Wilderness

They ate in silence. The food occupied them completely. And as they ate they thought of when they had eaten a granola bar for di

"It's lovely to eat," she said.

He put some ketchup on his beans. "Yes," he said. "One of the great meals."

They finished eating and wiped the plate clean with the last of the bread. He went to the kitchen and brought out coffee in thick china mugs with pictures of vegetables on them.

"What do we do now?" Janet said.

Newman sipped the coffee. "We drive Chris's car home, time it to arrive at night, put it in his garage in the dark, go home to our house, and take up our lives again. There's nothing to co

"Everywhere? That's a big order." She sipped at her coffee, holding the mug at chin level and breathing in the steam.

"No, just refrigerator, chrome sink-handles, bathroom and toilet handles, that stuff. They can't pick anything up off fabric and floors and stuff."

"How do you know about fingerprints?" "It stands to reason," he said. "It's got to be something smooth that the oils of the fingertips will leave a trace on, right?"

She shook her head, "I have no idea about fingerprints," she said.

"I'll have to trust you. How's the arm? It looked clean when I bandaged it."

"Seems pretty good. I looked at it in the shower. I don't see any infection. It's not swollen or very red. We'll keep an eye on it. If it gets worse I'll go to some suburban hospital emergency room and give a phony name. Happens all the time."

"And how in hell do you know that?" "I asked Teddy Schroeder. He interned in the emergency room at United Hospital. I was doing a book where the question came up. He says that's no sweat. They report it to the police but it's routine, and they don't ask for ID or anything." She smiled. "You do know things. The shelter in the woods. I know you've never built a shelter before."

"Yeah, but I've carp entered I have built a lot of things. There's logic to things. You build one thing you learn the logic of building.

How else would you make a shelter there?"

"I don't know. But it worked. You made it work." "Thank you," he said.

"How do you feel?" she said.

"Physically? Or emotionally?"

"Both," she said. "You've had to do an awful thing and it was terrible and frightening and you did all of it. How does it make you feel?" He drank some of his coffee. "Strong," he said. "Strong and close-knit, and not very much thinking. You know. I don't want to think very much. I want to work on intuition and feeling and eat what tastes good and drink what's cold and do a lot of screwing and sleeping and wearing clean clothes."

They were quiet, drinking coffee, looking at the fire.

"I couldn't have gone into the woods without you," he said. "And I could never have gotten out." "We went together," she said. "And came out the same way." "More together," he said. "Much more together." "Don't do that," she said. "Don't start expecting too much." He smiled at her, the smile widening across his face as if it would distort. Even in the dimness of the firelight his eyes gleamed.

"I don't expect anything," he said. "I take what comes. And we make do."

Epilogue.

It was two weeks before Thanksgiving and the wound in Newman's arm was only a smooth red scar when Vincent and Croft came to call. They came in a dark blue Chevrolet with a whip ante

Croft rang the bell and Newman answered. His face was blank when he saw the two policemen, and he said, "What can I do for you gentlemen?" Croft said, "We'd like to come in and talk for a few minutes." Vincent said, "We're not here to arrest you."

Newman said, "That's good. Come in. We're having di

Janet Newman, still dressed from work in a black pantsuit with vest, and black boots with high spike heels, was eating linguine with clam sauce at the kitchen table across from Newman's now empty place. There was a bottle of Graves and two glasses. Janet sipped some wine, put the glass down, and smiled at them.

"This is my wife, Janet," Newman said. "These are state policemen.

Corporal Croft and Lieutenant Vincent." Janet smiled more brightly and said, "How do you do. Can we get you some wine or coffee? Piece of pie? Have you eaten?" "We've eaten," Vincent said, "thank you. I'd be happy to have a drink though. Bobby?" Croft said, "Yeah, me too. I'll take a beer1 if you've got one."

"Scotch," Vincent said. "Neat. No ice, nothing."

Newman got them each a drink. Croft declined a glass. They sat at the kitchen table.

"Remember Adolph Karl?" Croft said.

"The guy I identified and changed my mind?" Newman said.

"The very one," Croft said. Vincent sipped his Scotch carefully and tipped his head back slightly to savor it as he swallowed. "Good Scotch," he said.

"He's dead," Croft said. "Somebody apparently drowned him in a lake in Maine."

Newman ate some pasta and drank half a glass of wine.

"I assume you're not very unhappy," Newman said. "As I recall, you didn't think well of him."

"He was a scum bag," Croft said. "Excuse me, m'am."

"I hear worse from him every day," Janet said. She smiled at Croft.

"Thing is, somebody seems to have wiped out practically his whole social circle, up there in Maine. A ranger in the National Forest up there found them scattered all around. His two sons, his bodyguard, and one of his associates, all gu

Newman nodded. He ate some salad.

"Nobody's hysterical with grief," Croft said. He drank from the beer can. "They were all maggots and whoever burned them did the world a favor. Interesting thing was, another guy got killed up there, guy named Hood. Chris Hood. Know him?"

"Of course. He lives right back of us."

"Yeah," Croft said. "That sort of got our attention."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the coincidence. Here you think Karl did a murder and then you think he didn't, then a guy who lives right next to you gets killed in the same woods with Karl." Croft drank more beer. He put the can down and belched softly. "

"Scuse me," he said.

Vincent took another small sip of Scotch.

Newman had finished eating. He sipped his wine.

Janet Newman was still eating. She speared a mushroom slice from her salad bowl and put it in her mouth.

Vincent said to Newman, "You've lost some weight haven't you?"

"Yes, about twenty pounds."

"Look good," Vincent said.

"That's terrible about Chris," Janet said. "We were quite good friends."

"But you haven't seen him in the last month or so, have you," Croft said.

"No," Janet said. "I assumed he'd gone hunting. He does that often in season." "Season just opened," Croft said.

Janet shrugged. "I don't know. I don't hunt. I just know it's in the fall sometime."

Croft gri

Newman said, "Want another beer?" "Sure," Croft said. Newman got it from the refrigerator.

"How's your Scotch, Lieutenant?"

"Fine."

Newman began to remove the di

The two policemen were quiet for a moment.

Newman leaned his hips against the kitchen counter and said, "What do you guys want?"

Croft looked at Vincent.

Vincent smiled and sipped more Scotch. "We want to try out a hypothesis on you," he said. "Suppose there was a man who witnessed a murder and identified the killer."