"What about Pendergast?"

Steve shook his head. "We've hit stone. Even her friends and coworkers never heard of Earl Pendergast, nor the brother and sister. Nothing from his credit cards, phone records. And he doesn't fit the profile."

"Well, it's in the prosecutor's hands."

"Yeah."

"Whatever, Neil's off the case. When he comes back, we'll put him elsewhere. Meanwhile, work with Dacey, Hogan, and Vaughn. And this does not get out. The last fucking thing we need is the media getting wind we're investigating a crime where an investigator's a major suspect." He rubbed his face. "Jesus H. Christ, I don't need this."

49.

"Well, Dana, if I must say so myself, you look wonderful."

With his hand on her chin, Dr. Monks inspected the work he had done on her eyelids and the crease line above her nose bridge, turning her face as if examining a rare vase.

The assistant handed her a hand mirror. "I think you look great."

Dana inspected herself. The scowl crease was gone and so were some frown lines. Even through the discoloration she could see that her eyes looked more open. But the enhanced smoothness only made her nose look bigger.

Dr. Monks donned a set of magnifying lenses to study the stitches. His eyes were huge, the centers almost completely black pupils. While he inspected her, it crossed her mind that what people said was true: enlarged pupils added to a person's sex appeal, which was probably why magazine ads showed models with exaggerated blackness to associate arousal with the products.

After a minute he removed the glasses. "The incisions are healing well and the swelling is down. Dana, you once again have smooth young eyelids."

"Thank you." Again he had addressed her by her first name. Until today she had been Mrs. Markarian.

He slipped the lenses back on and removed the stitches. Probably because of the ice compresses and medication she felt only minimal discomfort. When he was finished he handed her a hand mirror. "What do you think?"

She looked in the mirror again. "It looks great." When the nurse left and closed the door she said, "I want you to know how grateful I am, given your schedule."

He smiled. "No problem."

"I'm considering having my nose done. But the recovery period is probably much longer."

"Yes. The bruising fades in a week or so, but it takes a month or more for the swelling to go down, especially inside."

From the look on his face she could tell he knew what was coming next.

"Well, I'd like to schedule that, but the only block of time I'll get is Christmas vacation, and I don't want to wait six months. Also I don't want to show up in class all black and blue."

"Of course not." He leaned back in his chair. "So what you're asking is if I can work this in before I go on vacation and before your summer vacation is over."

"Yes."

"Well, let me ask you why exactly you want to have it done?"

"Because I hate it. I look in the mirror and all I see is a fat potato in the middle of my face."

He smiled. "So, it's not related to your separation from your husband?"

"No."

He studied her as if trying to assess the veracity of her statement. "Forgive me for being so blunt, but you don't see this as a way of reestablishing your relationship with Mr. Markarian?"

"Not at all."

"I ask because on occasion we get patients who confuse cosmetic needs for emotional or psychological ones. They'll show up in a state of urgency because they're going through an emotional crisis-usually a traumatic loss like the death of a loved one or separation or divorce-and believe that the only solution is aesthetic augmentation."

"Well, that's not the case."

Monks nodded. "But you can understand how some people regard a makeover as a way of restoring a lost emotional connection."

"Yes, but that's not me. I don't want a nose job to win my husband back. I've wanted this long before I was even married, since I was a teenager, in fact."

He nodded. "Okay."

"And if you had doubts?"

"I'd send you home. But that doesn't seem to be the case. So what are your expectations from the surgery?"

"My expectations are that I'll like the improvement and feel better about myself."

He nodded. "And I think you will. I see it all the time. In fact, it's one of the joys of this profession-seeing how much happier and better adjusted people are after aesthetic procedures. Of course, it's no guarantee, and we're very careful to avoid promising folks that a nose job or face-lift will change their lives. But improving one's appearance will improve one's confidence, especially in establishing intimate ties with others."

"I can see how rewarding that must be."

"Yes, and especially so if a patient has a physical deformity or some disfiguring ailment. It's also true if something in a person's appearance constantly bothers them. If every time you walk by a mirror your heart sinks when you look at your sunken chin or narrow cheeks-"

"Or nose."

"Or nose. If it's a constant source of anguish, then something should be done about it. I've had patients whose lives were turned around following cosmetic surgery. One woman had a prominent nose and a tiny chin. She hated her appearance, saying she looked like a troll. The sad thing was, she did. After a nose job and some jaw reconstruction, she not only looked like a different person, she was a different person. She'd come in and say how her life had been transformed. In the past she'd avoid social engagements, parties, and bars. She never dated. Now she's a woman about town, dating and partying. Like others, she changed from the outside in. The procedures released someone who lived deep inside but who needed the physical transformation to bring her out."

"I'm not sure that's me, but I want a new nose."

"Then, I think something should be done. Because it's not so much your nose but how you feel about it." He moved closer and slowly turned her face to profile and back.

Again, she wondered why he never had cosmetic work done. His skin was dry and rough with pockmarks. He also had that distracting mole. Evidently he had no problem with his appearance.

"You should know that rhinoplasty is the most dramatic alteration of one's appearance. And since your nose is measurably out of harmony with the rest of your face, the change will be significant." As he spoke, he ran his finger along her nose to demonstrate the changes and she followed him in the hand mirror. "What we'd do is remove the hump and narrow the cartilage pyramid and reshape the tip and base, which will open the plane of your face, making your cheekbones more prominent."

All her life Dana regarded her appearance in segments. She had large gray-green eyes, high cheekbones, a round forehead, and feathery eyebrows. Her chin was short, squared off, and clefted. Her hair was a sandy blond like her mother's, its thickness probably from her father's Mediterranean genes. Also from his side, the Peloponnesian nose that overshadowed the rest. It was what the boys in high school saw first at a dance. If it weren't for her breasts and a shapely body, she would never have been asked to dance.

"Ironically, people may not even know that you had it done. They'll notice an improvement and ask if you lost weight or are doing your hair differently. But they'll pick up the change in your spirit, your increased well-being. And that's what this is all about."

He then moved to his computer and maneuvered the mouse. "Unfortunately, I'm tightly booked, but it's possible I can put together a surgical team during off-hours or a weekend."

"That would be great." She could barely hide her excitement.

"But it may be on very short notice."

"That's no problem." She'd give him her cell phone number.

"Fine." Then he asked about any allergies, hay fever, rhinitis, nasal congestion, any past ailments such as sinusitis, asthma, bronchitis, any injuries to her nose, et cetera. She had none.

"Good," he said when he was finished.

There was a queer expression on his face that made his cheeks dimple and his eyes glitter. "The other day you'd asked about Versed and possible side effects."

"Side effects?"

"You know, saying the unexpected."

She felt herself tense up. "Uh-huh."

He smiled. "Well, yes, I'd be delighted to have dinner with you."

It took her a moment to realize what he was saying, then she was instantly mortified. He was no doubt sugarcoating some outrageous thing she had babbled in front of the nurse. "Oh, God."

"Really, it was amusing, and a first."

"I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Then he said, "So I guess your marital status has not changed. You're still separated." He looked down at her naked ring finger.

"Yes. We're considering a divorce." The word still felt alien to her. Especially since that wasn't completely true. Steve certainly was not considering it, and she only experimentally.

Monks nodded; his face had an odd look of speculation. "I'm sorry for the unpleasantness of that, no matter what the outcome."

"Thank you."

A slightly crooked smile spread across his mouth. "How about this Saturday evening?"

Her head was spinning. "Yes, sure, of course," she said, without thinking if she had anything else scheduled, deciding that whatever it was she'd get out of it.

"Fine," he said with a wide grin. "And we'll celebrate your new beginning. But I do have a favor to ask: that you please don't mention it to anyone, even Mrs. Walker. If word gets out, it might end up in the newspapers. And we both can do without that."

"Of course."

All the way home she fought the urge to call Lanie.

50.

SUMMER 1975.

"You're still seeing her."

"No, I'm not."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"It's all over your face."

But he was lying. And she knew it-as if a ticker tape were playing across his forehead: Yes. I see her. I see her every day. I kiss her in the halls. After class at her house. I touch her. She touches me. I want to fuck her.

But he said none of that. Yet she knew. And she found out.

One July afternoon four months after the play, he and Becky were walking hand in hand to the Capitol Cinema to see Jaws. Even though it was a Saturday matinee, the line was long. As they made their way to the ticket booth, she said how scary the film was supposed to be. He smiled and gave her a hug that she turned into a kiss. At that same moment, a car pulled up to the curb no more than ten feet away. It was Lila.

Because of the crowd, she said nothing. She didn't have to. Her eyes shot tracer bullets at them.

Instantly, his arm fell from Becky's shoulder like a log. He stepped out of the ticket line and moved to the car's open window to say it was nothing, that they had just bumped into each other, that Becky was giving him a friendly hello kiss-but Lila blazed at him long enough for her fury to sear his brain. Then without a word she pulled away.

"What's her problem?"

He made a weak shrug. "I dunno."

"I'm sorry, but I think she's weird. She controls you like you're her puppy."

In a weak attempt to defend Lila, he said, "That's not true."

"Yes, it is. She's jealous of you seeing anybody, which is wicked sick."

"She's not sick," he muttered.

"She's obsessed. You're all she has."

But it was true, all of it. Lila owned him-body and soul. When she got mad and withdrew into her shell it left him feeling desperate. It was her ultimate strategy and his ultimate weakness. He'd do anything to win her back. Anything for her love and approval, including the extinguishing of his own will.

"Drop it, okay?" he said.

Becky made a face and shrugged it off.

He bought the tickets, though the last thing he wanted to do was see a movie about a killer shark. But they did, and for two hours he tried to lose himself in the action. But it was impossible. Lila's face of rage glowed like an ember in the fore of his brain, making him dread going home. He'd prefer the shark.

After the movie, he walked Becky home. She was noticeably cooler, saying only that she hoped things worked out with his stepmother.