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I
blinked
.
I
’
d
had
a
variety
of
theories
circling
around
the
central
conviction
that
Kawahara
was
responsible
for
Bancroft
’
s
death
,
but
none
quite
this
garish
.
But
as
Kawahara
’
s
words
sank
in
,
so
did
a
number
of
pieces
from
that
jagged
mirror
I
’
d
thought
was
already
complete
enough
to
see
the
truth
in
.
I
looked
into
a
newly
revealed
corner
and
wished
I
had
not
seen
the
things
that
moved
there
.
Opposite
me
,
Kawahara
grinned
at
my
silence
.
She
knew
she
’
d
dented
me
,
and
it
pleased
her
.
Vanity
,
vanity
.
Kawahara
’
s
only
but
enduring
flaw
.
Like
all
Meths
,
she
had
grown
very
impressed
with
herself
.
The
admission
,
the
final
piece
to
my
jigsaw
,
had
slipped
out
easily
.
She
wanted
me
to
have
it
,
she
wanted
me
to
see
how
far
ahead
of
me
she
was
,
how
far
behind
her
I
was
limping
along
.
That
crack
about
the
tennis
must
have
touched
a
nerve
.
"
Another
subtle
echo
of
his
wife
’
s
face
,
"
she
said
,
"
carefully
selected
and
then
amped
up
with
a
little
cosmetic
surgery
.
He
choked
the
life
out
of
her
.
As
he
was
coming
for
the
second
time
,
I
think
.
Married
life
,
eh
Kovacs
?
What
it
must
do
to
you
males
.
"
"
You
got
it
on
tape
?
"
My
voice
sounded
stupid
in
my
own
ears
.
Kawahara
’
s
smile
came
back
.
"
Come
on
,
Kovacs
.
Ask
me
something
that
needs
an
answer
.
"
"
Bancroft
was
chemically
assisted
?
"
"
Oh
,
but
of
course
.
You
were
right
about
that
.
Quite
a
nasty
drug
,
but
then
I
expect
you
know
—
"
It
was
the
betathanatine
.
The
heart
-
dragging
slow
chill
of
the
drug
,
because
without
it
I
would
have
been
moving
with
the
breath
of
air
as
the
door
opened
on
my
flank
.
The
thought
crossed
my
mind
as
rapidly
as
it
was
able
,
and
even
as
it
did
I
knew
by
its
very
presence
that
I
was
going
to
be
too
slow
.
This
was
no
time
for
thinking
.
Thought
in
combat
was
a
luxury
about
as
appropriate
as
a
hot
bath
and
massage
.
It
fogged
the
whiplash
clarity
of
the
Khumalo
’
s
neurachem
response
system
and
I
spun
,
just
a
couple
of
centuries
too
late
,
shard
gun
lifting
.
Splat
!
