“It happened fast,” I said.

Scribble scribble.

I looked over at Officer Minette, listening to the busboy and writing as well. She’d interviewed Robin, first, then the waitress. I was Hendricks’s assignment.

No handcuffs, that was a good sign.

Minette let the busboy go and came over. “Everyone seems to be telling the same story.” The narrative she recited matched what I’d told Hendricks. He relaxed.

“Okay, Doctor. I’m going to make a call and verify your address with DMV. That checks out, you’re free to go.”

“You might check if Hauser’s got a Quattro.”

Hendricks looked at me. “I might do that, sir.”

I searched for Robin.

Minette said, “Your lady friend went to the little girls’ room. She said the victim called her a slut.”

“He did.”

“That must’ve been irritating.”

“He was drunk,” I said. “I didn’t take him seriously.”

“Still,” she said. “That’s pretty annoying.”

“It wasn’t until he tried to hit me that I was forced to act.”

“Loser insults your date like that, some guys would have reacted stronger.”

“I’m a man of discretion.”

She smiled. Her partner didn’t join in.

She said, “I think we’re finished here, John.”

* * *

As Robin and I walked through the restaurant, someone whispered, “That’s the guy.”

Once we got outside, I exhaled. My ribs hurt. Hauser hadn’t touched me; I’d been holding in air for a long time. “What a disaster.”

Robin slipped her arm around my waist.

“You need to know,” I said, “that this was a civil case, nothing to do with police work.” I told her about the harassment charges against Hauser, my interview of his victims, the report I’d written.

“Why do I need to know?” she said.

“The way you feel about the ugly stuff. This was out of the blue, Robin.”

We headed for the Seville and I scanned the lot for the brown Audi.

There it was, parked six slots south. The red letters on the bumper sticker said, Get Therapy.

I wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Wasn’t surprised when we reached the Seville and both of my rear tires were flat. No slash marks; the valves had been opened.

Robin said, “That’s pathetic.”

“I’ve got a pump in the trunk.”

Part of the emergency kit Milo and Rick had gotten me last Christmas. Tire changing kit, flares, orange Day-Glo road markers, blankets, bottled water.

Rick taking me aside and confiding, “I’d have picked a nice sweater, but an ahem cooler head prevailed.”

Milo’s voice bellowing from the corner of their living room: “Haberdashery don’t cut it when you’re stranded out on some isolated road with no lights and wolves and God knows what other toothy carnivores are aiming their beady little predator eyes at your anatomy, just waiting to— ”

“Then why didn’t we get him a gun, Milo?”