Happy Policeman Read Online Free PDF

swatch of pale yellow fabric to his uniform.
    “Spring, I think.” Foster frowned at the piece of cloth and then at DeWitt’s face. The banker was so close that DeWitt could see the subtle brick color of his eyeshadow, the touch of blush on his cheeks.
    “You’re a Spring. Should wear more bright colors. Your hair’s highlights are toward the blond. Yellow would make that brighter. Eyes—what are they? More blue? More green? And the skin, warm peach. Yeah. Spring.” Foster stepped back and opened his vest to flash more of his shirt. The necklace of beads and bells he wore jingled. “I’m an Autumn, myself . . .
    “What about Loretta?”
    Foster stroked his beard. From the other room came a rattle. A series of sharp taps. Foster seemed to be fighting an urge to glance toward the closed door. “Loretta thought I was a Winter. She never could do colors well. She didn’t understand the vibratory resonance.”
    “Was? Have you heard she was murdered?” DeWitt hoped to catch him off guard, but the banker’s expression was as empty in its own way as Billy’s had been.
    “Do you meditate?”
    “I—”
    “You’re a Spring. Full of life. A hair-trigger temper that you regret later. Summers are impulsive, busy-work people who hurt without ever realizing it. Winters never forget a slight, but they possess psychic powers. Autumns are the most spiritual. I knew Loretta was headed for murder. Definitely a Summer. The quintessential victim. Summers never know revenge is about to fall until it hits them in the face.”
    “Who’d she hurt?” DeWitt tried to picture Loretta as one of Foster’s conquests and failed. Then he pictured Janet waiting in Foster’s dining room. The vision stuck in his mind like an annoying snatch of melody.
    “A Winter, obviously.” Foster tossed the swatch of fabric onto a turquoise-and-burnt-umber couch. “They’re brooders.”
    “You got anything to drink?” DeWitt parked himself on the sofa next to the square of fabric.
    Foster looked toward the dining room. “Lemon verbena tea? Peppermint? Maybe some Red Zinger?”
    “Mint sounds great.” DeWitt relaxed into the cushions.
    After a hesitation, Foster left. When DeWitt heard water running in the kitchen, he got up and crept over the hardwood planks to the closed door. The glass knob turned in his hand.
    DeWitt froze, the image of Janet returning. What would he do if he found her? he wondered. But he had no choice. If she left him for Foster, DeWitt would place his love at the Line of their estrangement: JANET, FOREVER AND ALWAYS, CHERISHED WIFE .
    He pulled the door open and peeked around the jamb. Jealousy assaulted him from an unexpected direction, impaling him so quickly, so painfully, that he found it difficult to breathe. On Foster’s dining room table a Monopoly board was set up. Sitting across from each other, wordlessly intent on their game, were a pair of Torku.
    DeWitt eased the door to. Confused, he made his way back to the sofa. Foster walked in, toting two mugs. A shell-and-bead necklace was entwined in the banker’s hand like a rosary.
    “Sorry I took so long.” The edges of Foster’s smile twitched.
    DeWitt met the man’s suspicion with a studied lack of guile. Taking the mug, he asked, “Loretta ever hurt you?”
    “Hurt me?” Foster put his mug down on the glass-topped table and offered the necklace to DeWitt. “Start wearing this. It helps the vibrations. Ties are out now. Phallic symbols, you know. We have to get in touch with our feminine sides after that game of nuclear hardball.”
    DeWitt put the necklace into his pocket.
    “Hurt me?” Foster asked again, plunking himself into a worn La-Z-Boy. “Nothing can hurt me anymore, DeWitt, now that I’ve set my priorities in order.” The chair reclined with a thump and a groan of springs. DeWitt found himself staring at the bottom of the banker’s sandals.
    “They did us a favor.” Foster spread his feet to peer at DeWitt. “The Russians. The