The bedroom felt cold in the dark. Jake pulled up the covers he had kicked off in his sleep. He thought that if this was a movie he’d pull out a cigarette and puff on it in the shadows. Macho man. Jake had never smoked. As a kid he couldn’t afford cigarettes. Later, he understood the medical warnings about tobacco and never allowed himself to take up the habit.

But now he felt alone and cold and miserable without even a cigarette to light his darkness. What’s the use? he asked himself. What’s the fucking use?

If I’d driven to the store instead of letting Louise go she’d be alive now. Maybe I’d be dead but she’d be alive. She didn’t deserve to die. She was so full of life, so giving and caring. She brought happiness wherever she went. She—

Stop it! he commanded himself. She’s dead and there’s nothing you can do about it. Not a goddamned sonofabitch motherfucking thing you can do about it. Life belongs to the living. Get on with your life.

Yeah. Get on with it. Why? What for? You’ve just been going through the motions for the past year. That’s why Lev pushed you into this Tomlinson business. To give you something to live for. Big fucking deal. Working for a rich bastard who’s playing at being a politician. The wannabe senator. And he’s already thinking about the White House.

Amy. The sex is good with Amy. Terrific, really. Jake shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. I ought to feel guilty about it. Louise hasn’t been dead for much more than a year and here I’m rolling in the sheets with a chick who looks like a football cheerleader.

And fucks like a rabbit, he added. Louise would understand, he thought. It’s not love, Lou. It’s just sex. The body takes over, like cruise control.

Just sex. Yeah, like oxygen is just something you suck into your lungs.

He lay down again on the wrinkled sheet, pulled the blanket up to his chin, turned on his side, and watched the digital clock’s numerals change. When they reached 5:00 A.M. he rolled over on his other side and squeezed his eyes shut. Go to sleep, asshole. You’ve got a class to teach.

And some detective work to do.

*   *   *

Jake was bleary-eyed when he arrived in his office that morning, but the first thing he did was phone Glynis Colwyn and invite her to lunch.

“I’m rather busy…,” she began. Jake could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“I really need to talk with you,” he said, with more conviction than he really felt. “We had this meeting between Tomlinson and the professor yesterday, and I need to talk it over with you.”

“Why me? I wasn’t there.”