of coffee with steam coming out the wide open top of it. People were getting used to Bennis’s drifting off. They had started to make allowances for it.
“I don’t think Tibor sees individual cases like Susan Smith and Ginger Marsh as having the same—gravity as what happened in Oklahoma City,” Gregor said. “They lack the political element.”
“There was a story in Ms. about the politics of motherhood,” Bennis said. “They’ve got that kind of political element.”
“These days, everything’s got that kind of political element. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Linda Melajian had arrived with her pot of coffee. She gave Bennis a new coffee cup and filled it. Bennis didn’t notice.
“Bennis,” Linda said.
“Oh.” Bennis looked up. “Oh, Linda, hi. Could I have another cup of coffee? I let this one get cold.”
Linda took the cup of cold coffee off the table and looked at the ceiling. Bennis didn’t notice that, either.
“It’s not that I think Tibor will be interested in the Ginger Marsh case,” Gregor said. “It’s that I don’t like the idea of going off and leaving him for what could be a solid month. I don’t like the shape he’s in.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“And it’s not like I can count on the people around here looking after him,” Gregor said. “Not lately. Lida’s always off in California—what does she do in California, anyway?”
“Maybe she likes it there.”
“And you’re the next thing to useless these days. If you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Mmm,” Bennis said.
“And old George is much too old to take on this kind of responsibility. He doesn’t get around well enough.” Gregor drummed his fingers against the table. “I don’t really know what I ought to do here. It’s not that I think the Ginger Marsh case will interest Tibor. It barely interests me. If David Sandler hadn’t written me directly, I don’t think I would have paid any attention to it at all.”
“Satanism and witchcraft and child sacrifice?” Bennis looked up, her attention caught at last, frankly surprised. “You must be kidding. It got everybody else’s attention. I’ll bet the trial is going to be enormous.”
“The trial is going to be a nonissue. Give it a couple of more months. They’ll look into all their leads. They’ll do the conscientious investigative probe. Then they’ll arrest Ginger Marsh and she’ll plead guilty.”
“You really believe that.”
“The only difference between Ginger Marsh and Susan Smith is that Ginger Marsh has a more elaborate sense of the theatrical. Pentagrams and candles and a bloody knife beat a phantom carjacker any day. But they’re just as bogus. And they’re just as cheap. That woman murdered her own child.”
“I don’t think I can remember you being this cynical before.”
“It’s not cynicism. It’s experience. I was in the Federal Bureau of Investigation for twenty years. I know these people.”
“Which people?”
“The Ginger Marshes of this world. The Susan Smiths. The Terry McVeighs. There really isn’t much difference, you know. It’s all the same—attitude, I guess you’d call it. The same arrogance. And if you don’t mind my saying so, Bennis, I think that in my old age, I’m getting tired of it.”
“You’re not old, Gregor. For God’s sake.”
“I’ll be sixty-one on my next birthday. Any day now, they’ll stop talking about how I’m in early retirement. And like I said, I’m getting tired of it. More tired than you know.”
“Then why do it? You’re not obliged to go down there. The case will go on without you.”
“I know it will.”
“So?”
Gregor shrugged. “David Sandler is a friend of mine. He hasn’t had much experience. He thinks there’s something mysterious in what’s happening down there. If I do what he’s asking me to do, it might ease his mind.”
“Right,” Bennis said.
“And then there’s Tibor, too. Maybe getting him
“I don’t think Tibor sees individual cases like Susan Smith and Ginger Marsh as having the same—gravity as what happened in Oklahoma City,” Gregor said. “They lack the political element.”
“There was a story in Ms. about the politics of motherhood,” Bennis said. “They’ve got that kind of political element.”
“These days, everything’s got that kind of political element. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Linda Melajian had arrived with her pot of coffee. She gave Bennis a new coffee cup and filled it. Bennis didn’t notice.
“Bennis,” Linda said.
“Oh.” Bennis looked up. “Oh, Linda, hi. Could I have another cup of coffee? I let this one get cold.”
Linda took the cup of cold coffee off the table and looked at the ceiling. Bennis didn’t notice that, either.
“It’s not that I think Tibor will be interested in the Ginger Marsh case,” Gregor said. “It’s that I don’t like the idea of going off and leaving him for what could be a solid month. I don’t like the shape he’s in.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“And it’s not like I can count on the people around here looking after him,” Gregor said. “Not lately. Lida’s always off in California—what does she do in California, anyway?”
“Maybe she likes it there.”
“And you’re the next thing to useless these days. If you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Mmm,” Bennis said.
“And old George is much too old to take on this kind of responsibility. He doesn’t get around well enough.” Gregor drummed his fingers against the table. “I don’t really know what I ought to do here. It’s not that I think the Ginger Marsh case will interest Tibor. It barely interests me. If David Sandler hadn’t written me directly, I don’t think I would have paid any attention to it at all.”
“Satanism and witchcraft and child sacrifice?” Bennis looked up, her attention caught at last, frankly surprised. “You must be kidding. It got everybody else’s attention. I’ll bet the trial is going to be enormous.”
“The trial is going to be a nonissue. Give it a couple of more months. They’ll look into all their leads. They’ll do the conscientious investigative probe. Then they’ll arrest Ginger Marsh and she’ll plead guilty.”
“You really believe that.”
“The only difference between Ginger Marsh and Susan Smith is that Ginger Marsh has a more elaborate sense of the theatrical. Pentagrams and candles and a bloody knife beat a phantom carjacker any day. But they’re just as bogus. And they’re just as cheap. That woman murdered her own child.”
“I don’t think I can remember you being this cynical before.”
“It’s not cynicism. It’s experience. I was in the Federal Bureau of Investigation for twenty years. I know these people.”
“Which people?”
“The Ginger Marshes of this world. The Susan Smiths. The Terry McVeighs. There really isn’t much difference, you know. It’s all the same—attitude, I guess you’d call it. The same arrogance. And if you don’t mind my saying so, Bennis, I think that in my old age, I’m getting tired of it.”
“You’re not old, Gregor. For God’s sake.”
“I’ll be sixty-one on my next birthday. Any day now, they’ll stop talking about how I’m in early retirement. And like I said, I’m getting tired of it. More tired than you know.”
“Then why do it? You’re not obliged to go down there. The case will go on without you.”
“I know it will.”
“So?”
Gregor shrugged. “David Sandler is a friend of mine. He hasn’t had much experience. He thinks there’s something mysterious in what’s happening down there. If I do what he’s asking me to do, it might ease his mind.”
“Right,” Bennis said.
“And then there’s Tibor, too. Maybe getting him
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