He pulled off on the shoulder of the gravel road, noting that there were no visible houses and he was ten minutes early. He felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach and there was that stern, hushed sense of getting ready for the Big Game. He craned his neck out the window, catching a glimpse of white at the top of an ash tree. Was it a sea gull from Lake Michigan or perhaps a very rare albino crow? The crow would indicate an omen. Warlock was steadfastly Christian without knowing it, and habitually pooh-poohed all notions of magic, witchcraft, ghosts and suchlike, which, since they could neither be proved or disproved, had been tossed from the church with Aristotelian disdain. He got out of the car but the bird was gone. It had rained in the night and he was careful not to muddy his spit-shined cordovans. He stared into a swale near the road, unable to deny that his body felt a dark sense of mystery and forboding. There was a black bird with red wings on a cattail which made it a red-winged black bird. He wasn’t good at birds other than the basic crow, robin, blue jay, while Diana was a master with her Peterson guide. A grouse flushed thunderously from a covert of dogwood as he approached. He jumped straight up and came down gasping, his heart beating wildly. The fucking bird gave no warning. Just as suddenly a huge black BMW pulled up behind him, and he swung around as if to backhand the car. The car had silver reflector windows and Warlock couldn’t see the driver. It must be Rabun, he thought.

The interview began awkwardly, with a barely audible Bach cantata on the tape deck. Warlock thought it unfortunate that they were dressed almost identically in blue blazers and chinos, but Rabun seemed not to notice. The difference was Rabun’s dark, balloon shoes. The doctor had the resumé on his lap and was pouring two Bloody Marys from a thermos.

“I called Vergil Schmidt. We’re old acquaintances, both thirty-second degree Masons. He spoke very highly of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t say it, Vergil did. The only real black mark on your resumé is your divorce. I’m essentially Catholic and despise divorce.”

“I thought you said you were a Mason. Masons are Protestant.” Warlock wasn’t going to be driven into a corner so early in the interview.

“Very smart. I planted that to see if you were rehearsing or listening. Besides, your first wife spoke highly of you.” Rabun drank deeply from his Bloody Mary.

“Thank you.”

“Stop it for Christ’s sake. I’m scarcely Marilyn. I haven’t complimented you.”

“Excuse me. I’m a little rattled.”

“I know adrenaline. I saw the grouse flush. And you wonder why we’re meeting here?”

“Of course. It’s a little odd.”