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If this was her best attempt at conducting an interview, I decided that hanging up would make the most sense. Not even trying to hide my incredulity, I said, "

"Okay? Yeah?" That's your next question? Seriously?"

She broke into a mixture of coughing and laughter that caused me to pull the phone away from my ear. At the conclusion of her paroxysm she said, "That was kind of lame. I'll do better. I promise. Oh, please give me another try. And whatever you do, don't tell my editor. Deal?"

She was still laughing.

"What is it that you want, Ms. Levin? As entertaining as this conversation might be, I think we may both be wasting our time."

She had composed herself by the time she spoke again.

"I am doing a story… about fund-raising practices during Representative Welle's 1990, 1992, and 1994 congressional campaigns. I got your name. I'm calling for information."

"About…?"

"About what you know."

"But I don't know anything." She sighed before she took a deep drag on her cigarette and hummed a few bars of

"Will the Circle Be Unbroken?" She stopped the melody abruptly and asked, "Tell me this, then, Mister or Doctor Gregory. If you're so ignorant about Representative Raymond Welle, then why are you planning on meeting with him before his fund-raiser in Denver on Friday?"

How on earth did this reporter or the Washington Post know about that? I stammered, "Excuse me?"

Her voice turned slightly arrogant as she said, "Now please. You're going to have to help out a minute. With a small, small clarification. Was that an "Excuse me, I didn't hear you'? Or was that an

"Excuse me, I can't believe you know that I'm meeting with him'?"

"No comment."

I thought I heard her muffle a profanity before she said, "Ah jeez.

hate this. Suddenly something doesn't feel kosher to me. We go from

"I don't know anything' to

"No comment' in less time than it takes me to clean my contacts. What's happening with the world?"

I had a temptation to explain to her why I couldn't talk to her about Welle.

But I resisted.

"I don't have anything to say, Ms. Levin."

"That's a mite different from

"I don't know anything about Raymond Welle, Ms. Levin."

"She mocked me with a whiny rendition of my words.

I shrugged and opened my eyes wide, confident that she couldn't hear me shrug or open my eyes wide. I said, "I'm afraid that's where I'm going to have to leave it."

She made a noise that I didn't really want to know the source of.

"You may leave me no choice but to write a piece reporting what I do know.

Without any opportunity for your comment."

I laughed again, more nervously this time.

"What you know is too boring for the Washington Post."

Her lips popped as she exhaled. I imagined a cloud of pungent smoke around her head.

"So be it. We'll talk again. I'm sure."

She hung up.

I used directory assistance to get the number of the main switchboard at the Washington Post. I asked for Dorothy Levin and was immediately connected to her voice mail message, which she'd recorded herself. I'd have recognized that voice anywhere. I hung up before the tone.

She was for real.

"Who knows about your appointment with Raymond Welle besides us?" Lauren asked.

"Welle's office. And apparently the Washington Post."

"And A. J. Don't forget A. J. And whomever she might have told."

"You're thinking someone in Locard would intentionally mislead a Post reporter about the nature of my meeting with Welle?"

"No, that doesn't make any sense. Then it has to be someone in Welle's office who's been helping Levin with her investigation of his fund-raising practices.

She has to have a source inside Welle's congressional office or campaign office.

This person must have misinterpreted the reason for the meeting you have scheduled with Welle because its happening around one of his fund-raising events."

"That explanation makes the most sense. The next question is, do I need to tell A. J. and Kimber Lister about the press contact?"

Lauren considered it for a moment.

"No. I don't think so. This doesn't involve Locard. She didn't say anything about Locard, right? Or about the two girls or Steamboat?"

"Right"

"There, then."

I should have had an easier time clearing my conversation with Dorothy Levin from my head than I did. But the fact that a reporter from a big eastern newspaper wanted to talk with me made me nervous. It just did.

When I'm nervous, I do. I get decisive. I get focused.

My first decision was to go ahead and go to Canada. I chose Wednesday to fly to Vancouver. I called United Airlines and booked a round-trip on the flights that had been suggested by Mr. Hamamoto. When I heard the price for the ticket I prayed that A. J. would approve the expense. I left her a message asking for approval.

Next I left a message for Hamamoto confirming our meeting in the Air Canada lounge on Wednesday afternoon.

Five more phone calls later, I'd succeeded in rescheduling the five patients whose day would be inconvenienced by my impulsive decision to fly to Canada to meet with Taro Hamamoto. After the shuffling was over, Tuesday and Thursday were going to closely resemble psychotherapy marathons in my office and I was going to be working on Saturday, too.

Emily needed more attention so I took her over to Adrienne's house to play with jonas While dog and child were playing a game that made no sense to me, I asked Adrienne how she and Erin were doing. Erin was Adrienne's last known romantic interest.

Adrienne was cranky. She said, "Why?" I lied and said I was just curious.

"Yeah. Right. You and the National Enquirer"

"Well, I haven't seen her around much lately and I've been, I don't know… wondering."

"God, you're such a pathetic liar." She laughed.

"The truth is I think I've been dumped."

"Ren, I'm so sorry."

She waved off my sympathy.

"Nah, it's okay. We were winding down to the basics, anyway."

"The basics being?"

"The… uh… gender thing."

"Oh, yeah. The gender thing. Are you having some second thoughts about… you know?"

"No. I had second thoughts about that so long ago I can't remember what they were."

I waited for her to move on someplace. We both watched Jonas try to mount Emily as though she were a horse. Emily was pretty cool about it. Jonas stayed on for the better part of ten feet. I thought it might be a new record.

"Are you still gay?"

She smacked me on the shoulder. It hurt.

"That's not a question a polite person asks."

"Then how does a polite person find out the answer?"

"A polite person minds his own business." "So who's the Lexus?" I asked.

She glared at me.

"What Lexus?"

"You've been getting visits from a Lexus. Whose carriage is it?"

She made a guttural noise I associated with disgust.

"A woman lives alone out in the goddamn wilderness with her kid and still she can't get any privacy? I'm beginning to understand those nuts with guns in Idaho."

"We live in adjoining fishbowls, Ren. We can see into yours. You can see into ours."

"Not fair. Mine's much more interesting. You ever watch your life from a distance? It ain't no Truman Show." She hadn't told me who owned the Lexus.

It should have been enough activity to calm me down about Dorothy Levin. But it wasn't. I was still anxious about the phone call by the time Lauren and I climbed into bed to watch the late news. I told her about my conversation with Adrienne.

"Is she okay?"

"Adrienne's resilient." "The bet's still on," she concluded.

"I'll go talk to her. She'll tell me things she won't tell you. I still say its a boy Lexus, not a girl Lexus."

* * *

Lauren connected with Mary Wright early Monday morning. Mary had a list of questions about Colorado law and procedure that she needed answered. Lauren suggested E-mail, Mary said she preferred paper, and they settled on a correspondence via fax. The first sheet of paper from the Justice Department was sliding from our home machine as I was rinsing out my coffee cup and heading to town to see my first patient on Monday morning.