Strange Highways

because the longer he remained in the bathroom, the less he would have to talk to the cop. When he was finally finished, it was quarter to ten. Judge had not yet called.
     "What have you got for breakfast?" Tuppinger asked.
     "Sorry. There isn't anything here."
     "Oh, you've got to have something. Doesn't have to be breakfast food. I'm not particular in the morning. I'll eat a cheese sandwich as happily as bacon and eggs."
     Chase opened the refrigerator and took out the bag of Winesap apples. "Only these."
     Tuppinger stared at the apples and into the empty refrigerator. He glanced at the whiskey bottle on the counter. He didn't say anything.
     "They'll do fine," Tuppinger said enthusiastically, taking the clear plastic bag of apples from Chase. "Want one?"
     "No."
     "You ought to eat breakfast," Tuppinger said. "Even something small. Gets the stomach working, sharpens you for the day ahead."
     "No, thanks."
     Tuppinger carefully peeled two apples, sectioned them, and ate them slowly, chewing well.
     By ten-thirty Chase was worried. Suppose Judge did not call today? The idea of having Tuppinger here for the afternoon and the evening, of waking up again to the sound of Tuppinger in the bathroom shaving, was all but intolerable.
     "Do you have a relief man?" Chase asked.
     "Unless it gets too protracted," Tuppinger said, "I'll stick with it myself."
     "How long might that be?"
     "Oh," Tuppinger said, "if we don't have it wrapped up in forty-eight hours, I'll call in my relief."
     Though another forty-eight hours with Tuppinger was in no way an attractive prospect, it was probably no worse - perhaps better than it would have been with another cop. Tuppinger was too observant for comfort, but he didn't talk much. Let him look. And let him think whatever he wanted to think. As long as he could keep his mouth shut, they wouldn't have any problems.
     At noon Tuppinger ate two more apples and cajoled Chase into eating most of one. They decided that Chase would go for take-out fried chicken, fries, and slaw at dinnertime.
     At twelve-thirty Chase had his first Jack Daniel's of the day.
     Tuppinger watched, but he didn't say anything.
     Chase didn't offer him a drink this time.
     At three in the afternoon the telephone rang. Although this was what they had been waiting for since the night before, Chase didn't want to answer it. Because Tuppinger was there, urging him to pick it up while he adjusted his own earphones, he finally lifted the receiver.
     "Hello?" His voice sounded cracked, strained.
     "Mr. Chase?"
     "Yes," he said, immediately recognizing the voice. It was not Judge.
     "This is Miss Pringle, calling for Dr. Fauvel, to remind you of your appointment tomorrow at three. You have a fifty-minute session scheduled, as usual."
     "Thank you." This double check was a strict routine with Miss Pringle, although Chase had forgotten about it.
     "Tomorrow at three," she repeated, then hung up.

     At ten minutes before five, Tuppinger complained of hunger and of a deep reluctance to consume a fifth Winesap apple.
     Chase didn't object to an early dinner, accepted Tuppinger's money, and went out to buy the chicken, French fries, and slaw. He purchased a large Coca-Cola for Tuppinger but nothing for himself. He would drink his usual.
     They ate at a quarter past five, without dinner conversation, watching an old movie on television.
     Less than two hours later Wallace arrived, looking thoroughly weary although he had only come on duty at six. He said, "Mr. Chase, do you think I might have a word alone with Jim?"
     "Sure," Chase said.
     He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water in the sink, which made a sound like dead men whispering. The noise put him on edge.
     He lowered the lid of the commode and sat facing the empty tub, realizing that it needed to be scrubbed. He wondered if Tuppinger had noticed.
     Less than five minutes passed before Wallace knocked on the door. "Sorry to push you out of your own place like that. Police business."
     "We haven't been lucky, as Mr. Tuppinger probably told you."
     Wallace nodded. He looked peculiarly sheepish, and for the first time he could not meet Chase's gaze. "I've