He drove back to the office, random phrases darting through his mind so quickly he could not assemble them. They bounced off each other, uncontrollable, until all they lived for was their speed. Fission. He knew in some part of him that he had no reason to feel angry or betrayed or shamed at his own inability to know what to do, how he ought to feel, but the feelings bounced off each other too, like glandular surges that swept through his blood, drowning thought. He saw her with Karl, in some motel room like theirs, sweaty and half lit. She had felt sorry for him. And Karl? What had he felt? Surprise at his good luck? Or did he worry, wondering what it all meant? But he had kept quiet, cared enough to lie for her. Now she wanted him to lie, another Karl. For Daniel. Because she cared enough to protect him but not enough to be faithful.
But who was he to accuse her of that? He’d never even thought about Daniel before, betraying him again and again, because for them it had been different, as natural and carefree as a hike through the canyon. I didn’t know you then. But what if she had? Would it have been any different? It always comes back to that. She had walked in through the gate. I thought it died with him. But no, this was crazy. You’ve become as mad as the rest of them. And suddenly he felt for the first time what it had been like for Karl, this endless noisy suspicion ricocheting so loudly inside him that he couldn’t hear anything else. And when it stopped-and now it did-his mind blank-absolutely nothing. She disappeared in the rearview mirror. He felt as empty as Karl’s room.
When he parked and walked through the Tech Area fence, his mind was still cloudy and preoccupied, but it was Weber who didn’t see him, bumping so hard into his shoulder that he was stopped in midflight.
“Ouf. Pardon, pardon,” he said in the all-purpose French used in crowds at railway terminals. He looked up at Connolly dimly through his glasses, trying to focus his memory. “Ah, Mr. Connolly. The music. Yes, I’m so sorry. I’m late again, you see.”
“No, my fault. I was just thinking.”
Weber smiled. “Thinking,” he said, savoring the word. “For us now it’s only the work. So close.” He fluttered his hand in the air. “Every day a new deadline. But no matter. We’re almost there.” The w was a v.
“So I hear.”
Weber looked up at him sharply, a pinprick of alarm, then put it aside, too absorbed to pursue it. “We all work too hard-even thinking. You look like Robert. All the troubles of the world. No time even for music. Do you play?”
Connolly smiled to himself. “No, but I like to listen.”
“Good, good, come tomorrow. A small gathering. So many at Trinity now, of course.”
Before Connolly could answer, Weber started off, his mind busy again with formulas. Connolly watched him go, bustling toward the gate, encased in his private bubble. He seemed the very soul of the Hill, all distraction and yeast cakes and the determined icepick at the dance.
But the sudden jolt to Connolly’s shoulder had awakened him, like someone shaking him to get up for work. He knew that later he would sink back into his private obsession, the terrible feeling of having broken something he didn’t know how to fix. But what did any of it have to do with the case? At least there was still that. He thought of Weber peering up, trying to place him. Karl had known Emma right away. All she had had to do was walk into the office.
When he got to his desk, however, he simply sat there staring, not sure where to begin.
“What’s wrong?” Mills said.
“Nothing. Why?”
“I don’t know. You look funny. Everything all right?”
“As rain,” he said absently, then, aware of Mills watching him, picked up the phone to call Holliday.
“Howdy,” Doc said when he got on. “I was just about to call you.”
“Let me ask you something,” Connolly said briskly. “You examined the body.”
“Well, I saw it-”
“Could a woman have done it?”
“Not unless she was one hell of a strong woman. He was hit more than once, you know. Kicked too. Not many women’d do that. At least, I hope not. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Just a little crazy, I guess.”
“It’s the altitude. You ought to watch that. They say half the people up there are crazy.”
Connolly said nothing, running his finger along the edge of the phone, his mind elsewhere.
“Want to know why I was going to call?” Doc said finally.
“I’m sorry. Yes. Sure.”
“You’re going to like this. Cheer you right up. You know those bars you told me to look into, the ones we haven’t got? Turns out you were right. We got one.”
Connolly said nothing but looked up from the phone, puzzled.
“Now I suppose I got to keep my eye on it. Wish I could say I was better off knowing about it, but I doubt it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m getting to it. Turns out there was a little loose talk there and one of my boys heard about it. ‘Course, everybody was quiet as a mouse before, but now that they’ve got the guy-well, you know how it is. A few beers and-”
“Doc-”
