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The possibility of being murdered over a dead fish did not appeal to R. J. Decker's sense of adventure. He had photographed men who had died for less, and many who had died for more. Over the years he had adopted a carrion fly's unglamorous view of death: it didn't really matter how you got that way, it stunk just the same.

She nodded, got up, and slipped into her sandals. She stood in front of the mirror and brushed through her hair in brisk, sure strokes.

TV Bible geysers, Decker said.

Once in a while.

One more thing, Decker said.Out at the cemetery, how did you know which one was me? Sanibel was a long time ago.

Who else would do it?

Who else would do it?

Lanie laughed.You kidding?

Who else would do it?

You're sure it was no accident?

Who else would do it?

As he packed his suitcase Decker heard himself say: So what? He hated the way he sounded because he sounded like every lazy asshole cop or P.I. he'd ever met. Big cases, big problems. Go for the easy bucks, that would be the advice.

Lanie straightened, as if working out a crick in her spine.More than old-time religion, she said.OCN is quite the modern conglomerate. They're into health insurance, unit trusts, oil futures, real-estate development ...

The Outdoor Christian Network. You heard of it?

Lanie laughed.You kidding?

One more thing, Decker said.Out at the cemetery, how did you know which one was me? Sanibel was a long time ago.

A picture.

I'll check into it, Decker promised.I'm tired, Lanie. I've got a rotten drive tomorrow.

Once in a while.

TV Bible geysers, Decker said.

The possibility of being murdered over a dead fish did not appeal to R. J. Decker's sense of adventure. He had photographed men who had died for less, and many who had died for more. Over the years he had adopted a carrion fly's unglamorous view of death: it didn't really matter how you got that way, it stunk just the same.

Sure he did. Dennis never said a word, but I'm sure he knew. Lanie Gault put her hands under her chin.I thought he might bring it up, after Bobby was killed. Just a note or a phone call-something to let on that he knew I was hurting. Not Dennis. The sonofabitch has Freon in his veins, I'm warning you. My brother wants to nail Dickie Lockhart and if you happen to die in the chase he won't be sending a wreath to the funeral. Just another replacement. Like you.

You're doing just fine, Decker thought.Good night, he said.

A picture.

Lanie laughed.You kidding?

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