The Lesson of Her Death

discount.”
    “We haven’t got that in our budget. It’s already dented from you taking that flight to St. Louis.”
    Corde said, “I think we’ve got to. Nobody’s come forward. We need some help.”
    “Do the
Beacon
but I can’t afford the
Register,”
Ribbon said. “I’ve got another idea though. You ought to ask all the county shrinks about their patients. And all releases for the past month from Gunderson. That’s an approach a lot of investigators take in serial killings.”
    “A low-security mental hospital, two hundred miles away?” Corde asked.
    “A lot of crazies go through Gunderson.”
    “And every one of them shrinks is going to plead privilege.”
    “I don’t much care about that. At least it’d be on record that we asked and we’d keep ourselves covered pretty damn good.”
    “We don’t have the manpower to do what we’re doing now let alone send somebody around to every therapist in the county.”
    The men looked at each other for a lengthy moment and finally Corde said firmly, “I’ll take responsibility for the way I’m handling the case.”
    Ribbon stroked his bulbous red cheek with a raw knuckle. “No need to have words over it, Bill.” He smiled. “You’re absolutely right. It’s
your
case. And
your
responsibility. You do what you think you ought.”
    The low late afternoon sun fell on her desk and onto the piece of paper she had in front of her. Sarah reached forward and the square beam of light seemed to warm her hand. Specks of dust floated along the beam and Sarah had this image: If she were no bigger than a bit of dust she could float away, sail right through the open window and outside. Nobody would see her. Nobody would know.
    She hunched over and smoothed the paper, which was all crinkly and limp. She felt some slight disappointment; it looked just like red ink on typewriter paper. She was hoping that he’d leave messages in stone or on a big sheet of brown burnt paper.
    A comma of tongue touched the dimple in her upper lip and she leaned forward in concentration. Sarah found reading harder than writing because even though she had a terrible time remembering spelling and how the letters were supposed to go, at least
she
decided which words to use. Reading was the opposite. You had to look at words somebody
else
had picked and then figure out what they were.
    This was torture.
    She sighed, lost her place and started over. Finallyafter twenty minutes she finished. A wave of happiness swept over her—not just because she managed to complete the note but at what the words themselves said.
    Sarah:
    I got your note. I was real glad to get it. Don’t worry about your spelling. It doesn’t matter to me how well you spell. I’m watching you, I’ll come visit very soon. I’ll leave a surprise for you in the garage.
    And
yes
I am—
    The Sunshine Man
    Happy, yes, although she felt a bit of disappointment—he had left the note while her mother had been out, Tom the deputy had been reading on the front porch and Sarah herself had been watching an afternoon movie.
    Why, she wondered, hadn’t the Sunshine Man waited for her and given her this message in person, instead of leaving the note where she found it—under the pillow of her bed?
    Whoa
…
    Diane Corde paced through the kitchen.
    “She was a four-star, flaming you know what.”
    “Whoa,” Corde said. “Hold on here.” He opened his first of two after-work beers. This one was his favorite and he really enjoyed the sound of the tab cracking. Today the ritual wasn’t giving him any pleasure.
    Diane tore open the freezer door, pulled out a four-pound pack of ground round and tossed it loud into the sink. Frost flew like shrapnel. Corde stepped back. He said, “I just asked how it went.”
    “How it went is it cost us a hundred and ten dollars—one hundred and ten!—for this woman, you should’ve seen, a doctor wearing a pink dress, no you shouldn’t’veseen, for this woman to tell me about my own daughter. Honestly!”
    “Simmer down now and tell me what she said.”
    “I was perfectly civil with her. I was polite. I tried to make a few friendly jokes.” Diane turned to her husband. “I think she’s from the East.”
    “Tell me what she said,” Corde repeated patiently.
    “She insulted Dr. Sloving and she talked to me like I was keeping Sarrie from getting help because I was afraid people’d say she was crazy.”
    Corde squinted, trying to work this out.
    “I mean, what she wants to do