Free Crimson Joy by Robert B. Parker Page A

boss, you know that," Belson said.
    Quirk nodded.
    "So they are committed to Washburn," I said.
    "Yeah," Quirk said.
    "Means they figure his story will hold up," Hawk said.
    "He's pretty steady on that," Quirk said.
    "It's the only thing he is steady on," Belson said. "Everything else, he's only got one oar in the water."
    "He'd have to be," I said. I told them Susan's hypothesis.
    "It's the only way he can think about what he did," Hawk said. "He probably won't slide on it."
    Belson looked at Hawk, and shook his head.
    "Whatever his reasons," Quirk said, "I agree he won't waffle on the confession."
    "So," I said. "If the real Red Rose is smart, he'll stop killing people for a while and walk away from this without anybody laying a glove on him."
    Quirk nodded.
    "If he can," Hawk said.
    "If he can," Quirk said, "and he's a cop; he can be working in my department, talking with me every day for all I know."
    "And if he can't, then he'll kill some more women," I said.
    We were auiet. Belson knocked some of the accumu lated ash of his cigar into Susan's bright red saucer that matched the bright red fan on the wall, that picked up one of the colors in her Oriental rug, that reflected in its design the shape of the mirror in the hall, that balanced the architectural detail over the archway to the bedroom. The ash didn't match anything.
    "We need to find out about this guy left the rose for Susan," Quirk said.
    "I been giving that some thought," I said.
    "You have a plan?" Quirk said.
    "Yeah, we got to do this right," I said. "But the thing to do is stake out Susan's office and identify every one of her patients who could have been the guy I chased."
    "Susan won't cooperate?" Belson said.
    "No," I said.
    "Even to save her own ass?" Belson said.
    "Life," I said.
    "Yeah, sorry."
    "No."
    "Doesn't make sense," Belson said.
    "To you," Hawk said. "Make sense to Susan."
    Belson looked at Hawk again, held the look for a moment, then nodded.
    "How long will it take?" Quirk said.
    "Should be a week or so; most patients come once or twice a week," I said. "It's the best I can think of."
    Quirk nodded.
    "Got to be careful," I said. "Some patient leaves psychotherapy and finds a cop following…"
    "I know," Quirk said. "We can't fuck these people up."
    "Susan catch us and we got trouble," Hawk said.
    "I know that too," Quirk said.
    "Okay," I said. "We watch. First patient arrives at nine and the last patient leaves at six. If they drive, we can get the license numbers.
    If they walk, we can follow them."
    "And one of us is always here with Susan," Quirk said.
    "Yeah."
    "Can you see from here?" Quirk said. He walked to the window.
    "Not well enough. We have to be outside."
    Hawk looked out the window. It was dark and the rain was steady.
    "Outside the place to be," he said, "on your vacation." . They thought it was somebody else. A schwartze. Some wife killer who'd faked it and made it look like he'd done them all. Talk about lucky. All he had to do was stop and they'd fry the schwartze and he'd be safe. Could he stop? Jesus, would he miss it. What a loss. What a hole in his life.
    It was what he did. The planning, the stalking, the catching, the escaping, it organized him. Who was he without it? What should he do?
    If he could talk with her about it? But if she knew, she'd tell. He couldn't see her anymore. But he wanted her to know.
    "Come in," she said.
    The rain sheeted down along the window behind the tropical fish tank.
    The fish seemed restless. Water and water. He sat in his usual seat.
    He felt full of his need for her to know. But she'd tell. He knew she'd tell her boyfriend.
    "When I was little, I was very close to my mother," he said. She nodded.
    "I could tell her anything. "It's all right, "she say, "I'm your mother.""
    She made a tiny rolling motion with her forefinger to encourage him on.
    "I told her everything."
    She had on a brown glen plaid suit today, with a white blouse.
    "I remember when I was a little kid, maybe third grade,