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against his head a month ago. He hadn’t seen the man’s face, but the voice seemed different, and the shape of the body. But had Carver forgotten he’d been wearing a ski mask? Kapak tried to follow these thoughts to some kind of conclusion but was distracted by the feeling that he was exceptionally vulnerable.
    At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking that this situation was likely to change radically within ten or twenty minutes. Spence would return, perceive instantly that there was an intruder in the house, and probably shoot him. Or a couple of survivors of last night’s debacle would show up to tell Kapak all about it, recognize Joe Carver, and take revenge for whatever he’d done last night. And, if nothing else happened, the police lieutenant would probably send a patrol car out at 9:01 to drag Kapak to headquarters. They’d bang on the door, get no answer, and then kick it in. Not only would Kapak’s immediate problem be solved, but so would the larger question of what to do about Joe Carver. The courts would put him away for a home invasion and for the sheer weirdness of keeping a naked man prisoner. Kapak had to stall until one of these things came to pass.
    “Look,” he said. “I can see you’re a sensible, reasonable man. You didn’t come in here talking nasty and waving metal around. I’d love to talk to you about this and come up with some sort of mutually satisfactory arrangement.”
    “That’s exactly what I want.”
    “Good, good,” Kapak said, nodding his head. “Since we’re both civilized and neither of us is crazy, I’d like to get dressed before we do that. I feel at a loss here, standing around like this. It’s hard to concentrate.”
    “That’s okay,” Carver said. “This doesn’t need to take a lot of your time. Now that you know I’m not the one you’ve been looking for, I’ll just go. You and I don’t have a problem.” He turned and moved toward the back door.
    That wasn’t satisfactory. It would allow Carver to slip out into the yard and probably through the tall grove of bamboo on that side of the yard and over the fence. It wouldn’t bring him into a collision with Spence or the Gaffney brothers or the police.
    “Wait” said Kapak.
    Carver stopped and turned to face Kapak. For a moment Kapak endured Carver’s stare and tried to hold his eyes on Carver’s. The expression on Carver’s face changed to disappointment—not, Kapak reflected, anger or fright. “Sorry. Got to go.”
    Kapak persisted. “It’s all well and good that you didn’t take my money. But what if you did something to my guys, or my cars? Is everything supposed to be even because you didn’t do one thing, but did five worse things?”
    “If I could do five worse, I could do ten worse. It’s best to be forgiving.”
    “But is that fair to me?”
    Carver slid the window open on the other side of the room and sat on the sill. He swung one leg out. “Be satisfied with peace. I could have hurt you today”
    “I’m just saying…”
    But Carver’s other leg swung over the sill and he slid off. Kapak heard him drop to the grass below, then heard him begin to run. Kapak had already begun moving, sidestepping closer to the master bedroom suite. Now he ran toward it. His bare feet gave him good traction on the slippery floors, and he made it to his bedroom quickly.
    Spence or the girl had opened the curtains, so he could see Carver trotting toward the tall, graceful bamboo stalks that swayed in the breeze another hundred feet ahead of him.
    Kapak dived onto the bed and rolled to his side to tug open the drawer of his nightstand. He grasped his pistol, nudged the safety off with his right thumb, then did two rolls in the other direction so he would arrive at the window-side of the bed. He swung his legs to get his feet on the floor. Carver was still visible through the nearest of the twelve-foot double-pane windows, and still in possible range. Kapak sprang to his feet and reached for