Watchers

knew what happened and were so scared about the consequences that they intended to go public.”
    Off in the dusky canyon, a soft, ululant howl arose. Probably just a coyote. Lem wanted to get out of there, away from the forest. But he felt that he had to deal with Walt Gaines, deflect the sheriff from these lines of inquiry and consideration.
    “Let me get this straight, Walt. Are you saying the United States government had its own scientists killed to shut them up?”
    Walt frowned, knowing how unlikely—if not downright impossible—his scenario was.
    Lem said, “Is life really just a Ludlum novel? Killed our own people? Is it National Paranoia Month or something? Do you really believe that crap?”
    “No,” Walt admitted.
    “And how could Dalberg’s killer be a contaminated scientist with brain damage? I mean, Christ, you yourself said it was some animal that killed Dalberg, something with claws, sharp teeth.”
    “Okay, okay, so I don’t have it figured. Not all of it, anyway. But I’m sure it’s all tied in with Banodyne somehow. I’m not entirely on the wrong track-am I?”
    “Yes, you are,” Lem said. “Entirely.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.” Lem felt bad about lying to Walt and manipulating him, but he did it anyway. “I shouldn’t even tell you that you’re chasing after false spoor, but as a friend I guess I owe you something.”
    Additional wild voices had joined the eerie howling in the woods, confirming that the cries were only those of coyotes, yet the sound chilled Lem Johnson and made him eager to depart.
    Rubbing the nape of his bull neck with one hand, Walt said, “It doesn’t have anything at all to do with Banodyne?”
    “Nothing. It’s just a coincidence that Weatherby and Yarbeck both worked there and that Hudston used to work there. If you insist on making the Connection, you’ll just be spinning your wheels—which is fine by me.”
    The sun set and, in passing, seemed to unlock a door through which a much Cooler, brisker breeze swept into the darkening world.
    Still rubbing his neck, Walt said, “Not Banodyne, huh?” He sighed. “I know you too well, buddy. You’ve got such a strong sense of duty that you’d lie to your own mother if that was in the best interests of the country.”
    Lem said nothing.
    “All right,” Walt said. “I’ll drop it. Your case from here on. Unless more people in my jurisdiction get killed. If that happens . . . well, I might try to take control of things again. Can’t promise you that I won’t. I’ve got a sense of duty, too, you know.”
    “I know,” Lem said, feeling guilty, feeling like a total shit.
    At last, they both headed back to the cabin.
    The sky—which was dark in the east, still streaked with deep orange and red and purple light in the west—seemed to be descending like the lid of a box.
    Coyotes howled.
    Something out in the night woods howled back at them.
    Cougar, Lem thought, but he knew that now he was even lying to himself.
     
     
4
    On Sunday, two days after their successful Friday lunch date, Travis and Nora drove to Solvang, a Danish-style village in the Santa Ynez Valley. It was a touristy place with hundreds of shops selling everything from exquisite Scandinavian crystal to plastic imitations of Danish beer stems. The quaint architecture (though calculated) and the tree-lined streets enhanced the simple pleasures of window-shopping.
    Several times Travis felt the urge to take Nora’s hand and hold it while they strolled. It seemed natural, right. Yet he sensed that she might not be ready for even such harmless contact as hand-holding.
    She was wearing another drab dress, dull blue this time, nearly as shapeless as a sack. Sensible shoes. Her thick dark hair still hung limp and unstyled, as it had been when he’d first seen her.
    Being with her was pure pleasure. She had a sweet temperament and was unfailingly sensitive and kind. Her innocence was refreshing. Her shyness and modesty, though excessive, endeared her to him. She viewed everything with a wide-eyed wonder that was charming, and he delighted in surprising her with simple things: a shop that sold only cuckoo clocks; another that sold only stuffed animals; a music box with a mother-of-pearl door that opened to reveal a pirouetting ballerina.
    He bought her a T-shirt with a personalized message that he would not let her see until it was ready: NORA LOVES EINSTEIN. Though she professed she could never wear a T-shirt, that it wasn’t her