, And what would you have done if it had been her? Asked her, "So. How've you been? Are you happy? Oh, and by the way, hon-- why didn't you put a bullet in my heart to finish the job?"

"It's quite a view, is it not?" Hausen asked.

Hood was caught off guard. He came back to reality hard. "It is a magnificent view. Back home, I don't even have a window."

Hausen smiled. "The work we do is different, Herr Hood," he said. "I need to see the people I serve. I need to see young couples pushing baby carriages. I need to see elderly couples walking hand in hand. I need to see children playing."

"I envy you that," Hood said. "I spend my days looking at computer-generated maps and evaluating the merits of cluster bombs versus other weapon systems."

"Your job is to destroy corruption and tyranny. My arena is--" Hausen stopped, reached up as though plucking an apple from a tree, and pulled a word from the sky. "My arena is the antithesis of that. I try to nurture growth and cooperation."

"Together," Hood said, "we'd've made a helluva Biblical patriarch."

Hausen brightened. "You mean a judge."

Hood looked at him. "Sorry?"