From the Corner of His Eye

it."
        "Listen here, Detective, these sick insinuations that somehow I had something to do with my wife's-"
        Vanadium held up a hand as though to halt him and spoke over his complaint: "Spare me the outrage. Besides, I'm not insinuating any thing. I'm flat-out accusing you of murder. Were you humping another woman, Enoch? Is that where your motivation lies?"
        "This is disgusting."
        "To be honest-and I'm always honest with you-I can't find any hint of another woman. I've talked to a lot of people already, and every one thinks you and Naomi were faithful to each other."
        "I loved her."
        "Yeah, you said, and I already conceded that might even be true.
        Your apple juice is getting warm."
        According to Caesar Zedd, one cannot be strong until one first learns how always to be calm. Strength and power come from perfect self-control, and perfect self-control arises only from inner peace. Inner peace, Zedd teaches, is largely a matter of deep, slow, and rhythmic breathing combined with a determined focus not on the past, or even on the present, but on the future.
        In his bed, Junior closed his eyes and breathed slowly, deeply. He focused on thoughts of Victoria Bressler, the nurse who waited anxiously to please him in the days ahead.
        "Actually," Vanadium said, "mainly I came to get my quarter."
        Junior opened his eyes but continued to breathe properly to ensure calm. He tried to imagine what Victoria's breasts would look like, freed from all restraint.
        Standing near the foot of the bed in a shapeless blue suit, Vanadium might have been the work of an eccentric artist who had carved a man out of Spam and dressed the meaty sculpture in thrift-shop threads.
        With the stocky detective looming, Junior wasn't able to stroke his imagination into an erotic mood. In his mind's eye, Victoria's ample bosom remained concealed behind a starched white uniform.
        "Cop's pay being what it is," Vanadium said, "every quarter counts."
        Magically, a quarter appeared in his right hand, between thumb and forefinger.
        This could not be the quarter that he had left with Junior in the night. Impossible.
        All day, for reasons he couldn't quite put into words, Junior had carried that quarter in a pocket of his bathrobe. From time to time, he had taken it out to examine it.
        Returning from his tests, he'd gotten into bed without stripping off the thin, hospital-issue robe. He was still wearing it over his pajamas.
        Vanadium couldn't know the whereabouts of the quarter. Besides, even when he'd swung the lunch tray over Junior's lap, the detective hadn't been close enough to pick the pocket of the robe.
        This was a test of Junior's gullibility, and he would not give Vanadium the satisfaction of searching his robe for the coin.
        "I'm going to file a complaint about you," Junior promised.
        "I'll bring you the proper form next time I visit."
        Vanadium flipped the quarter straight into the air and at once spread his arms, palms turned up to show that his hands were empty.
        Junior had seen the silvery coin snapping off the cop's thumb and spinning upward. Now it was gone, as though it had vanished in midair.
        For an instant, his attention had been distracted by Vanadium's presentation of his empty hands. Nevertheless, there was no way the cop could have snatched the coin out of the air.
        Yet, uncaught, the quarter would have dropped to the floor. Junior would have heard it ring off the tiles. Which he hadn't.
        As quick as a snake strikes, Vanadium was much closer to the bed than he had been when he tossed the coin, at Junior's side now, leaning over the railing. "Naomi was six weeks pregnant."
        "What?"
        "That's the news I mentioned. Most interesting thing in the autopsy report."
        Junior had thought the news was the lab report, which had found no ipecac in his spew. All that had been distraction.
        Those spike-sharp eyes, - tenpenny gray, nailed Junior to the bed, pinning him for scrutiny.
        Here, now, came the anaconda smile. "Did you argue about the baby, Enoch? Maybe she wanted it, and you didn't. Guy like you-a baby would cramp your style. Too much responsibility."
        "I… I didn't know."
        "Blood tests should reveal whether the child's yours or not. That also might explain all