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down my face. I said, “He’s a freak, all right. What’d you think he was trying to say, leaving her at a table like that?”
    Bud took out a stick of Juicy Fruit, bent it in half, and stuck it in his mouth. “He’s a friggin’ nutcase, that’s what he’s tryin’ to say. Think about it, Claire. He had to’ve been down there in the water with her for a long time to get all that done. He’s got goddamn salad forks and bread plates floatin’ around down there.”
    I searched the bottom again. Whoever had done this knew proper dining etiquette, all right. The killer had to have spent lots of time down in the silent, murky currents with the dead woman, placing silverware and goblets just so. “He’s got her taped to the chair.” I squinted and tried to see where he’d bound her.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Bud pointed into the water. “Wrists, calves, neck, and ankles. Silver duct tape, and a lot of it.”
    I sucked air a moment and peered across to the Cedar Bend marina, trying to shake off macabre thoughts of the killer diving over and over to pose the corpse. “What do you have on the lady who discovered the body?”
    “Some neurosurgeon’s wife from the Big Apple, Jewish, plenty rich enough to come down to the sticks and stretch out on Black’s thousand-dollar-an-hour couch.”
    “He charges a thousand dollars an hour?”
    “That’s what I heard.” Bud popped a second piece of Juicy Fruit into his mouth, his one addiction other than silk Armani suits. “I’m telling you what, Black’s got some kinda racket out here. O’Hara says the lady’s name is Madeline Jane Cohen.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “Next bungalow over. Waitin’ for us to come interview her.”
    “Okay, we’ll talk to her as soon as we finish up here.” I examined the victim again, more objectively this time. I’d seen violent crimes before, even a couple of times when the vic was posed by the killer, but never anything quite this bizarre.
    “Ms. Cohen’s pretty shook up. Swam right over the victim. Then when she realized it was her nice little neighbor down there taped in that chair, she panicked, swallowed a bunch of water, and barely made it back to shore.”
    “The perp went to a helluva lot of trouble posing her like this. I guess you know what that means?”
    “Couldn’t’ve been too worried about bein’ discovered,” Bud said, offering me a stick of gum.
    “Exactly. You oughta be a detective.” I took the proffered gum and absently tore off the wrapper. “Think she was dead when she went in?”
    Bud made a shrug, redonned his shades, and adjusted the aviator lenses. “Who knows what gets a maniac off? The ME can tell us cause of death soon enough.” He pulled back a starched cuff and checked his watch. “They oughta be here any minute. I called Buckeye right off the bat.”
    “How many times you think he went down to get all that done?”
    “Dunno. Plenty. Hey, maybe he’s a window dresser at Pottery Barn or Crate & Barrel.”
    That Bud. He’s a laugh riot.
    “Have you checked out the bungalow?” I scanned the lake for pleasure boats. Nobody was getting anywhere near this crime scene, not on my watch.
    “Nope. Got here right before you did. O’Hara pointed out the body. Accordin’ to her, nothin’s been touched, inside or out.”
    “The front door was open?”
    “Yeah, Suze Eggers said the front door and the French door to the deck were both open when she got here.”
    “Okay. Let’s see what we can find inside before forensics show. She’ll have to stay put until the ME can supervise. I want retrieval videotaped.”
    “Buckeye’s bringin’ in his whole team. Said Charlie called from Jeff City and ordered them all out here since it’s one of Black’s privileged few.”
    I was more worried about rubbernecking tourists with Nikons. “What about next of kin? Does Sylvie Border have a husband?”
    “Single, as far as I know.”
    “So she was registered out here alone?”
    “Yeah, accordin’