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Decker glanced over at him。 〃What do you think？〃
Skink said； 〃Probably smart if we drive separate。〃
Decker nodded。 They'll never let him on the plane； he thought； not dressed like that。 〃Then I guess I'll see you at the airport。〃
Skink dumped a tin of water on the last of the coals。 〃Where you headed tonight？〃 he asked。
〃There's somebody I need to see；〃 Decker said； 〃though I'm not sure where she's staying。 Actually； I'm not even sure she's still in town。 It's Dennis Gault's sister。〃
Skink snorted。 〃She's still in town。〃 He peeled off his rainsuit。 〃She's at the Days Inn； least that's where the little gumdrop Vette is parked。〃
〃Thanks； I can find it。 What about the deputies up on the Trail？〃
〃Long gone；〃 Skink said。 〃Shift ended a half…hour ago。〃
He walked Decker to the car。
〃Be careful with that lady；〃 Skink said。 〃If you get the urge to tell her your life story； I understand。 Just leave out the part about today。〃
〃I'm too damn tired；〃 Decker sighed。
〃That's what they all say。〃
She was still at the Days Inn。 Room 135。 When she answered the door she wore a nightshirt。 One of those expensive silky tops； it barely came down far enough to cover her pale yellow panties。 R。 J。 Decker noticed the color of her panties when she reached up to get a robe from a hook on the back of the closet door。 Decker did a pitiful job of trying not to stare。
Lanie said； 〃What's in the bag？〃
〃A change of clothes。〃
〃You going somewhere？〃
〃Tomorrow。〃
〃Where？〃
〃Up north a ways。〃
Lanie sat in the middle of the bed and Decker took a chair。 An old James Bond movie was on television。
〃Sean Connery was the best；〃 Lanie remarked。 〃I've seen this darn thing about twenty times。〃
〃Why are you still in town？〃 Decker asked。
〃I'm going tomorrow； too。〃
〃You didn't answer the question。 Why are you still here？ Why didn't you go home after Bobby's funeral？〃
Lanie said； 〃I went out to the cemetery today。 And yesterday。 I haven't felt like leaving yet； that's all。 We each deal with grief in our own way…isn't that what you said？〃
Very sharp； Decker thought。 He just loved it when they filed stuff away。 〃Know what I think？〃 he said。 〃I think the Gault family needs to be tested。 Scientifically； I mean。 I think maybe there's a genetic deficiency that prevents you people from telling the truth。 I think the Mayo Clinic might be very interested。〃
She rolled her eyes； a little ditty right out of high school。 It was supposed to be cool but it came off as nervous。
〃I won't stay long；〃 Decker said； 〃but we need to talk。〃
〃I don't feel like talking；〃 Lanie said； 〃but you're wele to stay as long as you like。 I'm not tired。〃
She crossed her legs up under the robe and glanced over at him。 Something in the stale motel room smelled fresh and wonderful； and it definitely wasn't Parfum de Days Inn。 It was Lanie； she was one of those women who just naturally smelled like a spring day。 Or maybe it just seemed that way because she looked so good。 Whatever the phenomenon； Decker had the sense to realize he was in trouble； that by walking into her room and letting her hop into bed he had lost all leverage； all hope of getting any answers。 He knew he was wasting his time； but he didn't feel like leaving。
〃You look like hell；〃 Lanie said。
〃Been a long day。〃
〃Hot on the trail？〃
〃Oh； right。〃
〃Anything new about Bobby's death？〃
〃I thought you didn't feel like talking；〃 Decker said。
〃I'm curious； that's all。 More than curious。 I loved him； remember？〃
〃You keep saying that；〃 Decker said； 〃like you've got to keep reminding yourself。〃
〃Why don't you believe me？〃
Lee Strasberg material。 Lanie the wounded lover。 Her tone of voice was exquisite…hurt but not defensive。 And not a flicker of doubt in those beautiful eyes； in fact； she looked about ready to cry。 It was such a splendid performance that Decker reconsidered the question： Why didn't he believe her？
〃Because Bobby Clinch wasn't your type；〃 he said。
〃How do you know？〃
〃That Corvette parked outside。 That's you； Lanie。 Bobby was pure pickup truck。 You might've liked him； laid him； maybe even given him that blowjob you're so proud of； but you didn't love him。〃
〃You can tell all this from looking at a damn car！〃
〃I'm an expert；〃 Decker said； 〃it's what I do。〃 It was true about cars： there was no better clue to the total personality。 Any good cop would tell you so。 Decker hadn't thought much about the psychology of automobiles until he became a private investigator and had to spend half his time tracing； following； and photographing all kinds。 On long surveillances in busy parking lots he made a game of matching shoppers to their cars； and had gotten good at it。 The make； model； color； everything down to the shine on the hubcaps was a clue to the puzzle。 Decker's own car was a plain gray 1979 Plymouth Volare； stylistically the most forgettable automobile Detroit ever produced。 Decker knew it fit him perfectly。 It fit his need to be invisible。
〃So you think I belong back in Miami；〃 Lanie was saying sarcastically。 〃Who can you picture me with； Decker？ I know…a young Colombian stud！ Rolex； gold necklace； and black Ferrari。 Or maybe you figure I'm too old for a coke whore。 Maybe you see me on the arm of some silver…haired geezer playing the ponies out at Hialeah。〃
〃Anybody but Bobby Clinch；〃 Decker said。 〃Steve and Eydie you weren't。〃
Of course then the tears came； and the next thing Decker knew he had moved to the bed and put his arms around Lanie and told her to knock off the crying。 Please。 In his mind's eye he could see himself in this cheesy scene out of a cheap detective movie； acting like the gruff cad； awkwardly consoling the weepy long…legged knockout； knowing deep down he ought to play it as the tough guy but feeling pelled to show this warm sensitive side。 Decker knew he was a fool but he certainly didn't feel like letting go of Lanie Gault。 There was something magnetic and forting and entirely natural about holding a sweet…smelling woman in a silken nightie on a strange bed in a strange motel room in a strange town where neither one of you belonged。
A Bell Jet…Ranger helicopter awaited the Reverend Charles Weeb at the Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport。 Weeb wore a navy pinstriped suit； designer sunglasses； and lizard boots。 He was traveling with a vice…president of the Outdoor Christian Network and a young brunette woman who claimed to be a secretary； and who managed to slip her phone number to the chopper pilot during the brief flight。
The helicopter carried the Reverend Charles Weeb to a narrow dike on the edge of the Florida Everglades。 Looking east from the levee； Weeb and his associates had a clear view of a massive highway construction site。 The land had been bulldozed； the roadbed had been poured； the pilings had been driven for the overpasses。 Dump trucks hauled loose fill back and forth； while graders crawled in dusty clouds along the medians。
〃Show me again；〃 Weeb said to the vice…president。
〃Our property starts right about there；〃 the vice…president said； pointing； 〃and abuts the expressway for five miles to the south。 The state highway board has generously given us three intercha