The Four Last Things

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I was just beginning to like her when she got killed. One of the interesting things about surveillance-make that the only interesting thing about surveillance-is the relationship between watcher and watched. Study the outside of anybody's life long enough and you'll develop some sort of emotional reaction. Sometimes you feel like an entomologist looking at a particularly loathsome new insect; you wish you could do it from farther away. Sometimes you fall in love.

I wasn't in love with Sally Oldfield yet, but I knew I'd like to get closer than across the street.

Sarah Marie Theresa Oldfield, nee Murphy, thirty-two years old, married. Light brown hair, gray eyes, tiny hands and feet, skin with a natural golden cast to it. Big thick horn-rimmed glasses that she wore on top of her head when driving. Farsighted. The cleanest automobile I'd ever broken into. You could have performed brain surgery on the front seat. Ms. Oldfield also had a quick, broad smile, sturdy runner's calves, and an utterly guileless demeanor.

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