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Skink waited all day to get rid of the body。 Once darkness fell； he took the truck and left R。 J。 Decker in the shack。 Decker didn't ask because he didn't want to know。
Skink was gone for an hour。 When he got back； he was regarbed in full fluorescence。 He stalked through the screen door and kicked off his Marine boots。 His feet were bare。 He had two limp squirrels under one arm； fresh roadkills。
〃The Armadillo is still there；〃 he reported。
Immediately Decker guessed what had happened： Skink had hauled the other body out to Morgan Slough。 And he probably had hooked it on the same fish stringer。
〃I can't stay here；〃 Decker said。
〃Suit yourself。 Sheriff cars all over the place。 There's a pair of 'em parked out on the Mormon Trail； and they hate it out there； believe me。 Could be something's in the wind。〃
Decker sat on the bare wooden floor； his back rubbing against the unvarnished planks of a bookcase。 He needed sleep； but every time he closed his eyes he saw Ott Pickney's corpse。 The images were indelible。 Three frames； if he'd had a camera。
First： the crest of the skull breaking the surface； Ott's hair dripping to one side like brown turtle grass。
Then a shot of the bloodless forehead and the wide…open eyes focused somewhere on eternity。
Finally： a full pallid death mask； fastened grotesquely on the stringer with a loop of heavy wire； and suspended from the water by Skink's tremendous arms； visible in the lower…left…hand corner of the frame。
That was how R。 J。 Decker was doomed to remember Ott Pickney。 It was a curse of the photographic eye never to forget。
〃You look like you're ready to quit；〃 Skink said。
〃Give me another option。〃
〃Keep going as if nothing happened。 Stay on Dickie Lockhart's ass。 There's a bass tournament this weekend…〃
〃New Orleans。〃
〃Yeah； well； let's go。〃
〃You and me？〃
〃And Mr。 Nikon。 You got a decent tripod； I hope。〃
〃Sure；〃 Decker said。 〃In the car。〃
〃And a six…hundred…millimeter； at least。〃
〃Right。〃 His trusty NFL lens； it could peer up a quarterback's nostrils。
〃So？〃 Skink said。
〃So it's not worth it；〃 Decker said。
Skink tore off his shower cap and threw it into a corner。 He pulled the rubber band out of his ponytail and shook his long hair free。
〃I got some supper；〃 he said。 〃I'll eat all of it if you're not hungry。〃
Decker rubbed his temples。 He didn't feel like food。 〃I can't believe they'd kill somebody over a goddamn fish。〃
Skink stood up； holding the dead squirrels by their hind legs。 〃This thing isn't about fishing。〃
〃Well； money then；〃 Decker said。
〃That's only part of it。 If we quit； we miss the rest。 If we quit； we lose Dickie Lockhart； probably forever。 They can't touch him on the killings； not yet anyway。〃
〃I know；〃 Decker said。 There wouldn't be a shred of evidence。 Ozzie Rundell would go to the chair before he'd rat on his idol。
Decker asked； 〃Do you think they know it's us？〃
〃Depends；〃 Skink said。 〃Depends if the other guy in the pickup saw our faces this morning。 Also depends if the Armadillo told 'em about you before he died。 If he told 'em who you are； then you've got problems。〃
〃Me？ What about you？ It was your gun that waxed the guy。〃
〃What gun？〃 Skink said； raising his hands。 〃What gun you talking about； officer？〃 He flashed his anchorman smile。 〃Don't worry about me； Miami。 If you've got the urge to worry； worry about setting up some good fish pictures。〃
Skink cooked the squirrels on sticks over the outdoor fire。 Decker drank a cold beer and felt the night close down over Lake Jesup。 They ate in silence； Decker was hungrier than he'd thought。 Afterward they each popped open another beer and watched the embers burn down。
〃Jim Tile is with us the whole way；〃 Skink said。
〃Is it safe？〃 Decker asked。 〃For him； I mean。〃
〃Not for him； not for us。 But Jim Tile is a careful man。 So am I。 And you…you're catching on。〃 Skink balanced the beer can on one knee。 〃There's an Eastern nonstop to New Orleans；〃 he said； 〃leaves about noon from Orlando。〃
Decker glanced over at him。 〃What do you think？〃
Skink said； 〃Probably smart if we drive separate。〃
Decker nodded。 They'll never let him on the plane； he thought； not dressed like that。 〃Then I guess I'll see you at the airport。〃
Skink dumped a tin of water on the last of the coals。 〃Where you headed tonight？〃 he asked。
〃There's somebody I need to see；〃 Decker said； 〃though I'm not sure where she's staying。 Actually； I'm not even sure she's still in town。 It's Dennis Gault's sister。〃
Skink snorted。 〃She's still in town。〃 He peeled off his rainsuit。 〃She's at the Days Inn； least that's where the little gumdrop Vette is parked。〃
〃Thanks； I can find it。 What about the deputies up on the Trail？〃
〃Long gone；〃 Skink said。 〃Shift ended a half…hour ago。〃
He walked Decker to the car。
〃Be careful with that lady；〃 Skink said。 〃If you get the urge to tell her your life story； I understand。 Just leave out the part about today。〃
〃I'm too damn tired；〃 Decker sighed。
〃That's what they all say。〃
She was still at the Days Inn。 Room 135。 When she answered the door she wore a nightshirt。 One of those expensive silky tops； it barely came down far enough to cover her pale yellow panties。 R。 J。 Decker noticed the color of her panties when she reached up to get a robe from a hook on the back of the closet door。 Decker did a pitiful job of trying not to stare。
Lanie said； 〃What's in the bag？〃
〃A change of clothes。〃
〃You going somewhere？〃
〃Tomorrow。〃
〃Where？〃
〃Up north a ways。〃
Lanie sat in the middle of the bed and Decker took a chair。 An old James Bond movie was on television。
〃Sean Connery was the best；〃 Lanie remarked。 〃I've seen this darn thing about twenty times。〃
〃Why are you still in town？〃 Decker asked。
〃I'm going tomorrow； too。〃
〃You didn't answer the question。 Why are you still here？ Why didn't you go home after Bobby's funeral？〃
Lanie said； 〃I went out to the cemetery today。 And yesterday。 I haven't felt like leaving yet； that's all。 We each deal with grief in our own way…isn't that what you said？〃
Very sharp； Decker thought。 He just loved it when they filed stuff away。 〃Know what I think？〃 he said。 〃I think the Gault family needs to be tested。 Scientifically； I mean。 I think maybe there's a genetic deficiency that prevents you people from telling the truth。 I think the Mayo Clinic might be very interested。〃
She rolled her eyes； a little ditty right out of high school。 It was supposed to be cool but it came off as nervous。
〃I won't stay long；〃 Decker said； 〃but we need to talk。〃
〃I don't feel like talking；〃 Lanie said； 〃but you're wele to stay as long as you like。 I'm not tired。〃
She crossed her legs up under the robe and glanced over at him。 Something in the stale motel room smelled fresh and wonderful； and it definitely wasn't Parfum de Days Inn。 It was Lanie； she was one of those women who just naturally smelled like a spring day。 Or maybe it just seemed that way because she looked so good。 Whatever the phenomenon； Decker had the sense to realize he was in trouble； that by walking into her room and letting her hop into bed he had lost all leverage； all hope of getting any answers。 He knew he was wasting his time； but he didn't feel like leaving。
〃You look like hell；〃 Lanie said。
〃Been a long day。〃
〃Hot on the trail？〃
〃Oh； right。〃
〃Anything new about Bobby's death？〃
〃I thought you didn't feel like talking；〃 Decker said。
〃I'm curious； that's all。 More than curious。 I loved him； remember？〃
〃You keep saying that；〃 Decker said； 〃like you've got to keep reminding yourself。〃
〃Why don't you believe me？〃
Lee Strasberg material。 Lanie the wounded lover。 Her tone of voice was exquisite…hurt but not defensive。 And not a flicker of doubt in those beautiful eyes； in fact； she looked about ready to cry。 It was such a splendid performance that Decker reconsidered the question： Why didn't he believe her？
〃Because Bobby Clinch wasn't your type；〃 he said。
〃How do you know？〃
〃That Corvette parked outside。 That's you； Lanie。 Bobby was pure pickup truck。 You might've liked him； laid him； maybe even given him that blowjob you're so proud of； but you didn't love him。〃
〃You can tell all this from looking at a damn car！〃
〃I'm an expert；〃 Decker said； 〃it's what I do。〃 It was true about cars： there was no better clue to the total personality。 Any good cop would tell you so。 Decker hadn't thought much about the psychology of automobiles until he became a private investigator and had to spend half his time tracing； following； and photographing all kinds。 On long surveillances in busy parking lots he made a game of matching shoppers to their cars； and had gotten good at it。 The make； model； color； everything down to the shine on the hubcaps was a clue to the puzzle。 Decker's own car was a plain gray 1979 Plymouth Volare； stylistically the most forgettable automobile Detroit ever produced。 Decker knew it fit him perfectly。 It fit his need to be invisible。
〃So you think I belong back in Miami；〃 Lanie was saying sarcastically。 〃Who can you picture me with； Decker？ I know…a young Colombian stud！ Rolex； gold necklace； and black Ferrari。 Or maybe you figure I'm