Death of a Blue Movie Star

that. That Oedipus thing.
    Okay, he was older.
    Okay, he was a cop.
    Okay, her mother would shit a brick when she heard.
    Still …
    At a deli she bought a chocolate milk and a package of Oreos—lunch—then walked up the street a half block and sat on a fire hydrant, sipping the milk out of the carton through a bent straw.
    Healy’s wife, she reflected. That was probably the problem. Why he hadn’t called.
    He was attracted to Rune—oh, she could tell that—but he was still in love with this wife.
    That was a weird thing about men: Love was like a business to them. They get it into their heads that they invest so much time in somebody, it’s like a total bummer to give it up too fast. The wife, what was her name, Cheryl? She’d be a bitch, of course. She’d eat him alive. Oh, already the shifty lawyers were working on gouging him for alimony, while she dressed up in silky oriental dresses and had affairs. She neglected Adam, locked him in the basement while she had sex with her lovers on the rec-room floor….
    Vampire, vampire!
    He should dump her fast.
    The last of the milk was slurping through the straw when she saw the station wagon turn the corner and cruise past, slowing down. It stopped fast and screeched backward, stopping quickly in front of her.
    The engine idled for a moment, then went silent. Sam Healy got out. He looked at Rune, then at the smoldering front of the Pink Pussycat, then back to Rune. She picked up the video camera and walked over to him.
    “How—,” he began.
    Rune held up a small black box. “These guys are great. Police radio receiver. Reporters use them to get the scoop. I heard the call. Code Ten-thirty-three.”
    The smile began low and wouldn’t stay down. “You shouldn’t be here. But I’m getting tired of telling you that so I don’t think I will.”
    “Sorry to hear about the trouble at home.”
    He frowned, shook his head. “What trouble?”
    “About your phone breaking. So you couldn’t make calls.”
    Maybe he was blushing but if so he didn’t look embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should have.”
    No excuses. She liked that. “I’d be mad,” she said, “except you actually look kind of glad to see me.”
    “Maybe I am.”
    A voice called from beside the shattered box office. “Hey, Sam.”
    They turned. Rune was glad to see it wasn’t Brown Suit. A uniformed cop waved lazily. He shouted, “The battalion commander says it’s okay to go in. We’ve rigged lights for you. Not much to see, though.”
    “Can I?” Rune asked.
    Healy kept his face on the front of the building.
    “Please?”
    He said, “You get hurt in there, I could lose my job.”
    “I won’t get hurt. I’m tough. I bounce.”
    His lips twisted slightly, Sam Healy’s concession to a sigh, and he nodded his head in a way that might have meant anything but that Rune knew meant:
Shut up and get your ass inside
.
    “No taping.”
    “Aw.”
    “No.”
    “Okay, you win.”
    Together, for an hour, they sifted through the debris. Rune kept running to Healy every few minutes with bits of metal and wire and screws in her hand and he’d explain they were chair hardware or wires from the wall or the plumbing.
    “But they’re all burnt. I thought—”
    “Everything’s burnt.”
    “That’s true,” she said and went back to sifting.
    Healy’s own pile of Significant Junk, which is how Rune thought of it, was growing, nestling in a stack of plastic bags under the exit sign.
    “Zip is what I’ve got. Zip.”
    “No note this time,” Rune pointed out.
    He said, “The MO’s the same as the first.”
    “Modus operandi,” Rune said.
    “The bomb was C-3. Timed detonator. You know, these last two bombs don’t help your theory about someone covering up Shelly’s murder. Nobody’s going to keep bombing just to cover up a crime.”
    “Sure they are. If they’re smart.”
    They’d both begun to cough; the fumes were thick. Healy motioned her to follow him outside.
    As they stepped into the air, breathing deeply, Rune looked up at the crowd.
    She saw a flash of color.
    Red. It looked like a red jacket.
    “Look! It’s him!”
    She couldn’t see his face but it seemed that he saw her; the man turned and disappeared east down Forty-seventh.
    “I’m going after him!”
    “Rune!” Healy called but she ducked under the yellow tape and ran through the mass of spectators pressing forward to get a look at the disaster.
    By the time she broke through them, though, he was two blocks