David Wiltse - Bone Deep

He had been acting strange for several days, although Karen could not pinpoint the exact time or incident when the change began. It always came upon him at some time in the course of a case as he began to delve deeper within himself to find the traces of his quarry there, and Karen had discovered that her best course of action was simply to give him room and to take none of his behavior personally. It would never have occurred to her that the coolness of his gaze and his prolonged silences were occasioned this time by a churning sense of doubt and suspicion aimed at her.

Becker awoke to the cawing of crows and lay on his back, his eyes wide as if he were startled to find himself in his own bed. The crows were congregated in his backyard and he could see half a dozen of them hanging am ong the tree branches like black rags scattered by the wind.

They screamed at each other, although whether it was to summon or to warn others away Becker could not tell, for more and more of them arrived, taking their places with a final flap of pinions, then folding their wings around themselves and setting forth a new cry like a crowd of paid mourners.

Becker lay still, watching them through his window, struggling to recall the name given to a gathering of crows. it was a gaggle of geese, an exaltation of skylarks-and a murder of crows. He was besieged by a murder of birds. How appropriate, he thought. How thoroughly in keeping with his mood.

Becker walked through the empty house-Karen was at Work, Jack at Summer camp-looking out of different windows, seeking a perspective that would explain the presence of the crows. It was probably not some canion, he reasoned, no fallen cat or dog or deer, or the crows would be on the ground, surrounding it, not perched in the trees and cawing.- He searched through the woods at the back of his lot, looking for the motions of some trapped or dying animal, some future feast not quite yet attackable, but saw nothing alive. Even the omnipresent squirrels seemed to have been frightened away by the growing shroud of black in the trees. He knew they would attack another bird's nest if they could, snatching the hatchlings in their huge beaks, but not in such numbers.

Nest robbing was solitary work. If they were going to mate, they were very slow in getting to it.

The din of crowing continued, loud, abrasive, querulous, as Becker knelt to peer at them from the living room window and then moved on into the office he shared with Karen. As he crouched down to the level of the desk surface and tilted his head to one side to spy the treetops, his eye wa s dead level with the Rolodex. Becker straightened slowly, still staring at the index cards, his body as tense as if he had felt the presence of another person in the room. Unless one gave the Rolodex a spin, it stayed open to the last listing someone had looked at. It was open now to Stanley Kom, and Becker knew that he had not opened it there.

The crows forgotten, Becker stood glaring at the entry, feeling a surge of adrenaline course through him. It was not anger, it was fear. If I lose Karen, Becker thoughtand then could think no farther, could not allow himself to think farther. The prospect was more than he could bear. He picked up the phone and jabbed at the number on Kom's card. "We have to talk," he said.

"Hello, Mr. Becker," said Tovah, sounding amused. "I wondered when you would call."

"Is he at work?"

"Yes. Or so he said." There was a slight pause, just long enough for both of them to be aware of it. "Is she?"

I 'Yes."

For a moment Becker feared that Tovah would ask if he was sure; he was grateful when she did not.

"Why don't you come over here?" she said.

"When?"

"When would you like to?"

"Now," he said.

"Give me half an hour," she said. "This is a little early in my day."

As he dressed, Becker remembered the crows. If they came to feast, their prey would have to be very large to support such a hopeful number.

He wondered bitterly if the trapped and wounded beast they waited for was himself.

Tovah chose green for the meeting and Becker could see why she had needed the half hour of lead time. Her eyeshadow matched her fingernails and even her lipstick had the hue of fresh grass. The effect on her skin of so much surrounding green was to give it the faintly sickly look of skim milk.

"You're early," she said, smirking. "Does this mean you're eager to see me?"

"You're ready," Becker said sourly. "Does that mean you couldn't wait?"

"You're not in a very good mood this morning, Mr. Becker. You've lost that light touch that makes you so much fun."

"I figure you're fun enough for both of us."

"I can be," she said, walking toward the tennis court.

She did not bother to look back to see if Becker followed her. "At least some people tell me I can be fun. Not to Stanley, apparently, but to some."

"Were you planning to play a set or two, or are we going to talk?"

Becker asked, as she slouched into a chair beside the court. She positioned both legs in front of her in a vertical — circumflex, a pose he had only seen on models and actresses.

"The housekeeper is in the house," she said. "I didn't think we wanted to be overheard."

"This way she gets the thrill of watching us through the window and using her imagination. What do you know about Karen and your husband?"

"Well, that's direct. No more chitchat…" She leaned back in the chair, stretching her legs in front of her with the indolence of a man.

Becker knew she was aware that her legs were an impressive feature; he also knew that she was aware that he was aware. "So how much do you know about them?"

"I don't know anything. I'm not even certain that there is anything to know."

"Oh, you know," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"Probably not."

She smiled at him, seemingly unfazed by his lack of interest in her.

"No, you wouldn't be here just for me. I'm not good company," she said.

Her pause demanded a rebuttal.

"You're fine," Becker said impatiently. "How gallant."

"Tovah… Tovah, please tell me anything you know about your husband and my wife…"

"Do I detect an 'or' at the end of that sentence?"

"Or I'll have to kill Stanley without just cause."

"Promise?"

"Do I have good reason?"

"Why is it that they always want to kill Stanley and so seldom offer to murder their wives?"

"I love my wife."

"I know that. The funny thing is, I love my husband." Becker sat still, trying to control his impatience with his breathing.

"Shall I begin with Stanley first?" she asked.

"All right."

"I hope you've got plenty of time," she said.

Tee awoke to Marge shaking his shoulder.

"That thing is going off," she said. "You said to wake you. "

In the darkness of the bedroom, a tiny red light flashed on and off frantically, accompanied by an unrelenting beeping noise emitted by the receiver that sat atop the television set.

"Shit oh dear," said Tee, dragging himself fully awake. "How long has it been going?"

"Maybe a minute."

Tee was already out of bed, pulling on his clothes.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I did," Marge said.

"You said it had been going for a minute."

"I had to wake up myself, first. Do you have to go out in the middle of the night like this?"

"Do you think I'm doing it for fun?"

Marge looked at him in a way he had not seen for many years.

"Tee, you're not meeting someone, are you?"

"Becker and maybe Mr. Appleseed."

"I mean you're not seeing anyone, are you?"

Tee bent over to lace his shoes, keeping his eyes away from her.

"Christ's sake, Marge."

"Are you?"

"Like this? Half awake? I'm chasing a car."