SPEAKING IN TONGUES by JEFFERY DEAVER I THE WHISPERING BEARS

1

Crazy Megan parks the car. Doesnt want to do this. No way. Doesnt get out, listens to the rain. The engine ticked to silence as she looked down at her clothes. It was her usual outfit: JNCO jeans. A sleeveless white tee under a dark denim work shirt. Combat boots. Wore this all the time. But she felt uneasy today. Embarrassed. Wished shed worn a skirt at least. The pants were too baggy. The sleeves dangled to the tips of her black-polished fingernails and her socks were orange as tomato soup. Well, what did it matter? The hourd be over soon. Maybe the man would concentrate on her good qualitiesher wailing blue eyes and blond hair. Oh, and her body too. He was a man. Anyway, the clothes covered up the extra seven… well, all right, ten pounds that she carried on her tall frame. Stalling. Crazy Megan doesnt want to be here one bit. Rubbing her hand over her upper lip, she looked out the rain spattered window at the lush trees and bushes of suburbia. This April in northern Virginia had been hot as July and ghosts of mist rose from the asphalt. Nobody on the sidewalksit was deserted here. Shed never noticed how empty this neighborhood was. Crazy Megan whispers, Just. Say. No. And leave. But she couldnt do that. Megahassle. She took off the wooden peace symbol dangling from her neck and flung it into the backseat. Megan brushed her blond hair with her fingers, pulled it away from her face. Her ruddy knuckles seemed big as golf halls. A glance at her face in the rearview mirror. She wiped off the black lipstick, pulled the blond strands into a ponytail, secured the hair with a green rubber band. Okay, let’s do it. Get it over with. A jog through the rain, She hit the intercom and a moment later the door latch buzzed. Megan McCall walked into the waiting room where shed spent every Saturday morning for the past seven weeks. Ever since the Incident, She kept waiting for the place to become familiar. It never did. She hated this. The sessions were bad enough but the waiting really killed her. Dr. Hanson always kept her waiting. Even if she was on time, even if there were no other patients ahead of her, he always started the session five minutes or so late. It pissed her off but she never said anything about it. Today, though, she found the new doctor standing in the doorway, smiling at her, lifting an eyebrow in greeting. Right on time. Youre Megan? the man said, offering an easy smile. Im Bill Peters. He was about her fathers age, handsome. Full head of hair. Hanson was bald and looked like a shrink. This guy… Maybe a little George Cooney, Crazy Megan decides. Her wariness fades slightly. And he doesnt call himself Doctor. Interesting. Hi. Come on in. He gestured. She stepped into the office. Hows Dr. Hanson? she asked, sitting in the chair across from his desk. Somebody in his familys sick? His mother. An accident. I hear shell be all right. But he had to go to Leesburg for the week. So you re like a substitute teacher? He laughed. Something like that. “I didn’t know shrtherapists took over other patients. Some dont. Dr. PetersBill Petershad called yesterday after school to tell her that Hanson had arranged for him to take over his appointments and, if she wanted, she could make her regular session after all. No way, Crazy Megan had whispered at first. But after Megan had talked with Peters for a while she decided shed give it a try. There was something comforting about his voice. Besides, baldy Hanson wasn’t doing diddly for her. The sessions amounted to her lame bitching about school and about being lonely and about Amy and Josh and Brittany, and Hanson nodding and saying she had to be friends with herself. Whatever the hell that meant. Thisll he repeating some things, Peters now said, but if you dont mind, could we go over some of the basics? I guess. He asked, Its Megan Collier? No, Colliers my fathers name. I use my mothers. McCall. She rocked in the stiff-backed chair, crossing her legs. Her tomato socks showed. She uncrossed her legs and planted her feet squarely on the floor, You dont like therapy do you? he asked suddenly This was interesting too. Hanson had never asked that. Wouldnt ask anything so blunt. And unlike this guy, Hanson didnt look into her eyes when he spoke. Staring right back, she said, No, I dont. He seemed amused. You know why youre here? Silent as always, Crazy Megan answers first. Because Im fucked up. Im dysfunctional. I’m a nutcase. Im psycho. Im loony. And half the school knows and do you hare a fucking clue how hard it is to walk through those halls with everyone looking at you and thinking. Shrink bait. shrink bait? Crazy Megan also mentions what just plain Megan would never in a million years tell himabout the fake computerized picture of Megan in a straitjacket that made the rounds of Jefferson High two weeks ago. But now Megan merely recited, Cause if I didnt come to see a therapist theyd send me to Juvenile Detention. When shed been found, drunk, strolling along the catwalk of the municipal water tower two months ago shed been committing a crime. The county police got involved and she maybe pushed, maybe slugged a cop. But finally everybody agreed that if she saw a counselor the commonwealths attorney wouldnt press charges. Thats true. But its not the answer. She lifted an eyebrow The answer is that youre here so that you can feel better. Oh, please, Crazy Megan begins, rolling her crazy eyes. And, okay it was totally stupid, his words themselves. But. but,. . there was something about the way Dr. Peters said them that, just for a second, less than a second, Megan believed that he really meant them. This guys in a different universe from Dr. Loser Elbow Patch Hanson. He opened his briefcase and took out a yellow pad. A brochure fell out onto the desk. She glanced at it. A picture of San Francisco was on the cover. Oh, youre going there? she asked. A conference, he said, flipping through the brochure. He handed it to her. Awesome. I love the city. he continued. Im a former hippie. Tie-dyed-in-the-wool Deadhead and Jefferson Airplane fan … Whole nine yards. Course. that was before your time. No way. I’m totally into Janis Joplin and Hendrix, Yeah? You ever been to the Bay Area? Not yet. But Im going someday. My mother doesnt know it. But I am. He squinted. Hey, you know, there is a resemblancevon and Joplin. If you didnt have your hair up itd he the same as hers. Megan now wished she hadnt done the pert n perky ponytail. The doctor added, Youre prettier, of course. And thinner. Can you belt out the blues? Like, I wish…” But you dont remember hippies. He chuckled. Time out! she said enthusiastically. Ive seen Woodstock, like, eight times. She also wished shed kept the peace symbol. So tell me, did you really try to kill yourself? Cross your heart. And hope to die? she joked. He smiled. She said, No. What happened? Oh, I was just drinking a little Southern Comfort. All right, maybe more than a little. Joplins drink, he said. Too fucking sweet for me. Whoa, the F-word. Cool. She was almostalmostbeginning to like him. He glanced again at her hairthe fringes on her face. Then back to her eyes. It was like one of Joshs caresses. Somewhere within her she felt a tiny pingof reassurance and pleasure. Megan continued her story. And somebody I was with said no way theyd climb up to the top and I said I would and I did. Thats it. Like a dare is all. All right, so you got nabbed by the cops on some bullshit charge. Thats about it. Not exactly the crime of the century. I didnt think so either. But they were so… you know. I know he said. Now tell me about yourself. Your secret history. Well, my parents are divorced. I live with Bett. She has this business? Its really a decorating business but she says shes an interior designer cause it sounds better. Tates got this farm in Prince William. He used to be this famous lawyer but now he just does peoples wills and sells houses and stuff. He hires people to run the farm for him. Sharecroppers. Sound like slaves, or whatever, but theyre just people he hires. And your relationship with the folks? Is the porridge too hot, too cold or just right? Just right. He nodded, made a small notation on his pad though he mightve been just doodling. Maybe she bored him. Maybe he was writing a grocery list. Things to buy after my appointment with Crazy Megan. She told him about growing up, about the deaths of her mothers parents and her fathers dad. The only other relative shed been close to was her aunt Susanher mothers twin sister. Shes a nice lady but shes had a rough time. Shes been sick all her life. And she really, really wanted kids but couldnt have them. Ah, he said. None of it felt important to her and she guessed it was even less important to him. What about friends? Count em on one hand, Crazy Megan says. Shhhh. I hang with the goth crowd mostly, she told the doctor. As in gothic? Yeah. Only She decided she could tell him the truth. What it is is I kinda stay by myself a lot. I meet people but I end up figuring, why bother? Therere a lot of losers out there. Oh, yeah. He laughed. Thats why my business is so good. She blinked in surprise. Then smiled too. Whats the boyfriend situation? This wont take much time, she said, laughing ruefully. I was going with this guy? Joshua? And he was, like, all right. Only he was older. And he was black. I mean, he wasnt a gangsta or anything. His fathers a soldier, like an officer in the Pentagon, and his mothers some big executive. I didnt have a problem with the race thing. But Dr. Hanson said I was probably involved with him just to make my parents nuts. Were you? I dont know. I kinda liked him. No, I did like him. But you broke up? Sure. Dr. Hanson said I ought to dump him. He said that? Well, not exactly. But I got that impression. Crazy Megan thinks that Mr. Handsome Shrink, Mr. George Clooney stud, ought tove figured it out: How can a psycho nutcase like me go out with anybody? If I hadnt dumped Joshwhich I cried about for two weeksif I hadnt left, then everybody at his school would be on his case. Hes the one with the loony girl. And then his folks would find out theyre the nicest people in the universe and totally in loveand theyd be crushed… Well, of course I had to leave… Nobody else on the horizon? he asked. Nope. She shook her head. Okay, lets talk about the family some more. Your mother. Bett and I get along great. She hesitated. Only its funny about hershes into her business but she also believes in all this New Age stuff crap. Im, like, just chill, okay? That stuff is so bogus. But she doesnt hassle me about it. Doesnt hassle me about anything really. Its great between us. Really great. The only problem is shes engaged to a geek. Do you two talk, your mom and you? Chew the fat, as my grandmother used to say? Sure… I mean, shes busy a lot. But who isnt, right? Yeah, we talk. She hoped he didnt ask her about what. Shed have to make up something. And how bout Dad? She shrugged. Hes nice. He takes me to concerts, shopping. We get along great. Great? C.M.Crazy Meganchides, Is that the only word you know, bitch? Great, great, great… You sound like a parrot. Yeah, Megan said. Only. . Only what? Well, its like we dont have a lot to talk about. He wants me to go windsurfing with him but I went once and its a totally superficial way to spend your time. Id rather read a book or something. You like to read? Yeah, I read a lot. Whore some of your favorite authors? Oh, I dont know. Her mind went blank. Crazy Megan isnt much help. Yep, hes gonna think youre damaged. Quiet! Megan ordered her alter ego. She remembered the last book shed read. You know Márquez? Im reading Autumn of the Patriarch. His eyebrow lifted. Oh, I loved it. No kidding. I Dr. Peters added, Love in the Time of Cholera. Best love story ever written. Ive read it three times. Another ecstatic ping. The book was actually sitting on her bedside table. Me too. Well, I only read it once. Tell me more, he continued, about your father. Urn, hes pretty handsome stillI mean for a guy in his forties. And hes in pretty good shape. He dates a lot but he cant seem to settle down with anybody. He says he wants a family. Does he? Yeah. But if he does then why does he date girls named Bambi?… Just kidding. But they look like theyre Bambis. They both laughed. Tell me about the divorce. I dont really remember them together. They split up when I was three. Why? They got married too young. Thats what Bett says. They kind of went different ways. Mom was, like, real flighty and into that New Age stuff I was telling you about. And Dad was just the opposite. Whose idea was the divorce? I think my dads. He jotted another note then looked up. So how mad are you at your parents? Im not. Really? he asked, as if he were completely surprised. Youre sure the porridge isnt too hot? I love em. They love me. We get along grefine. The porridge is just right. What the fuck is porridge anyway? Dont have a clue, Peters said quickly. Give me an early memory about your mother. What? Quick! Now! Do it! His eyes flashed. Megan felt a wave of heat crinkle through her face. I Dont hesitate, he whispered. Say whats on your mind! She blurted, Betts getting ready for a date, putting on makeup, staring in a mirror and poking at a wrinkle, like shes hoping itll go away. She always does that. Like her face is the most important thing in the world to her. Her looks, you know. And what do you think as you watch her? His dark eyes were fervent. Her mind froze again. No, youre hesitating. Tell me! Slut. He nodded. Now thats wonderful, Megan. She felt swollen with pride. Didnt know why. But she did. Brilliant. Now give me a memory about your father. Fast! Bears. She gasped and lifted a hand to her mouth. No… Wait. Let me think. But the doctor pounced. Bears? At the zoo? No, never mind. Tell me. She was shaking her head, no. Tell me, Megan, he insisted. Tell me about the bears. Its not important. Oh, it is important, he said, leaning forward. Listen. Youre with me now, Megan. Forget whatever Hansons done. I dont operate his way groping around in the dark. I go deep. She looked into his eyes and frozelike a deer in headlights. Dont worry he said softly. Trust me. Im going to change your life forever.

2

They werent real bears. Toys? Bears in a story. Whats so hard about this? Dr. Peters asked. I dont know. Crazy Megan gives her a good burst of sarcasm. Oh, good job, loser Youve blown it now. You had to tell him about the book. But the other side of her was thinking: Seven weeks of bullshit with Dr. Shiny Head Hanson and she hadnt felt a thing but bored. Ten minutes with Dr. Peters and she was hooked up to an electric current. Crazy Megan says, Its too hard. It hurts too much. But Bill couldnt hear G.M., of course. Go on, he encouraged. And she went on. I was about six, okay? I was spending the weekend with Tate. He lives in this big house and nobodys around for miles. Its in the middle of his cornfields and its all quiet and really, really spooky. I was feeling weird, all scared. I asked him to read me a story but he said he didnt have any children’s books. I was really hurt. I started to cry and asked why didnt he have any. He got all freaked and went out to the old barnwhere he told me I wasnt ever supposed to goand he came hack with this book. It was called The Whispering Bears. Only it turned out it wasnt really a kids story at all. I found out later it was a book of folk stories from Europe. Do you remember it? Yeah. Tell me. Its stupid. No, Peters said, leaning forward again. Ill bet its anything but stupid. Tell me. There was a town by the edge of the woods. And everybody who lived there was happy, you know, like in all fairy stories before the bad shit happens. People walking down the street, singing, going to market, having dinner with their families. Then one day these two big bears walked out of the woods and stood at the edge of town with their heads down and it sounded like they were whispering to each other. At first nobody paid any attention then little by little the people stopped what they were doing and tried to hear what the bears were saying. But nobody could. That night the bears went back into the forest. And the townspeople stood around and one woman said she knew what they were whispering aboutthey were making fun of the people in the village. And then everybody started noticing how everybody else walked funny or talked funny or looked stupid and they all ended up laughing at each other, and everybody got mad and there were all kinds of fights in town. Okay, then the next day the bears came out of the forest again and started whispering, blah, blah, blah, you get the picture. Then that night they went back into the woods. And this time some old man said he knew what they were talking about. They were gossiping about the people in town. And so everybody figured that everybody else knew all their secrets and so they went home and closed all their windows and doors and they were afraid to go out in public. Thenthe third daythe bears came out again. And it was the same thing, only this time the duke or mayor or somebody said, I know what theyre saying! Theyre making plans to attack the village. And they went to get torches to scare away the bears but they accidentally set a house on fire and the fire spread and the whole town burned down. Megan felt a shiver. Her eyes slipped to the top of the desk and she couldnt look up at Dr. Peters. She continued, Tate only read it to me once but I still remember the last line. It was, And do you know what the bears were really whispering about? Why, nothing at all. Dont you know? Bears cant talk. This is so bogus, Crazy Megan scoffs. Whats he going to think about you now? But the doctor calmly asked, And the story was upsetting? Yeah. Why? I dont know. Maybe cause everybodys lives got ruined for no reason. But there was a reason for it. Megan shrugged. He continued, The town was destroyed because people projected their own pettiness and jealousy and aggression on some innocent creatures. Thats the moral of the story. How people destroy themselves. I guess. But I was just thinking it wasnt much of a kids story. I guess I wanted The Lion King or 101 Dalmatians. She smiled. But Peters didnt. He looked at her closely. What happened after your father finished it? Why did lie ask that? she wondered, her palms sweating. Why? Megan looked away and shrugged again. Thats all. Bett came and picked me up and I went home. This is hard, isnt it, Megan? Get a clue. Quiet! Megan snapped to CM. She looked at Dr. Peters. Yeah, I guess. Would it be easier to write down your feelings? A lot of my patients do that. Theres some paper. She took the sheets that he nodded toward and rested them on a booklet he pushed forward for her to write on. Reluctantly Megan picked up a pen. She stared at the paper. I dont know what to say. Say what you feel. I dont know how I feel. Yes, you do. He leaned close. I think youre just afraid to admit it. Well Say whatever comes into your mind. Anything. Say something to your mother first. Write a letter to her. Go! Another wave of that scalding heat. Spotlight on Crazy Megan… He whispered, Go deep. I cant think! Pick one thing. Why are you so angry with her? Im not! Yes, you are! She clenched her fist. Because . . Why? I dont know. Because shes… She goes out with these young men. Its like she thinks she can cast spells on them. So what? he challenged her, She can date who she wants. Shes single. Whats really pissing you off? I dont know! Yes, you do! he shot back. Well, shes just a businesswoman and shes engaged to this dweeb. Shes not a fairy princess at all hke shed like to be. Shes not a cover girl. But she wears an exotic image? Why does she do that? I guess to make herself happy. She wants to be pretty and young forever. She thinks this asshole Brads going to make her happy. But he isnt. Shes greedy? Is that what youre saying? Yes! Megan cried. Thats it! She doesnt care about me. The night on the water tower? She was at Brads and she was supposed to call me. But she didnt. Who? Her fiancés? Yeah. She went up there, to Baltimore, and she never called. They were fucking, Ill bet, and she forgot about me. It was just like when I was little. Shed leave me alone all the time. By yourself? No, with sitters. My uncle mostly Which uncle? My aunt Susans husband. My moms twin sister. Shes been real sick most of her life, I told you. Heart problems. And Bett spent all this time with her in the hospital when I was young. Uncle Harrisd baby-sit me. He was real nice, but But you missed your mother? I wanted her to be with me. She said it was only for a little while because Aunt Susan was real sick. She said she and Susan were totally close. Nobody was closer to her than her sister. He shook his head, seemed horrified. She said that to you? Her own daughter? Megan nodded. You should have been the person closest to her in the world. These words gripped her by the throat. She wiped more tears and struggled for breath. Finally she continued, Aunt Susand do anything to have kids but she couldnt. Because of her heart. And here Mom got pregnant with me and Susan felt real bad about that. So Mom spent a lot of time with her. Theres no excuse for neglecting children. None. Absolutely none. Megan snagged a Kleenex and wiped her face. And you didnt let yourself be angry? Why not? Because my mother was doing something good. My aunts a nice lady. She always calls and asks about me and wants me to come visit her. Only I dont cause.. Because youre angry with her. She took your mother away from you. A chill. Yeah, I guess she did. Come on, Megan. What else? Why the guilt? Because my aunt needed my mom more back then. When I was little. See Crazy Megan interrupts. Oh, you cant tell him that! Yes, I can. I can tell him anything. See, Uncle Harris killed himself. He did? I felt so bad for my aunt. Forget it! he snapped. Megan blinked. Youre Betts daughter You should have been the center of her universe. What she did was inexcusable. Say it. Say it! I…” Say it! It was inexcusable! Good. Now write it to her. Every bit of the anger you feel. Get it out. The pen rolled from Megans lap onto the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It weighed a hundred pounds. The tears ran from her nose and eyes and dripped on the paper. Tell her, the doctor said. Tell her that shes greedy. That she turned her back on her daughter and took care of her sister instead. But, Megan managed to say, thats greedy of me. Of course its greedy. You were a child, youre supposed to be greedy. Parents are there to fill your needs. Thats the whole point of parents. Tell her what you feel. Her head swamfrom the electricity in the black eyes boring into hers, from her desire, her fear. From her anger… In ten seconds, it seemed, shed filled the entire sheet. She dropped the paper on the floor. It floated like a pale leaf The doctor ignored it. Now. Your father. Megan froze, shaking her head. She looked desperately at the wall clock. Next time. Please. No. Now. What are you mad about? Her stomach muscles were hard as a board. Well, Im mad cause why doesnt he want to see me? He didnt even fight the custody agreement. I see him every two or three months. Tell him. I Tell him! She wrote. She poured her fury on to the page. When the sheet was half full her pen braked to a halt. What else is it, Megan? What arent you telling me? Nothing. Oh, what do I hear? he said. The passions slipping. Somethings wrong. Youre holding back. Dr. Peters frowned, Whispering bears. Something about that storys important. What? I dont know. Go into the place where it hurts the most. We go deep, remember. Thats how I operate. Im Super Shrink. Crazy Megan cant take it anymore. She just wants to curl up into a little crazy ball and disappear. The doctor moved closer, pulling his chair beside her. Their knees touched. Come on. What is it? No. I dont know what it is.. You want to tell me. You need to tell me. He dropped to his knees, gripped her by the shoulders. Touch the most painful part. Touch it! Your fathers read you the story. He comes to the last line. Bears cant talk. He puts the book away. Then what happens? She sat forward, shivering, and stared at the floor. I go upstairs to pack. Your mothers coming to pick you up? Eyes squinting closed painfully. Shes here. I hear the car in the driveway. Okay. Bett walks inside. Youre upstairs and your parents are downstairs. Theyre talking? Yeah. Theyre saying things I cant hear at first then I get closer. I sneak down to the landing. You can hear them? Yes. What do they say? I dont know. Stuff. What do they say? The doctors voice filled the room. Tell me! They were talking about a funeral. Funeral? Whose? I dont know. But there was something bad about it. Something really bad. Theres something else, isnt there, Megan? They say something else. No! she said desperately. Just the funeral. Megan, tell me. I…” Go on. Touch the place it hurts. Tate said.., Megan felt faint. She struggled to control the tears. He called me… They were talking about me. And my daddy said. . She took deep gulps of air, which turned to fire in her lungs and throat. The doctor blinked in surprise as she screamed, My daddy shouted, It would allve been different without her, without that damn inconvenient child up there. She ruined everything! Megan lowered her head to her knees and wept. The doctor put his arm around her shoulders. She felt his hand stroke her head. And how did you feel when you heard him say that? He brushed away the stream of her tears. I dont know… I cried. Did you want to run away? I guess I did. You wanted to show him, didnt you? If thats what he thinks of me Ill pay him back. Ill leave. Thats what you thought, isnt it? Another nod, You wanted to go someplace where people werent greedy, where people loved you, where people had childrens books for you, where they read and talked to you. She sobbed into a wad of Kleenex. Tell him, Megan. Write it down. Get it out so you can look at it. She wrote until the tears grew so bad she couldnt see the page. Then she collapsed against the doctors chest, sobbing. Good, Megan, he announced. Very good. She gripped him tighter than shed ever gripped a lover, pressing her head against his neck. For a moment neither of them moved. She was frozen here, embracing him fiercely, desperately. He stiffened and for a moment she believed that he was feeling the same sorrow she was. Megan started to back away so that she could see his kind face and his black eyes but he continued to hold her tightly, so hard that a sudden pain swept through her arm. A surge of alarming warmth spread through her body. It was almost arousing. Then they separated. Her smile faded as she saw in his face an odd look. Jesus, whats going on? His eyes were cold, his smile was cruel. He was suddenly a different person. What? she asked. Whats wrong? He said nothing. She started to repeat herself but the words wouldnt come. Her tongue had grown heavy in her swollen mouth. It fell against her dry teeth. Her vision was crinkling. She tried once again to say something but couldnt. She watched him stand and open a canvas bag that was resting on the floor behind his desk. He put away a hypodermic syringe. He was pulling on latex gloves. Whatre you she began, then noticed on her arm, where the pain radiated, a small dot of blood. No! She tried to ask him what he was doing but the words vanished in comic mumbling. She tried to scream. A whisper. He walked to her and crouched, cradling her head, which sagged toward the couch. Crazy Megan is beyond crazy. She loves him, shes terrified of him, she wants to kill him. Go to sleep, he said in a voice kinder than her fathers ever sounded. Go to sleep. Finally, from the drug, or from the fear, the room went black and she slumped into his arms.

3

One hundred and thirty years ago the Dead Reb had wandered through this field. Maybe shuffling along the very path this tall, lean man now walked in the hot April rain. Tate Collier looked over his shoulder and imagined that he saw the legendary ghost staring at him from a cluster of brush fifty yards away. Then he laughed to himself and, crunching through rain-wet corn husks and stalks, the waste from last years harvest, he continued through the field, inspecting hairline fractures in an irrigation pipe that promised far more water than it had been delivering lately. Itd have to be replaced within the next week, he concluded, and wondered how much the work would cost. Loping along awkwardly, somewhat stooped, Tate was in a Brooks Brothers pinstripe beneath a yellow souwester and outrageous galoshes, having come here straight from his strip mall law office in Fairfax, Virginia, where hed just spent an hour explaining to Mattie Howe that suing the Prince William Advocate for libel because the paper had accurately reported her drunk-driving arrest was a lawsuit doomed to failure. Hed booted her out good-naturedly and sped back to his two-hundred-acre farm. He brushed at his unruly black hair, plastered around his face by the rain, and glanced at his watch. A half hour until Bett and Megan arrived. Again, the uneasy twist of his stomach at the thought. He glanced once more over his shouldertoward where hed seen the wisp of the ghostly soldier gazing at him from the cluster of vines and kudzu and loblolly pine. Tate returned to the damaged pipe, recalling what his grandfatherborn Charles William Collier but known throughout northern Virginia as the Judgehad told him about the Dead Reb. A young private in the bold experiment of the Confederacy took a musket ball between the eyes at the first battle of Bull Run. By all laws of mercy and physiology he should have fallen dead at the picket line. But hed simply dropped his musket, stood up and wandered southeast until he came to the huge woods that bordered the dusty town of Manassas. There he lived for six months, growing dark as a slave, sucking eggs and robbing cradles (the human victuals were legend only, the Judge appended in a verbal footnote). The Dead Reb was personally responsible for the cessation of all foot traffic after dusk through the Centreville woods that falluntil he was found, stark naked and dead indeed, sitting upright in what was the middle of Jacksons Corner, now a prime part of Tate Colliers farm. Well, no ghosts here now, Tate reflected, only a hundred feet of pipe to be replaced. . Straightening up now, he wiped his watch crystal. Twenty minutes till they were due. Look, he told himself, relax. Through the misty rain Tate could see, a mile away, the house hed built eighteen years ago. It was a miniature Tara, complete with Done columns, and was white as a cloud. This was Tates only real indulgence in life, paid for with some inheritance and the hope of money that a young prosecutor knows will be showered upon him for his brilliance and flair, despite the fact that a commonwealths attorneys meager salary is a matter of public record. The six-bedroom house still groaned beneath a hearty mortgage. When the Judge deeded over the fertile Piedmont land to Tate twenty years agoskipping Tates father for reasons never articulated though known to one and all of the Collier clanthe young man decided impulsively he wanted a family home (the Judges residence wasnt on the farmland itself but was eight miles away in Fairfax). Tate kept a two-acre parcel fallow for one season and built on it the next. The house sat between the two barnsone new, one the originalin the middle of a rough, grassy field punctuated with patches of black-eyed Susans, hop clover and bluestem, a stand of bitternut hickory trees, a beautiful American beech and eastern white pines. The eerily balmy wind grabbed his rain slicker and shook hard. He closed two buckles of the coat and happened to be gazing toward the house when he saw a downstairs light go out. So Megan had arrived. It had to be the girl; Bett didnt have keys to the house. No hope of cancellation now. Well, if you live three miles from a Civil War battlefield, you have to appreciate the persistence of the past. He glanced once more at the fractured pipe and started toward the house, heavy boots slogging through the untilled fields. Like the Dead Reb. No, he reflected, nothing so dramatic. More like the introspective man of forty-four years that hed become. An enthymeme is an important rhetorical device used in formal debate. Its a type of syllogism (All cats see in the dark. Midnight is a cat. Therefore Midnight sees in the dark.), though the enthymeme is abbreviated. It leaves out one line of logic (All cats see in the dark. Therefore Midnight sees in the dark.). Experienced debaters and trial lawyers like Tate Collier rely on this device frequently in their debates and courtroom arguments but it works only when theres a common understanding between the advocate and his audience. Everybodys got to understand that the animal in question is a cat; they have to supply the missing information in order for the logic to hold up. Tate reflected now that he, his ex-wife and Megan had virtually none of this common understanding. The mind of Betty Susan McCall would be as alien to him as his was to her. Except for his ex-wifes startling reappearance seven weeks agowith the news about Megans drunken climb up the water towerhe hadnt seen her for nearly two years and their phone conversations were limited to practical issues about the girl and the few residual financial threads between people divorced fifteen years. And as for Meganhow can anyone know a seventeen-year-old girl? Her mind was a moving target. Her only report on the therapy sessions was: Dad, therapys for, like, losers. Okay? And her Walkman headset went back on. He didnt expect her to be any more informativeor articulatetoday. As he approached the house he now noticed that all of the inside lights had been shut off. But when he stepped out of the field he saw that neither Megans nor Betts car was in the drive. He unlocked the door and walked into the house, which echoed with emptiness. He noticed Megans house keys on the entryway table and dropped his own beside them, looking up the dim hallway. The only light in the cavernous space was from behind himthe bony light from outside, filtering through the entryway. Whats that noise? A wet sound, sticky, came from somewhere on the first floor. Repetitive, accompanied by a faint, hungry gasping. The chill of fear stirred at his neck. Megan? The noise stopped momentarily. Then, with a guttural snap of breath, it resumed again. There was a desperation about the sound. Tate’s stomach began to churn and his skin prickled with sweat. And that smell… Something pungent and ripe. Blood! he believed. Like the smell of hot rust. Megan! he called again. Alarmed now, he walked farther into the house. The noise stopped though the smell was stronger, almost nauseating. Tate thought of weapons. He had a pistol but it was locked away in the barn and there was no time to get it. He stepped forcefully into the den, seized a letter opener from the desk, flipped on the light. And laughed out loud. His two-year-old Dalmatian, her back to him, was flopped down on the floor, chewing intently. Tate set the opener on the bar and approached the dog. His smile faded. What is that? Tate squinted. Suddenly, with a wild, raging snarl, the dog spun and lunged at him. He gasped in shock and leapt back, cracking his elbow on the corner of a table. Just as quickly the dog turned away from him, back to its trophy. Tate circled the animal then stopped. Between the dogs bloody paws was a bone from which streamed bits of flesh. Tate stepped forward. The dogs head swiveled ominously. The animals eyes gleamed with jealous hatred. A fierce growl rolled from her sleek throat and the black lips pulled back, revealing bloody teeth. Jesus… What is it? Tate wondered, queasy. Had the dog grabbed some animal that had gotten into the house? It was so badly mauled he couldnt tell what it had been. No, Tate commanded. But the dog continued to defend its prize; a raspy growl rose from her throat. Come! The dog dropped her head and continued to chew, keeping her malevolent eyes turned sideways toward Tate. The crack of bone was loud. Come! No response. Tate lost his temper and stepped around the dog, reaching for its collar. The animal leapt up in a frenzy, snapping at him, baring sharp teeth, Tate pulled back just in time to save his fingers. He could see the bloody object. It looked like a beef leg bone. The kennel owner from whom hed bought the Dalmatian told him that bones were dangerous treats. Tate never bought them and he assumed Megan must have been shopping on her way here and picked one up. She sometimes brought chew sticks or rubber toys for the animal. Tate made a strategic retreat, slipped into the hallway. Hed wait until the animal fell asleep tonight then throw the damn thing out. He walked to the basement stairs, which led down to the recreation room Tate had built for the family parties and reunions hed planned on hostingpeople clustered around the pool table, lounging at the bar, drinking blender daiquiris and eating barbecued chicken. The parties and reunions never happened but Megan often disappeared down to the dark catacombs when she spent weekends here. He descended the stairs and made a circuit of the small dim rooms. Nothing. He paused and cocked his head. From upstairs came the sound of the dogs growl once more. Urgent and ominous. Megan, is that you? his baritone voice echoed powerfully. He was angry. Megan and Bett were already twenty minutes late. Here hed gone to the trouble of inviting them over, doing his fatherly duty, and this was what he got in return The growling stopped abruptly. Tate listened for footsteps on the ground floor but heard nothing. He climbed the stairs and stepped out into the drizzle once more. He made his way to the old barn, stepped inside and called Megans name. No response. He looked around the spooky place in frustration, straightened a stack of old copies of Wallaces Fanner, which had fallen over, and glanced at the wallat a greasy framed plaque containing a saying from Seaman Knapp, the turn-of-the-century civil servant whod organized the countrys agricultural extension services program. Tates grandfather had copied the epigram, for inspirational purposes, in the same elegant, meticulous lettering with which he filled in the farms ledgers and wrote legal memos for his secretary to type. What a man hears, he may doubt, What he sees, he may possibly doubt. But what he does, he cannot doubt. Megan? he called again as he stepped outside. Then his eye fell on the old picnic bench and he thought of the funeral. No, he told himself. Dont go thinking about that. The funeral was a thousand years ago. Its a memory deader than the Dead Reb and something youll hate yourself for bringing up. But think about it he did, of course. Pictured it, felt it, tasted the memory. The funeral. The picnic bench, Japanese lanterns, Bett and three-year-old Megan… He pictured the cluster of week-old Halloween candy lying in grass, a hot November day long ago.. Until Bett had shown up at his door nearly two months ago with the news of Megan and the water tower he hadnt thought of that day for years. What he does, he cannot doubt.. The rain began in earnest once again and he hurried back to the house, climbed to the second floor and looked in her bedroom. Then the others. Megan? She wasnt here either. He walked downstairs again. Reached for the phone. But he didnt lift the receiver. Instead he sat on the living room couch and listened to the muted sound of the dogs teeth cracking the bone in the next room. Dr. Peterswell, Dr. Aaron Matthewssped away from Tate Colliers farm in Megans Ford Tempo. His hands shook and his breath came fast. A close call. He didnt know why Collier had returned home this morning. He always kept Saturday hours at his office. Or had, every Saturday for the past three months. Ten to four. Clockwork. But not today. When Matthews had driven to Colliers farmwith Megan in the trunk, no lesshed found, to his shock, that the lawyer had returned. Fortunately he was heading out into the fields. When he was out of sight Matthews had parked in a cul-de-sac of brush beside Colliers driveway, fifty feet from the house, had snuck into the large structure using Megans keys. Hed tossed the Dalmatian a beef bone to keep it busy while he did what hed come for. Hed managed to escape to the Tempo just as Collier was returning. Still, it unnerved him. It was bad luck. And although he was a Harvard-trained psychotherapist and did not, professionally, accept the existence of luck, sometimes it took little more than a shadow of superstition like this to drop him into the cauldron of a mood. Matthews was bipolar the diagnosis that used to be called manic depression. In order for him to carry out the kidnapping hed gone off his meds; he couldnt afford the dulling effects of the high doses of Prozac and Wellbutrin hed been taking. Fortunately, once the medication had evaporated from his bloodstream he found himself in a manic phase and hed easily been able to spend eighteen hours a day stalking Megan and working on his plan. But as the weeks had worn on hed begun to worry that he was headed for a fall, And he knew from the past that it took very little to push him over the edge into a lethargic pit of depression. But the near miss with Collier faded now and he remained as buoyant as a happy child. He sped to I-66 and headed eastto the Vienna, Virginia, Metro lotthe huge station for commuters fifteen miles west of D.C. It was Saturday morning but the lot was filled with the cars of people whod taken the train downtown to visit the monuments and museums and galleries. Matthews drove Megans car to the spot where his gray Mercedes was parked then climbed out and looked around. He saw only one other occupied cara white sedan, idling several rows away. He couldnt see the driver clearly but the man or woman didnt seem to be looking his way. Matthews quickly bundled Megan out of the Tempos trunk and slipped her into the trunk of the Mercedes. He looked down at the girl, curled fetally and unconscious, bound up with rope. She was very pale. He pressed a hand to her chest to make sure that she was still breathing regularly. He was concerned about her; Matthews was no longer a licensed M.D. in Virginia and couldnt write prescriptions so to knock the girl out hed stockpiled phenobarb from a veterinarian, claiming that one of his rottweilers was having seizures. Hed mixed the drug with distilled water but couldnt be sure of the concentration. She was deeply asleep but it seemed that her respiration was fine and when he took her pulse her heart rate was acceptable. Between the front seats of the Tempo he left the well-thumbed Amtrak timetable that Megan had used as a lap desk to write the letters to her parents and that now bore her fingerprints (and only hershed worn gloves when handling it). Hed circled all the Saturday trains to New York. Hed approached the abduction the way he once would have planned the treatment of a severely disturbed patient: every detail meticulously considered. Hed stolen the writing paper from Megans room in Bett McCalls house. Hed spent hours in her roomwhen the mother was working and Megan was in school. It was there that hed gotten important insights into her personality: observing the three Joplin posters, the black light, the Marquez book, notes shed received from classmates laced with words like fuck and shit. (Matthews had written a breakthrough paper for the APA Journal on how adolescents unconsciously raise and lower emotional barriers to their therapist according to the doctors use of grammar and language; hed observed, during the session that morning, how the expletives hed used had opened her psyche like keys.) Hed been careful to leave no evidence of his breakin at Bett McCalls. Or in Leesburgwhere Dr. Hansons mother lived. That had been the biggest problem of his plan: getting Hanson out of the way for the weekwithout doing something as obvious, though appealing, as running him over with a car. Hed done some research on the therapist and learned that his mother lived in the small town northwest of Washington, D.C., and that she was frail. On Wednesday night Matthews had loosened the top step leading from her back porch to the small yard behind her house. Then hed called, pretending to be a neighbor, and asked her to check on an injured dog in the backyard. Shed been disoriented and reluctant to go outside after dark but after a few minutes hed convinced hernearly had her in tears over the poor animal, in fact. Shed fallen straight down the stairs onto the sidewalk. The tumble looked serious and for a moment Matthews was worriedif she died Hanson might schedule the funeral around his patients sessions. But he waited until the paramedics arrived and noted that shed merely broken bones. After Hanson had left a message canceling her regular session Matthews had called Megan and told her he was taking over Hansons patients. Now Matthews started the Mercedes and switched carsparking Megans in the space his had occupiedand then sped out of the parking lot. He took his souls pulse and found his mood intact, There was no paralysis, no anger, no sorrow dishing up the fishy delusions that had plagued him since he was young. The only hint of neurosis was understandable: Matthews found himself talking silently with Megan, repeating the various things hed told her in the session and what shed said to him. A bit obsessive but, as hed occasionally said to patients, So what? Finally, he turned the Mercedes onto the entrance ramp to I-66 and, doing exactly fifty-eight miles an hour, headed toward the distant mountains. Megans new home.

4

The woman walked inside the house of which shed been mistress for three years and paused in the Gothic, arched hallway as if shed never before seen the place. Bett, Tate said. She continued inside slowly, offering her ex-husband a formal smile. She paused again at the den door. The Dalmatian looked up, snarling. Oh my, Tate.. Megan gave her a bone. Shes a little protective about it. Lets go in here. He closed the den door and they walked into the living room. Did you talk to her? he asked. Megan? No. Where is she? I didnt see her car. Shes been here. But she left. I dont know why. She leave a note? No. But her house keysre here. Oh. Well. Bett fell silent. Tate crossed his arms and rocked on the carpet for a moment. He walked to the window, looked at the barn through the rain. Returned. Coffee? he asked. “No, thank you. Bett sat on the couch, crossed her thin legs, clad in tight black jeans. She wore a black silky blouse and a complicated silver necklace with purple and black stones. She sat in silence for a few moments then rose and examined the elaborate fireplace Tated had built several years ago. She caressed the mortar and with a pale pink fingernail picked at the stone. Her eyes squinted as she sighted down the mantelpiece. Nice, she said. Fieldstones expensive. She sat down again. Tate examined her from across the room. With her long, Pre-Raphaelite face and tangle of witchy red hair, Betty Susan McCall was exotic. Something Virginia rarely offeredan enigmatic Celtic beauty. The South is full of temptresses and lusty cowgirls and it has matriarchs galore but few sorceresses. Bett was a businesswoman now but beneath that façade, Tate Collier believed, she remained the enigmatic young woman hed first seen singing a folk song in a smoky apartment on the outskirts of Charlottesville twenty-three years ago. Shed performed a whaling song a cappella in a reedy, breathless voice. It had, however, been many years since any woman had ensnared him that way and he now found himself feeling very wary. A dozen memories from the days when they were getting divorced surfaced, murky and unsettling. He wondered how he could keep his distance from her throughout this untidy family business. Betts eyes had disposed of the fireplace and the furniture in the living room and were checking out the wallpaper and molding. His eyes dogged after hers and he concluded that she found the place unhomely and stark. It needed more upholstered things, more pillows, more flowers. new curtains, livelier paint. He felt embarrassed. After several minutes Bett said, “Well, if her cars gone she probably just went out to get something.” Thats probably it. Two hours later. no messages on either of their phones, Tate called the police. The first thing Tate noticed was the way Konnie glanced at Bett. With approval. As if the lawyer had finally gotten his act together: no more young blondes for him. And it was damn well about time. This woman was in her early forties, very pretty Smooth skin. She had quick eyes and seemed smart. Detective Dimitri Konstantinatis of the Fairfax County Police had commented once, Tate, whvre all the women you date half your age and lemme guess. a third your intelligence? If that. Why’s that. Counselor? Konnie strode into the living room and stuck his hand out toward her lie shook the startled woman’s hand vigorously as Tate introduced them. Bett, my exwife. this is Konnie Konnies an old friend from my prosecuting days. Howdy. Oh, the cops disappointed face said, so shes the ex. Giving her up was one bad mistake, mister. The detective glanced at Tate. So, Counselor, your daughters up n late for lunch, that right? Been over two hours, Youre fretting too much, Tate. He poked a finger at him and said to Bett, This fella? Was the sissiest prosecutor in the commonwealth. We had to walk him to his car at night. At least I could find my car, Tate shot back. One of the reasons Konnie loved Tate was that the lawyer joked about Konnie’s drinking; he was now in recoveryno alcohol in four yearsand not a single soul in the world except Tate Collier would dare poke fun at him about it. But what every other soul in the world didnt know was that what the cop respected most was balls. Bett smiled uneasily. Tate and Konnie had worked together frequently when Tate was a commonwealths attorney. The somber detective had been taciturn and distant for the first six months of their professional relationship, never sharing a single personal fact. Then at midnight of the day a serial rapistmurderer theyd jointly collared and convicted was sentenced to be paroled horizontal, as the death row parlance went, Konnie had drunkenly embraced Tate and said that the case made them blood brothers. Were bonded. Bonded? What kind of pinko touchy-feely crap is that? an equally drunken Tate had roared. Theyd been tight friends ever since. Another knock on the front door. Maybe thats her, Bett said eagerly. But when Tate opened the door a crew-cut man in a cheap, slope-shouldered gray suit walked inside. He stood very straight and looked Tate in the eye. Mr. Collier. Im Detective Ted Beauridge. Fairfax County Police. Im with Juvenile. Tate led him inside and introduced Beauridge to Bett while Konnie clicked the TVs channel selector. He seemed fascinated to find a TV that had no remote control. Beauridge was polite and efficient but clearly he didnt want to be here. Konnie was the sole reason Megans disappearance was getting any attention at all. When Tate had called, Konnied told him that it was too early for a missing persons report; twenty-four hours disappearance was required unless the individual was under fifteen, mentally handicapped or endangered. Still, Konnie had somehow accidentally forgotten to get his supervisors okay and had run a tag check on Megans car. And hed put in a request for Jane Doe admissions at all the area hospitals. Tate ushered them into the living room. Bett asked, Would you like some coffee or… ? Her voice faded and she laughed in embarrassment, looking at Tate, undoubtedly remembering that this had not been her house for along, long time. Nothing, thanks, maam, Beauridge said for them both. In the time it had taken Konnie to arrive, Bett had called some friends of Megans. Shed spent the night at Amy Walkers. Bett had called this girl first but no one had answered. She left a message on the Walkers voice mail then called some of her other friends. Brittany, Kelly and Donna hadnt seen Megan or heard from her today. They didnt know if she had plans except maybe showing up at the mall later. To, you know, like, hang out. Konnie asked Tate and Bett about the girls Saturday routine. She normally has a therapy session Saturday morning, Bett explained. At nine. But the doctor had to cancel today. His mother was sick or something. Could she justve forgotten about coming here for lunch? When we talked yesterday I reminded her about it. Was she good about keeping appointments? Beauridge asked. Tate didnt know. Shed always shown up on time when he took her shopping or to dinner at the Ritz in Tysons. He told them this. Bett said that she was semigood about being prompt. But she didnt think the girl would miss this lunch. The three of us being together and all, she added with a faint cryptic laugh. What about boyfriends? Konnie asked. She didnt Tate began. Then halted at Betts glance. And he realized he didnt have a clue whether Megan had a boyfriend or not. Bett continued, She did but they broke up last month. She the one broke it off? Yes. So is he trouble, you think? This kid? Konnie tugged at a jowl. I dont think so, He seemed very nice. Easygoing. So did Ted Bundy, Tate thought. Whats his name? Joshua LeFevre. Hes a senior at George Mason. Hes a senior in college? Tate asked. Well, yes, she said. Bett, shes only seventeen. I mean Tate, Bett said again. He was a nice boy. His mothers some executive at EDS, his fathers stationed at the Pentagon. And Joshs a championship athlete. Hes also head of the Black Students Association. The what? Tate! Well, Im just surprised. I mean, it doesnt matter. Bett shrugged with some exasperation. It doesnt, Tate said defensively. Im just surprised, Konnie repeated wryly. Mr. ACLU speaks. You know his number? Beauridge asked. Bett didnt but she got it from directory assistance and called. She apparently got one of his roommates. Joshua was out. She left a message for him to call when he returned. So. Shes been here and gone. No sign of a struggle? Konnie looked around the front hall. None. What about the alarms? I had them off. There a panic button she could hit if somebody was inside waiting for her? Yep. And she knows about it. Bett offered, She left the house keys here. She has her car keys with her. Could somebody, Konnie speculated, have stole her purse, got the keys and broken in? Tate considered this. Maybe. But her drivers license has Betts address on it. How would a burglar know to come here? Maybe she had something with my address on it but I dont know what. Besides, nothings missing that I could see. Dont see much worth stealing, Konnie said, looking at the paltry entertainment equipment. You know, Counselor, they got TVs nowadays biggern cereal boxes. Tate grunted. Okay, Konnie said, how bout you show me her room? As Tate led him upstairs Beauridges smooth drawl rolled, Sure you got nothing to worry about, Mrs. Collier Its McCall. Upstairs, Tate let Konnie into Megans room then wandered into his own. Hed missed something earlier when hed made the rounds up here: his dresser drawer was open. He looked inside, frowned, then glanced across the hall as the detective surveyed the girls room. Something funny, Tate called. Hold that thought, Konnie answered. With surprisingly lithe movements for such a big man he dropped to his knees and went through what must have been the standard teenage hiding places: under desk drawers, beneath dressers, wastebaskets, under beds, in curtains, pillows and comforters. Ah, whatta we got here? Konnie straightened up and examined two sheets of paper. He pointed to Megans open dresser drawers and the closet. Thesere almost empty, these drawers. They normally got clothes in them? Tate hesitated, concern on his face. Yes, theyre usually full. Could you see if theres any luggage missing? Luggage? No … Wait. Her old backpacks gone. Tate considered this for a moment. Why would she take that? he wondered. Looking at the papers, Tate asked the detective, Whatd you find? Easy, Counselor, Konnie said, folding up the sheets. Lets go downstairs.

5

What would Sidney Poitier do? Joshua LeFevre shifted his muscular, trapezoidal body in the skimpy seat of his Toyota and pressed down harder on the gas pedal. The tiny engine complained but slowly edged the car closer to the Mercedes. Come on, Megan, what the hellre you up to? He squinted again and leaned forward as if moving eight inches closer to the Merce were going to let him see more clearly through his confusion. He assumed the man, not Megan, was driving though he couldnt be sure. This gave him a sliver of comfortfor some reason the thought of this guy tossing Megan the keys to his big doctors car and saying, You drive, honey, riled the young man beyond words. Made him furious. He nudged the car faster. Sidney Poitier… What would you do? LeFevre had seen In the Heat of the Night when hed been ten. (On video, of coursewhen the film had originally come out, in the sixties, the man who would be his father was doing basic training push-ups in. Fort Dix and his to-be mother was listening to Smokey Robinson and Diana Ross while she worked on her 4.0 average at National Cathedral School.) The film had affected him deeply. The Poitier character, Detective Tibbs, ended up stuck in the small Southern town, butting horns with good-old-boy sheriff Rod Steiger. Moving slow, solving a local murder, step by step… Not getting flustered, not getting pissed off in the face of all the crap everybody in town was giving him. Sure, the movie didnt have real guts, it was Hollywoods idea of race relations, more softball than gritty, but even at age ten Joshua LeFevre understood the film wasnt really about black or whiteit was about being a man and being persistent and not taking no when you believed yes. It choked him up, that flickthe way important movies always do, those films that give us our role models, whether its the first time we see them or the hundredth. Oh yes, Joshua Nathan LeFevrean honors English major at George Mason University, a tall young man with his fathers perfect physique and military bearing and with his mothers brainshad a sentimental side to him thick as a mountain. (The week that students in his nineteenth-century-lit seminar were picking apart a Henry James novel like crows, LeFevre had slunk back to his apartment with a very different book hidden in a brown paper bag. Hed locked his door and read the entire novel in one sitting, crying unashamedly when he came to the last page of The Bridges of Madison County.) Sentimental, a romantic. And accordingly, Sidney Poitierrather than Samuel L. Jackson or Wesley Snipesappealed to him. So, what would Mr. Tibbs do now? Okay, he was saying to himself, lets analyze it. Step by step. Heres a girls got a bad home life. None of that talk-show abuse, no, but its clearly a case of Daddy dont care and Momma dont care. So she drinks more than she ought and hangs with a bad crowduntil she meets LeFevre. And seems to get her act together though she falls off the normal wagon every once in a while. And then one night she climbs up to the top of a water tower (and why didnt she call me, dammit, instead of guzzling a fifth of Comfort with Donna and Brittany, the Easy Sisters?). And once shes up there she does a little dance on the scaffolding and the cops and fire department come to get her down. And she goes to see this shrink… Who tells her shes got to break up with him. And so she does. Why? LeFevre had asked her a few weeks ago as they sat in his car, parked in front of her house, on what turned out to be their last date. Why? Its not the differences… Meaning the age, meaning the race. It was… what the hell was it? He replayed Megans little speech. Its just that Im not ready for the same kind of relationship you want. And what kind is that? I dont remember proposing. I dont think weve even talked about our relationship. We just have fun together. Oh, Josh, honey, dont cry… I need to see things, do things. I feel, I dont know, all tied down or something… Living with Betts like living with a roommate. You know, her date for Saturdays the biggest deal in the world. All she worries about is her skin getting old. Old skin? I like your mom. Shes pretty, smart, offbeat. I dont get it. Whats her skin got to do with breaking up? LeFevre had been very confused as he sat in his tiny car beside the woman he loved. Oh, honey, I just need to get away. I want to travel, see things. You know. Travel? Where was this coming from? Ive got a trust fund, Mom and Dadre loaded, Ive lived in Jeddab, Cyprus, London and Germany. I speak three languages. I can show you more of the world than the Cunard Line. Okay, What it is is this therapist. Dr. Hanson? See, he thinks its not a good idea for me to be in a relationship with you right now. Then well back off a bit. See each other once a week or so. Hows that? No, you dont understand, Megan had said brutally; pulling away from him as he tried to take the Southern Comfort bottle out of her hand. And shed climbed out of the passenger seat and run into her house. Cruising down I-66 now, LeFevre leaned over and sniffed the headrest to see if he could smell her perfume. Heartbreakingly, he couldnt. He pushed the accelerator harder, edging up on the gray Mercedes. We, you dont understand. No, he sure as hell hadnt. Joshua LeFevre had waited a tormented three weeks thenthis morningwoke up on autopilot. He hadnt been able to take the girls silence and the suffocating frustration anymore. Hed driven to Hansons office around the time Megans appointment would be over. Hed parked up the street, waiting for her to come out. Josh LeFevre could bench-press 220 pounds, he could bicycle 150 miles a day. But he wasnt going for intimidation. Oh no. He was going to Poitier the man, not Snipes him. Why, he was going to ask the doctor, did you talk her into breaking up with me? Isnt that unethical? Lets sit down together. The three of us. Josh had a dozen arguments all prepared. He believed he could talk his way back into her heart. No, you dont understand. But now he did. God, Im an idiot. The doctor had her break up because he wanted to luck her No psychobabble here. No inner child. Nope. The shrink wanted to play the two-backed beast with LeFevres girlfriend. Simple as a shot in the head. From where hed been parked near the office he hadnt been able to see clearly but suddenly, before the appointment was supposed to be over, Megans Tempo was pulling out of the lotwith the shrink himself driving, it seemed, and heading north. Hed followed the car to Manassasto Megans dads farmwhere LeFevred waited for about twenty minutes. Then, just when hed been about to pull into the long drive, the car had sped out again and theyd driven to the Vienna Metro parking lot. Theyd switched carstaking the German shrinkmobileand headed west on

1-66.

What was it all about? Had she picked up some clothes from her fathers place? Was she going away for the weekend? LeFevre was crazed. He had to do something. But what would Sidney Poitier do? The script had changed. Wait till they got to the doctors house? The inn they were going to? Confront them there? No, that didnt seem right. Oh, hell, he should just go home… Forget this crap. Be a man. His foot eased up on the gas… Good idea, get off at the next exit. Quit acting like a lovesick loser Its embarrassing. Go home. Read your Melville. Youve got a presentation due a week from Monday… The Mercedes pulled ahead. Then the thought burst within him: Bullshit. Im going to deconstruct motifs in some fucking story about a big-ass whale while my girlfriend’s in bed whispering into her therapists ear? He jammed his foot to the floor Would Poitier do this? You bet. And so LeFevre kept his sweating hands on the wheel of the car, straining forward, and sped after the woman whom he loved and, he believed somewhere in a portion of his sloppy heart, who loved him still. Shes run away? Bett whispered. The four of them were in the living room, like strangers at a cocktail party, knees pointed at one another, sitting upright and waiting to become comfortable. Konnie continued, But yall should consider that good news. The profile is most runaways come back on their own within a month. Bett stared out the window at the misty darkness. A month, she announced, as if answering a trivia question. No, no. She wouldnt leave. Not without saying anything. Konnie glanced at Beauridge. Tate caught the look. Im afraid she did say something. Konnie handed Bett and Tate what hed found upstairs. Letters to both of you. Under her pillow. Why there? Bett asked. That doesnt make any sense. So you wouldnt find em right away, Konnie explained. Give her a head start. Ive seen it before. Beauridge asked, Is that her handwriting? Konnie added, Theres a buddy of mine, FBI document examiner, Parker Kincaid. Lives in Fairfax. We could give him a call. But Bett said it was definitely Megans writing. Bett,  she read aloud then looked up. She called me Bett. Not Mom. Why would she do that? She started again and read in a breathless, ghostly voice, BettI dont care if it hurts you to say this … I dont care how much it hurts… She looked helplessly at her ex-husband then read to herself. She finished, sat back in the couch and seemed to shrink to the size of a child herself. She whispered, She says she hates me. She hates all the time I spent with my sister. I Mystified, hurt, she shook her head and fell silent. Tate looked down at his note. It was stained. With tears? With rain? He read: Tate: The only way to say itI hate you for what youve done to me! You dont listen to me. You talk, talk, talk and Bett calls you the silver-tongued devil and you are but you never listen to me. To what I want. To who I am. You bribe me, you pay me off and hope Ill go away. I should of run away when I was six like I wanted to. And never come back. Ive wanted to do that all along. I still want to. Get away from you. Its what you want anyway, isnt it? To get rid of your inconvenient child? His mouth was open, his lips and tongue dry, stinging from the air that whipped in and out of his lungs. He found he was staring at Bett. Tate. You okay? Konnie said. Could I see that again, Mrs. McCall? Beauridge asked. She handed the stiff sheet over. Youre sure thats her writing paper? Bett nodded. I gave it to her for Christmas. In a low voice Bett answered questions no one had asked. My sister was very sick. I left Megan in other peoples care a lot. I didnt know she felt so abandoned… She never said anything. Tate noted Megans careless handwriting. In several places the tip of the pen had ripped through the paper. In anger, he assumed. Konnie asked Tate what hed found in his own room. He was so stunned it took him a minute to focus on the question. She took four hundred dollars from my bedside drawer. Bell blurted, Nonsense. She wouldnt take.. Its gone, Tate said. Shes the only one whos been here. What about credit cards? Konnie asked. Shes on my Visa and MasterCard, Bett said. Shed have them with her. Thats good, Konnie offered. Its an easy way to trace runaways. What it is well set up a real-time link with the credit card companies. Well know within ten minutes where shes charged something. Beauridge said, Well put her on the runaway wire. Shes picked up anywhere for anything on the eastern seaboard, theyll let us know Let me have a picture, will you? Tate realized that they were looking at him. Sure, he said quickly and began searching the room. He looked through the bookshelves, end-table drawers. He couldnt find any photos. Beauridge watched Tate uncertainly; Tate guessed that the young officers wallet and wall were peppered with snapshots of his own youngsters. Konnie himself, Tate remembered from some years ago, kept a picture of his ex-wife and kids in his wallet. The lawyer rummaged in the living room and disappeared into the den. He returned some moments later with a snapshota photo of Tate and Megan at

Virginia Beach two years ago. She stared unsmilingly at the camera. It was the only picture he could find. Pretty girl, Beauridge said. Tate, Konnie said, Ill stay on it. But there isnt a lot we can do. Whatever, Konnie. You know itll be appreciated. Bye, Mrs. CollMcCall. But Bett was looking out the window and said nothing. The white Toyota was staying right behind the Mercedes, Aaron Matthews noted. He wondered if it was the same auto hed seen in the Vienna Metro lot when he was switching cars. He wished hed paid more attention. Matthews believed in coincidence even less than he believed in luck and superstition. There were no accidents, no flukes. We are completely responsible for our behavior and its consequences even if we cant figure out whats motivating us to act. The car behind him now was not a coincidence. There was a motive, there was a design. Matthews couldnt understand it yet. He didnt know how concerned to be. But he was concerned. Maybe hed cut the driver off and the man was mad, Road rage. Maybe it was someone whod seen him heft a large bundle into the trunk of the Mercedes and was following out of curiosity Maybe it was the police. He slowed to fifty. The white car did too. Sped up. The car stayed with him. Have to think about this. Have to do something. Matthews slid into the right lane and continued through the mist toward the mountains in the west. He looked back as often as he looked forward. As any good therapist will advise his patients to do.

6

The rain had stopped but the atmosphere was thick as hot blood. In her stylish shoes with the wide, high heels, Bett McCall came to Tates shoulder. Neither speaking, they stood on the back porch, looking over the back sixty acres of the property. The Collier spread was more conservative than most Piedmont farms: five fields rotating between soy one year and corn and rye the next. A classic northern Virginia spread. Listen to me, Tate, the Judge would say. The boy always listened to his grandfather. Whats a legume? A pea. Only a pea? Well, beans too, I think. Peas, beans, clover, alfalfa, vetches … theyre all legumes. They help the soil. You plant year after year of cereals, what happens? Dont know, sir. Your soil goes to hell in a hand basket. Whys that, Judge? The man had taught the boy never to be afraid to ask questions. Because legumes take nitrogen from the air. Cereals take it from the soil. Oh. Well plant Mammoth Brown and Yellow for silage and Virginia soy too. Wilson and Haerlandts are good for seed and hay How do you prepare the land? Like youre planting corn, the boy had responded. Sow them broadcast with a wheat drill. Out of the blue the Judge might glance at his grandson and ask, Do you cuss, Tate? No sir. Here. Read this. The man thrust into Tates hand a withered old bulletin from the Virginia Department of Agriculture and Immigration. A dog-eared chapter bemoaned the rise of young farmers profanity. Even some of our girls have taken to this deplorable habit. Ill keep that in mind, Judge, Tate had said, remembering without guilt how hed sworn a blue streak at Junior Foote at school just last Thursday. Gazing at his fields, the Judge had continued, But if you do find it necessary to let loose just make sure therere no womenfolk around, Almost time for supper. Lets get on home. Tate stayed at his grandparents house in Fairfax as often as at his parents. Tates father was a kind, completely quiet man, best suited to a life as, say, a court reportera career hed never dared pursue, of course, given the risk that hed be assigned to transcribe one of his fathers trials. The Judge had agonized over whether or not to leave the farm to his only son and had concluded the man just didnt have the mettle to handle a spread of this sort. So he deeded it over to Tate while the other kin got money. (Ironically, as Tate learned during one of the few frank conversations hed ever had with his father, the man had been dreading the day that the Judge would hand over the farm to him. His main concern seemed to be that running the farm would interfere with his passion of collecting Lionel electric trains.) Tates timid, ever-tired mother suited her husband perfectly and Tate could remember not a single word of dissension, or passion, between the two. Little conversation either. Which is why, given his druthers, adolescent Tate would hitch or beg a ride to his grandparents house and spend as much time as he could with them. As the Judge had presided at the head of the groaning board table on Sunday afternoons Tates grandmother might offer in a whisper, The only day to plant beans is Good Friday Thats a superstition, Grams, young Tate had said to her, a woman so benign that she took any conversation directed toward her, even in disagreement, as a compliment. You can plant soy all the way through June. No, young man. Now listen to me. Shed looked toward the head of the table, to make sure her husband wasnt listening. If you laugh loud while planting corn its trouble. I mean, serious trouble. And its good to plant potatoes and onions in the dark of the moon and you better plant beans and corn in the light. That doesnt make any sense, Grams. Does, shed responded. Root crops grow below ground so you plant them in the dark of the moon. Cereals are above ground so you plant in the light. Tate admitted there was a certain logic there. This was one of three or four simultaneous discussions going on around the dinner tableaunts and uncles and cousins, as well as the inevitable guest or two that the Judge would invite from the ranks of the bench and bar in Prince William and Fairfax Counties. One crisp, clear Sunday, young Tate shared an iced tea with one guest whod arrived early while the Judge was en route from the farm. The slim, soft-spoken visitor showed a great interest in Tates ant farm. The visitor was Supreme Court Justice William Brennan, taking a break from penning an opinion in a decisionmaybe a landmark caseto come to Judge Colliers farm for roast beef, yams, collard greens and, of course, fresh corn. And, Crams would continue, scanning the table for the sin of empty serving bowls, its also bad luck to slaughter hogs in the dark of the moon. Sure is for the hogs, Tate had offered. The dinner would continue until four or five in the afternoon, Tate sitting and listening to legal war stories and planning and zoning battles and local gossip thick as Cramss mashed potatoes. Now, because his ex-wife stood beside him, Tate was keenly aware that those Norman Rockwell times, which hed hoped to duplicate in his own life, had never materialized. The vestige of a familial South for Tate hadnt survived long into his adulthood. He, Bett and Megan were no longer a family. Among the multitude of pretty and smart and well-rounded women hed dated Tate Collier hadnt found a single chance for family. And so, as concerned as he now was about Megan, the return of these two into his life was fraught with pain. It brought practical problems too. He was preparing for the biggest case hed had in years. A corporation was petitioning Prince William County for permission to construct a historical theme park near the Bull Run Battlefield. Liberty Park was going to take on Kings Dominion and Six Flags. Tate was representing a group of residents who didnt want the entertainment complex in their backyard even though the county had granted tentative approval. Last week Tate had won a temporary injunction halting the development for ninety days, which the developer immediately challenged. Next week, on Thursday, the Supreme Court in Richmond would hear the argument and rule whether or not to let the injunction stand. If it did, the delay alone might be enough to put the kibosh on the whole deal. Overnight Tate Collier had become the most popularand unpopularperson in Prince William County, depending on whether you opposed or supported the project. The developer of the park and the lenders funding it wanted him to curl up and blow away, of course. But there were hundreds of local businessmen, craftsmen, suppliers and residents who also stood to gain by the parks approval and the ensuing migration of tourists. One editorial, lauding the project, called Tate the devils advocate. A phrase that certainly resonated in this fervent outpost of the Christian South. Liberty Parks developer, Jack Sharpe, was one of the richest men in northern Virginia. He came from old money and could trace his Prince William ancestry back to preCivil War days. When Tate had brought the action for the injunction, Sharpe had hired a well-known local firm to defend. Tate had chopped Sharpes lawyers into little pieceshardly even sportingand the developer had fired them. For the argument in Richmond hed gone straight to Washington, D.C., to hire a law firm that included two former attorneys general, one former vice president, and, possibly, a future president. Tate and Ruth, his secretary-assistant-paralegal, had been working nonstop on the argument and motion papers for a week, and would continue to do so until, probably, midnight of the day before the argument. So Betts reappearance in his lifeand Megans disappearance from itmight have some serious professional repercussions. Queasy, he thought again of that day when he and Bett had fought so bitterlyten or eleven years ago. Hed never known the girl had overheard his outburst. Your inconvenient child… Why had fate brought them back into his life? Why now? But however he wished otherwise, they were back. And there was nothing he could do about it. Finally Tate asked his ex-wife, Think we should call my mother? No, Bell said. Lets give it a few days. I dont want to upset her unnecessarily. What about your sister? Definitely not her. Why not? Tate wondered aloud. He knew Susan cared very much for Megan. More than most aunts would for a niece. In fact, shed always seemed almost jealous that Bell had a daughter and she didnt. Because we dont have any answers yet, Bett responded. Then, after a few moments, she sighed. This isnt like her. She glanced at the letter in her hand. Then shoved it deep into her purse. Tate studied his wifes face. Tate Collier had inherited several talents from the Judge. The main gift was, of course, a way with words, and the other, far rarer, was the ability to see the future in someones face. Now he looked into his ex-wifes remarkable violet eyes, saw them narrow, alight on his and move on, and he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Debate is not just about words, debate is about intuition too. The advocate who can see exactly where his adversary is headed will always have an advantage, whatever rhetorical flourishes the opponent has in his repertoire. He didnt like what he now saw. Bett stepped determinedly off the porch and into the backyard, toward the west barn, where her car was parked. He followed and paused on the shaggy lawn, which was badly in need of a mowing. He stared intently at the white streak of the energetic Dalmatian, which had finally forsaken the bone and was zipping through the grass like a greyhound. Tate glanced at the old barn, alien and yet very familiar. Then his eyes fell on the picnic bench that he and Bell had bought at one of the furniture stores along Route 28. Theyd used it only oncefor the gathering after the funeral fourteen years ago. He remembered the events with perfect clarity now. It seemed like last week. He saw Bett looking at the bench too. Wondered what she was thinking. That had been an unseasonably warm Novemberjust as odd as this Aprils oppressive heat. He pictured Bett standing on the bench to unhook a Japanese lantern from the dogwood after the last of the family and well-wishers had left or gone to bed. Today; Tate paused beside this same tree, which was in its expansive, pink bloom. Are you busy now? she asked. Your practice? Lot of little things. Only one big case. He nodded at the house, where a paralyzing stack of documents for the Liberty Park argument rested. When they were married the house had been littered with red-backed legal briefs, forty or fifty pages long. The Supreme Court of the Commonwealth of Virginia. Many of them were for death penalty cases Tate was prosecuting. Although hed been the Fairfax County commonwealth’s attorney Tate had often argued down in Richmond on behalf of other counties. Have voice, will travel, his staff had joked. His specialty had become special-circumstance murder casesthe official description of capital punishment cases. These assignments and his eagerness to take such cases were a source of friction between husband and wife. Bett was opposed to the death penalty. Death, Tate reflected, always seemed to lurk behind their relationship. Her sister Susans continual battle with serious heart disease, and the suicide of Susans husband, Harris. Then the death of Betts parents and Tates father and grandfather, all in the tragically short period of three years. Tate kicked at piles of cornstalks. I have this feeling, Tate. Betts hands lifted and dropped to her sides. Do you understand what I mean? No. He didnt. Tate was dogged and smart, but feelings? No, sir. Didnt trust them for a minute. He saw how they got the people hed prosecuted into deep, deep trouble. When theyd been married Bett lived on feelings. Intuition, sensations, impressions. And sometimes, it seemed, messages from the stars. Drove him crazy. Keep going, he said. She shrugged. I dont believe this. She tapped her purse. Meaning the letter, he supposed. Why do you think that? I was remembering something. Hmm? he offered noncommittally. I found a bag under Megans bed at home. When I was cleaning last week. There was a soap dish in it. He noticed the womans tears. He wanted to step close, put his arm around her. Tate tried to remember the last time hed held her. Not just bussed cheeks but actually put his arms around her, felt her narrow shoulder blades beneath his large hands. No memory came to mind. It was a joke between us. I never had a dish in my bathroom. The soap got all yucky, Megan said. So she bought this Victorian soap dish. It was for my birthday. Next week. There was a card too. I mean, she wouldnt buy me a present and a card and then do this. Wouldnt she? Tate wondered. Why not? When the pressure builds to a certain point the volcano blowsand it doesnt care about the time of year or whos picnicking on the slopes, drunken lovers or churchgoers. Any lawyer whos done domestic relations work will testify to that. You think someone made her do this? Or that its a prank? Tate asked. I dont know She mightve been drinking again. I checked the bottles at home and they didnt look emptier but… I dont know. Thats not much to go on, her ex-husband said. Suddenly she turned to him and spoke. Its not a hundred percent thing weve got, Megan and me. Therere problems. Of course there are. But our relationship deserves more than this damn letter. More than her running out… She crossed her arms, gazed into the fields again. She repeated, Somethings wrong. But what? Exactly? What do you think? I dont know, Well, what should we do? I want to go look for her, Bett said determinedly. I want to find he r. Which is exactly what hed seen in her purple eyes a few moments earlier. This is what hed known was coming. Yet now that he thought about it he was surprised. This didnt sound like Bett McCall at all. Bett the dreamer, Bett the tarot card consulter. Passive, shed always floated where the breezes took her. Forrest Gumps feather… The least likely person imaginable to be a mother. Children needed guidance, direction, models. That wasnt Bett McCall. When hed heard from Megan that Bett had become engaged last Christmas Tate was surprised only that it had taken her so long to accept what must have been her dozenth proposal since theyd divorced. When theyd been married shed been charming and flighty and wholly ungrounded, relying on him to provide the foundation she needed. Hed assumed that once theyd split up shed quickly find someone else to play that role. He wondered if he was standing next to a Betty Susan McCall different from the one hed been married to (and wondered too if she was thinking the same about him). Bett, he said to reassure her, shes fine. Shes a mature young woman. She vented some steam ands going off for a few days. I did it myself when I was about her age. Remember? He doubted that she did but, surprising him, she said, You made it all the way to Baltimore. And I called the Judge and he came to get me, A two-day runaway Look, Megans had a lot to deal with. I think the soap dish is the key. The dish? Youre rightnobodyd buy a present and a card and then not give them to you. Shell be back for your birthday. And know what else? What? Theres a positive side to this. Shes brought up some things that we can talk about. That ought to be talked about. He noddedtoward the house, where his letter rested like a bloody knife. Logic. Who could argue with it? But Bett wasnt convinced. Theres something else I have to tell you. She chewed on her narrow lower lip the way he remembered her doing whenever shed been troubled. She gripped the porch banister and lowered her head. Tate Collier, intercollegiate debate champion, national moot court winner, expert forensic orator, recognized the body language of an impending confession. Go ahead, he said. The night of the water tower thingI was… out. Out? She sighed. I mean, I didnt get home. I was at Brads in Baltimore. I didnt plan on it; I just fell asleep. Megan was really upset I hadnt called. You apologized? Of course. Well, it was one of those things. An accident. Shed know that. Bett shook her head, dismissingly. I think maybe thats what started her drinking before she climbed up the tower. It didnt help that she doesnt like Brad much. The girl had described Betts fiancé as a nerd who parted his hair too carefully, thought sweaters with reindeer on them were stylish and spent too much time in front of the TV. Tate didnt share these observations with Bett now. It takes a little while to get used to stepparents. I see it all the time in my practice. I held off going over to his place for a while after that. But last night I went there again. I asked her if she minded and she said she didnt. I dropped her at Amys on my way to Baltimore. So, there. Tate smiled and caught her eye as she glanced his way. What? He lifted his palms. Its just a little payback. Shes over at somebody’s house, going to let you sweat a bit. So, no need to worry. You go your way and Ill go mine. That may be, Bett said, but Ill never forgive myself if I just forget it and something happens to her. Tates phone buzzed. He answered it. Counselor, Konnies gruff voice barked. Konnie, whats up? Got good news. You found her? Betts head swiveled. The detective said, Shes on her way to New York. How do you know? Tate asked. I put out a DMV notice and a patrol found her car at the Vienna Metro station. On the front seat was an Amtrak schedule. Shed circled Saturday trains to Penn Station. Manhattan. The Metro would take her from Vienna to Union Station in downtown D.C. in a half hour. From there it was three hours to New York City. Konnie continued. You know anybody up there shed go to visit? Tate told this to Bett, who took the news cautiously. He asked about where she might be going. She shook her head. I dont think she knows a soul up there. Tate relayed the answer to Konnie. Well, at least you know where shes going. Ill call NYPD and have somebody meet the trains and ask around the station. Ill send em her picture. Okay. Thanks, Konnie. He hung up. Looked at his ex-wife. Well, he said. Thats that. But the violet eyes disagreed. What, Bett? he asked. Im sorry, Tate. I just dont buy it. What? Her going off to New York. But why? You havent told me anything specific. Her palms slapped her hips. Well, I dont have anything specific. You want evidence, you want proof. I dont have any. She sighed. Im not like you. Like me? I cant convince you, she said angrily. I dont have a way with words. So Im not even going to try. He started to say something more, to cinch his argument, to end this awkward reunion, to send her back out of his life. But he considered what shed just said and recalled somethingwhat the Judge had said after Tate had finished an argument before the Supreme Court in Richmond in a death penalty case, which Tate later won. His grandfather had been in the audience, proud as could be that his offspring was handling the case. Later, over whiskeys at the ornate Jefferson Hotel in Richmond, the somber old man had said, Tate, that was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Theyll rule for you. I saw it in their faces. I did too, hed thought, wondering what else the Judge had in mind. The old mans eyes were dim. But I want you to understand something. Okay, the young man said. Youve got it in you to be the most manipulative person on earth. How do you mean, sir? If you were greedy you could be a Rockefeller. If you were evil you could be a Hitler. Thats what I mean. You can talk your way into somebody’s heart and get them to do whatever you want. Judge or jury, they wont have a chance. Words, Tate. Words. You cant see them but theyre the most dangerous weapons on earth. Remember that. Be careful, son. Sure, sir, Tate had said, paying no attention to the old mans advice, wondering if the courts decision would be unanimous. It was. What he does, he cannot doubt. Bett gazed at him and in a soft voicesympathetic, almost pitying she said, Tate, dont worry about it. Its not your problem. You go back to your practice. I can handle it. She fished in her purse, pulled out her car keys. He watched her walk away. Then he called, Come on in here. She hesitated. Come on, he said and wandered into the barn, the original onebuilt in the 1920s. Reluctantly she followed. It was a grimy place, the barn, filled with as much junk as farm tools. Hed played here as a boy, had a ream of memories: horses tails twitching with muscular jerks on hot summer afternoons, sparks flying as the Judge edged an axe on the old grinding wheel. Hed tried his first cigarette here. And learned much about the world from the moldy stacks of National Geographics. He also got his first glimpse of naked womenin the Playboys the sharecroppers had stashed here. He slipped off his suit jacket, hanging it up on a pink, padded coat hanger. What was that doing here? he wondered. A former girlfriend, he believed, had left it after theyd taken a trip to the Caribbean. Bett stood near him, holding on to a beam that powder-post beetles had riddled. Tate rummaged through a box. Bell watched, remained silent. He didnt find what he was looking for in one box and turned to another. He glanced up at her then continued to rummage. He finally found the old beat-up leather jacket. He pulled it on, took off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. Then he righted a battered old cobblers bench, dropped down onto it and took off his oxford wing tips and socks. He massaged his feet. His eyes fell again on the picnic bench, visible just outside the door. Thinking again of the night of the funeral. Megan in bed. Bett, unhooking the Japanese lantern, the November night still oddly balmy. She seemed to float like a ghost in the dim air above the bench. Hed come up next to her. Startled her by speaking to her in a heartrending whisper. I have something to tell you. Now he shoved that hard memory away and pulled on white work socks and his comfortable boots. She looked at him in confusion, shook her head. Whatre you doing? You did it after all, he said with a faint laugh. What? You convinced me. He laced the boots up tight. I think youre right. Something happened to her. And were going to find out what. You and me. II THE INCONVENIENT CHILD

7

The rain had started up again. They were inside now, sitting at the old dining room table, dark oak and pitted with wormholes. Tate poured wine, offered it to Bett. She took the glass and cradled it between both hands the way he remembered her doing when theyd been married. In their first year of marriage, because he was a poor young prosecutor and Bett hadnt yet found her career, they couldnt afford to go out to dinner very often. But at least once a week theyd try to have lunch at a nice restaurant. Theyd always ordered wine. She sipped from the glass, set it on the table and watched the sheets of rain roll across the brown fields. What do we do, Tate? she asked. Where do we start? Prosecutors know as much about criminal investigations as cops do. But those gears in Tates mind hadnt been used for a long time. He shrugged. Lets start with her therapist. Maybe she said something about running away, about where shed go. Whats his name? Tate felt he should have remembered. Hanson, Bett said. He had to cancel the session todayan illness or something. I hope hes in town She looked up the number in her address book and dialed it. Its his service, she whispered to Tate. Whats your cell number? She gave the doctors answering service both of their mobile numbers and asked him to return the call. She said it was urgent. Try that friend again, Tate suggested. Amy. Where she spent the night. He tried to picture Amy. Hed met her once. Hed counted nine earrings in the girls left ear but only eight in her right. Hed wondered if the disparity had been intentional or if shed merely miscounted. Troubled, he thought again about her boyfriend. Well, she was seventeen. Why shouldnt she go out? But with a college senior? Tates prosecutorial mind thought back to the Virginia provisions on statutory rape. Bell shifted and cocked the phone closer to her ear. Apparently someone was now home. Amy? Its Megans mother. Honey, were trying to find her. She didnt show up for lunch. Do you know where she went this morning after she left you and your moms? Bett nodded as she listened and then asked if Megan had been upset about anything. Her face was grim. Tate was half listening but mostly he was studying Bett. The tangles of auburn hair, the striking face, the prominent neck bones, the complexion of a woman who looked ten years younger than her age. He tried to remember the last time hed seen her. Maybe it was Megans sweet sixteen party. An odd evening… For a fleeting moment, as he stood beside the girl -and her mother, delivering what everyone declared to be a brilliant toast, hed had a sense of them as a family. He and Bett had shared a momentary smile. But it had faded fast and the instant theyd stepped out of the spotlight theyd returned to their separate lives. When hed seen her after that, Tate couldnt remember. He thought: Shes less pretty now but more beautiful. More confident, more assured, her sunset-sky eyes were narrowed and not flitting aroundcoy arid etherealthe way theyd habitually done fifteen years ago. Maybe its maturity; Tate reflected. And he wondered again what her impression of him might be. Bett put her hand over the receiver and said, Amy said Megan left about nine-thirty this morning and wouldnt tell her where she was going. She was secretive about it. She left her book bag there. I thought it might have something in it thatd give us a clue where she went. I said wed be by to pick it up later. Good. Bett listened to Amy again. She frowned in concern. Tate… She said that Megan told her somebodyd been following her. Following? Who? She doesnt know. Okay; hard evidence. The latent prosecutor in Tate Collier awakened a bit more. Let me talk to her. Tate took the phone. Amy? This is Megans father. A pause. The girl finally said, Urn, hi. Is Megan, like, okay? We hope so. We just want to find out where she is. Whats this about somebody following her? She was, like, pretty freaked. Not real helpful, he thought and asked, Tell me exactly what happened. I mean, her and me, we were sitting around watching this movie, I dont know, on Wednesday, I guess, and it was about a stalker and she goes, I dont want to watch this. And Im like, Why not? And shes like, Theres this car with some older guy in it and I think hes been following me around. And I go, No way But shes like, Yeah, really. Where? Tate asked. Around school, I think, Amy said. Any description? Of the guy? Or the car. Naw. She didnt tell me. But Im like, Right, somebody following you… And shes like, Im not bullshIm not fooling. And she goes, It was there yesterday. By the field. What field? The sports field behind the school, Amy answered. That was this last Tuesday? Um, yeah. Did you believe her? I guess. She looked pretty freaked. And she says she told some people about it. Who? I dont know. Some guys. She didnt tell me who. Oh, and she told Mr. Eckhard too. Hes an English teacher at the middle school and he coaches volleyball after school and on the weekends. And he said if he saw it hed go talk to the driver. And Im like, Wow. This is totally fucktotally weird. His names Eckhard? Something like that. I dont know how to spell it. But if you want to, like, talk to him theres usually volleyball practice on Saturday afternoon, only I dont know when. Volleyballs for losers, you know Yeah, I know, Tate said. It had been the only sport hed played in college. You think something, like, happened to her? Thats way lame. Wed just feel a little better knowing where she is. Listen, Amy; well be around to pick up her book bag in the next couple of hours. If you hear from her give us a call. I will. Promise? he asked firmly. Yeah, like, I promise. As soon as Tate pushed the End button on Betts phone it buzzed again. He glanced at her and she nodded for him to answer it. He pushed Receive. Hello? Urn, is this Megans father? a mans voice asked. Thats right. Mr. McCall.. Actually its Collier. Thats right. Sure. Sony. This is Dr. Hanson. Doctor, thanks for calling… I have to tell you, it looks like Megans run away. There was a pause. Really? Tate tried to read the tone. He heard concern and surprise. We got some… well, some pretty angry letters from her. Her mother and I both did. And then she vanished. Is there any way we can see you? Im in Leesburg now. My mothers had an accident. Im sorry to hear that. But if Bett and I drove up could you spare a half hour? Well.. Its important, Doctor. Were really concerned about her. I suppose so. All right. He gave them directions to the hospital. Tate looked at his watch. It was noon. Well be there in an hour or so. Actually Hanson said slowly I think we should talk. There were some things she told me that you ought to know What? Tate asked. I want to think about them a little more. There are some confidentiality issues… But its funnyId expect any number of things from Megan, but running away? No, that seems odd to me. Tate thanked him. It was only after hanging up that he felt a disturbing twist in his belly. What were the any number of things Megan was capable of? And were they any worse than her running away? His precious cargo was in the trunk. But while Aaron Matthews would have liked to meditate on Megan McCall and on what lay ahead for both of them he was instead growing increasingly anxious. The fucking white cat He was cruising down I-66. Hed planned to stop at the house hed rented last year in Prince William Countyonly two or three miles from Tate Colliers farmand pick up some things he wanted to take with him to the mountains. But he couldnt risk leading anyone to that house, and this car was just not going away. It was raining again, a gray drizzle. In the mist and rain he couldnt see the driver clearly though he was now certain he was young and black. And because he followed Matthews so carelessly and obviously he sure wasnt a cop. But who? Then Matthews remembered: Megan had a black boyfriend. Josh or Joshua, wasnt it? The boy that Dr. Hanson had suggested she leaveif Megan had been telling the truth about that bit of advice, which he suspected she might not have been. What was going through the young mans mind? As a scientist, Matthews believed in logic. The only time people acted illogicallyeven psychoticswas when they were having seizures. We might not be able to perceive the logic they operated by and their actions might be illogical to rational observers hilt that was only because they were not being empathetic. Once we climb into the minds of our patients, he wrote in his well-received essay on delusional behavior in bipolars, once we understand their fears and desirestheir own internal system of logicthen we can begin to understand their motives, the reasons behind their actions, and we can help them change… So, what was this young man thinking? Maybe Megan had planned to meet him at the office after the appointment. Maybe hed just happened to see her car, being driven by a man he didnt recognize, and followed it. Or maybethis accorded with Matthewss perceptions on the frighteningly powerful dynamics of lovehed been waiting at the office to confront the doctor about the breakup. Maybe even attack him. Thanks for that, Dr. Hanson, he thought acerbically. Should have broken your hip, not Moms… Rage shook him for a moment. Then he calmed. Did the boy have a car phone? Had he called the police and reported the Mercedess license number? It was a stolen plate but the number didnt belong to a gray Mercedes and that discrepancy would be reason enough for the cops to pull him over and look in the trunk. But no, of course, he hadnt called the cops. Theyd be after him by now if he had. But what if hed called her parents? What did Tate Collier know? Matthews brooded. What was the man thinking? What was he planning to do? Matthews sped on until he came to a rest stop then he pulled suddenly into the long driveway, weaving slowly through the tractor trailers and four-by-fours filled with vacationers. He noticed that the white Toyota had made a panicked exit and was pulling into the rest stop after him. Fortunately the rain was heavy again. Which gave Matthews the excuse to hold an obscuring Washington Post over his head as he ran to the shelter.

8

They were trotting through the rain to Tates black Lexus when his cell phone buzzed. As they dropped into the front seats he answered. Hello? Tate Collier, please. A mans voice. Speaking. Mr. Collier, Im Special Agent William McComb, with the FBIs Child Exploitation and Kidnapping Unit. Weve just received an interagency notice about your daughter. Im glad you called. Im sorry about your girl, the agent said, speaking in the chunky monotone Tate knew so well from working with the feds. Unfortunately, I have to say, sir based on the facts weve got, theres not a lot we can do. But you made some friends here when you were a commonwealth’s attorney and so were going to open a file and put her name out on our network. That means therell be a lot more eyes looking for her. Anything you can do will really be appreciated. My wife and I are pretty upset. I can imagine, the agent said, registering a splinter of emotion. Could you give me some basics about her and the disappearance? Tate ran through the physical details, Bett helping on the specifics. Blond, blue eyes, five six, 128 pounds, age seventeen. Then he told McComb about the letters. Tate asked, You heard about her car? Urn, no sir. The Fairfax County Police found it at Vienna Metro. It looks like she went to Manhattan. Really? No, I didnt hear that. Well, well tell our office in New York about it… But do I hear something in your voice, sir? Are you thinking that maybe she didnt run away? Are you thinking there was some foul play? Tate had to smile. Hed never thought of himselfespecially his speechas transparent. As a matter of fact, weve been having some doubts, my wife and I. Interesting, McComb said in a wooden monotone. What specifically leads you to believe that? A few things. Megans mother and I are on our way to Leesburg right now to talk to her therapist. See what he can tell us. Hes in Leesburg? His mothers in St. Marys Hospital. She had an accident. And you think he might be able to tell you something? He said he wanted to talk to us. I dont know what hes got in mind. Any other thoughts? Well, Megan told her girlfriend that there was a car following her over the past few weeks. Car, hm? They get any description? Her girlfriend didnt. But we think a teacher at her school did. Eckhards his name. Hes supposed to be at the school later, coaching volleyball. But Id guess thats only if the rain breaks up. And whats her friends name? He gave the agent Amy Walkers name. Were going to talk to her too. And pick up Megans book bag from her. Were hoping it might have something in it thatll give us a clue where shes gone. I see. Does Megan have any siblings? No. Is there anyone else whos had much contact with the girl? Well, my wifes fiancé. Silence for a moment. Oh, youre divorced. Thats right. Forgot to mention it. You have his name and number? McComb asked. Tate asked Bett, who gave him the information. Into the phone he said, His names Brad Markham. He lives in Baltimore. Tate gave him Brads phone number as well. Do you think he was involved in any way? the agent asked Tate. Ive never met him but, no, Im sure not. Okay. You working with anyone particular at the Fairfax County Police? Konnie… Thatd be Dimitri Konstantinatis. Out of which office? Fair Oaks. Very good, sir… You know, nearly all runaways return on their own. And most of the ones that dont, get picked up and sent back home. A little counseling, some family therapy, and things generally work out just fine. Thanks for your thoughts. Appreciate it. Oh, one thing, Mr. Collier. I guess you know about the law. About how it could be, lets say, troublesome for you to take matters into your own hands here. I do. Bad for everybody. Understood. Okay. Then enough said. Appreciate that too. Im just going to be asking a few questions. Good luck to both of you. They hung up and he told Bett what the agent had said. Her face was troubled.

What is it? He felt an urge to append a honey but nipped that one fast. Just that it seems so much more serious with the FBI involved. How foolish people are, how trusting, how their defenses crumble like sand when they believe theyre talking to a friend. And oh how they want to believe that you are a friend… Why, if wild animals were as trusting as human beings theyd have gone extinct ages ago. Aaron Matthews, no longer portraying the stony-voiced FBI agent, protector of children, hung up the phone after speaking with Tate Collier. He almost felt guiltyit had been so easy to draw information out of the man. And what information it was! Oh, Matthews was angry. His mood teetered precariously. All his preparationsuch care, such finesse, everything constructed to paralyze Collier and his wife with sorrow and send them home to brood about their lost daughter… and what were they doing but playing amateur detectives? Their talking to Hanson could be a real problem. Megan might have said something about loving her parents and never even considering running away. Or, even worse, they might become suspicious of Matthewss whole plan and have the police go through Hansons office. Hed been careful there but hadnt wore gloves all the time. There were fingerprintsand the window latch in the bathroom where Matthews had snuck in was still broken. Then there was Amy Walker, Megans friend. With a book bag that probably didnt have anything compromising but mightmaybe a diary or those notes teenage girls are always passing around in school. And this Eckhard, the teacher and coach. What did he know? Reports of a car following her… Much of Matthewss reconnaissance had been conducted around the school. If the teacher had walked up to the car he might easily have gotten the license number of the Mercedes; Matthews hadnt changed the license plates to the stolen ones until yesterday. And even if Eckhard didnt think hed seen much, there were probably some prickly little facts locked away in the teachers subconscious; Matthews had done much hypnosis work and knew how many memories and observations were retained in the cobwebby recesses of the mind. Why the hell was Collier doing this? Why hadnt the letters fooled him? He was a fucking lawyer! He was supposed to be logical, he was supposed to be cold. Why didnt he believe the bald facts in front of him? A dark mood began to settle on Matthews but he struggled to throw it off. No, I have no lime for this now! Fight it, fight it, fight it… (He thought of how many patients hed wanted to grab by the lapels and shake as he shouted, Oh, quit your fucking complaining! You dont like her, leave. She left you? Find somebody else. Youre a drunk, stop drinking.) And closing his eyes fiercely, clenching his fists until a nail broke through the flesh of his palm, he struggled to remain emotionally buoyant. After a few minutes he forced the mood away. He returned to the phone and called three Walkers in Fairfax before he got the household that included a teenage Amy. Yes, Amys my daughter, the womans cautious voice said. Whos this? Im William McComb, with the county. Ive gotten a call from Child Protective Services. My God, whats wrong? Nothing to be alarmed at, Mrs. Walker. This doesnt involve your daughter. Were investigating a case involving Megan McCall. Oh, no! Is Megan all right? She spent the night here! Thats what we understand. It seems shes missing and weve been looking into some allegations about her father. There was a moments pause. Tate Collier, Matthews prompted. Oh, right. I dont know him. You think hes involved? You think he did something? Were just looking into a few things now. But Id appreciate it if youd tell your daughter she shouldnt have any contact with him. Why would she have any contact with him? the edgy voice asked. How easily shell cry, Matthews predicted. We dont think thered be any reason for him to hurt or touch her… Oh, God. You dont think? We just want to make sure Amy stays safe until we get to the bottom of what happened to Megan. Happened to Megan? Please tell me whats going on. I cant really say any more at this time. Tell me, wheres your daughter now? Upstairs. Would you mind if I spoke to her? No, of course not. A moment later a girls lazy voice: Hello? Hi, Amy. This is Mr. McComb. Im with the county. How are you? Okay, I guess. Like, is Megan okay? Im sure shes fine. Tell me, has Megans father talked to you recently? Urn, the girl began. You answer, the mother said sternly from a second phone. Yeah, like, he said shes missing and asked me about her. He was going to come by and get her book bag. So hes interested in whats in her bag? Did you get the impression he was concerned with what might be inside? Like, maybe. The mother: You were going to let him in here? And not tell me? The girl snapped, Mom, just, like, cut it out, okay? Its Megans dad. Matthews said sternly, Amy, dont talk to him. And whatever you do, dont go anywhere with him. I If he suggests going away, getting into his car, going into his barn… God, his barn? her mother gasped. Yep, Matthews could hear soft weeping. He continued, Amy, if he offers you something to drink. . Another gasp. Oh my, this was fun. Matthews continued calmly, … whatever he says tell him no. If he comes over dont answer the door. Make sure its locked. Like, why? You dont ask why, young lady. You do what the man says. Mom, like, come on… What about her book bag? You just hold on to it until you hear from me or someone at Child Protective Services. Okay? I guess. Should we call the police? Mrs. Walker asked. No, its not a criminal charge yet. Oh, God, said Amys mother, the woman of the limited epithets. Then: Amy, tell me. Did Megans father ever touch you? Now, tell the truth Who? Megans father? Mom, youre such a loser I never even met him. Mrs. Walker? Yes. Im here. Her voice cracked. I really dont want to alarm you unnecessarily. No, no. We appreciate your calling. Whats your number, Mr. McComb? Im going to be in the field for a while. Let me call you later, when Im back at the office. All right. Matthews felt a cheerful little twinge as he heard her crying. Though Amys silence on the other extension was louder. He couldnt resist. Mrs. Walker? Yes? Do you have a gun? A choked sob. No, we dont. I dont. Ive never… I wouldnt know how to use one. I guess I could go to Sports Authority. I mean Thats all right, Matthews said soothingly. Im sure its not going to come to anything like that. What if Megans mother, like, calls? the girl asked. Yes, Mrs. Walker echoed, what if her mother calls? A concerned pause. Id be careful. Were investigating her too… It was a very troubled household, it seems. God, Mrs. Walker muttered. Matthews hung up. What a mess this could become. The kidnapping had been so simple in theory But, in practice, it was growing so complicated. Just like the art of psychiatry itself, he reflected. Well, there were other things to do to protect himself. But first things first. He had to get Megan to her new homewith his son, Peterdeep in the mountains. Matthews returned to the Mercedes. He pulled back onto the highway, noting that the white car was still sticking with him like a lamprey to a fish.

9

Amy wasnt home. Oh, brother. Tate sighed. Looked through a window, saw nothing. Walked back to the front door. Pressed the bell again. Standing on the concrete stoop of the split-level house in suburban Burke, Tate kept his hand on the doorbell for a full minute but neither the girl nor her mother came to the door. Whered she gone? Bett had said that theyd stop by soon. Why hadnt Amy stayed home? Or at least put the book bag out on the front stoop? Didnt she care about Megan? Was this adolescent friendship nowadays? Maybe the bells broken, Bett called from the car. But Tate pounded on the door with his open palm. There was no response. Amy! he called. No answer. Go round back, Bett suggested. Tate pushed through two scratchy holly bushes and rapped on the back door. Still no answer. He decided to slip inside and find the bag; a missing teenager took precedence over a technical charge of trespass (thinking: I could make a good argument for an implied license to enter the premises). But as he reached for the doorknob he believed he heard a click. When he tried to open the latch he found the door was locked. He peered through the window and thought he saw some motion. But he couldnt be sure. Tate returned to the car. Not there. He sighed. Well call later. Leesburg? Bett asked. Lets try that teacher first. Eckhard. It was only a five-minute drive to the school. The rain had stopped and youngsters were gathering on the school yardboys for baseball, girls for volleyball, both sexes for soccer. Hacky Sacks, Frisbees, skateboards abounded. After speaking with several parents and students they learned that Robert Eckhard, the volleyball coach, had put together a practice for three that afternoon. It was now a quarter to two. Tate flopped down into the passenger seat of the Lexus. He stretched. This police work… I dont see how Konnie does it. Bett kicked her shoes off and massaged her feet. Wish Id worn comfy boots, like you. Then she glanced toward the school. Look, she said. When theyd been married Bett assumed that he knew exactly what she was thinking or talking about. Shed often communicate with a cryptic phrase, a gesture of her finger, an eyebrow raised like a witch casting a spell. And Tate would have no clue as to her meaning. Today, though, he turned his head toward where she was looking and saw the two blue-uniformed security guards, standing in one of the back doorways of the school. Good idea, he said. And they drove around to the door. By the time they got there the guards had gone inside. Bett and Tate parked and walked inside the school. The halls had that smell of all high schoolssweat, lab gas, disinfectant, paste. Tate laughed to himself at the instinctive uneasiness he felt being here. Class work had come easily to him but hed spent his hours and effort on Debate Club and the teachers were forever booting him into detention hall for skipped classes or missing homework. That he would pause at the door on the way out of class and resonantly quote Cicero or John Calhoun to his teacher didnt help his academic record any, of course. The security offices in Megans school were small cubicles of carpeted partitions near the gym. One guard, a crew-cut boy with half-mast eyelids, wearing a perfectly pressed uniform, listened unemotionally to Tates story. He adjusted his glistening black billy club. Dont know your daughter. He turned, called out, Henry, you know a Megan McCall? Nope, said his partner, who resembled him to an eerie degree. He stepped into the school proper and disappeared. What were concerned about is this car. A man seemed to be following her. A car. Following her. The young man was skeptical. Bett took over. Around the school yard. This past week. Tate: We were wondering if anybody mightve reported it. The mans face eased into that put-upon look security guards are very good at. Maybe theyre resentful that theyre not full-fledged cops and could carry guns. And use them. Are the police involved? the man asked. Somewhat. Hm. Trying to figure that one out. What happens if somebody sees something unusual? Is there any procedure for that? The Bust-er Book, the guard said. Bett asked, The… uh? Bust-er. Hes a dog. I mean, a cartoon dog. But its like Bust as in get busted. Arrested. Then a dash, then e-r If the kids see something suspicious they come tell us and we write it down in the Bust-er Book and then theres a record of it for the police. If anything, you know, happens. Tate recalled what Amyd said. It was on Tuesday. Out in the parking lot by the sports field. Could you take a look? Oh, we cant let you see it, the guard said. Im sorry? Parents dont have, you know, access to it. Only the administration and police. Thats the rule. Thats it right there? The guard turned around and glanced at the blue binder with the words Bust-er on the spine and a cartoon effigy of a dog wearing a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat. Yes sir. If you dont mind… See, our daughters missing. As I was saying. Could you take a look? Just have the police give us a call. Well, shes not officially a missing person. I dont have any leeway, sir. You understand. The guards lean face crinkled. His still eyes looked Tate up and down and his muscular hand caressed his ebony billy club. He was everything Tate hated about northern Virginia. Snide and sullen, this young man would see nothing wrong with a tap on the wifes chin or a belt on his kids butts to keep the family in line. He was master of the house; everyone did as he commanded. And never ask his opinion about the Mideastern and Asian immigrants settling in Fairfax because hell tell you in no uncertain terms. Tate looked at Bett. Her eyebrows were raised as if she were asking: Why was Tate hesitating? After all, he was the silver-tongued devil. He could talk anybody into anything. (Resolved: The Watergate breakin was justifiable as a means to a valid end. Lifelong Democrat, grandson of a lifelong Democrat, Tate had leapt at the chance to take the pro side of the debate and argue that irreverent positionfor the pure joy of going up against overwhelming odds. Hed won, to the Judges shock and lasting amusement.) Officer, Tate began, thinking of the rhetorical tricks in his arsenal, the logic, the skills at persuasion. Ratiocination. He paused, then walked to the door and motioned the guard to follow. The lean man walked slowly enough to let Tate know that nobody on earth was going to make him do a single thing he didnt want to do. Tate, standing in the doorway, looked out over the school yard. What do you see there? The guard hesitated uncertainly. Hed be thinking, What kinda questions that? I see trees, I see cars, I see fences, I see clouds. Tate waited just the right amount of time and said, I see a lot of young people. Um. Well, what the hell elsere you gonna see on a school yard? And those young people rely on us adults for everything. They rely on us for food, for shelter, for schooling, and you know what else? Video games, running shoes, Legos? Whats this clown up to? They rely on us for their safety. Thats what youre doing here, right? Its the reason they hired a big, strong guy like you. A man whos got balls, whos not afraid to mix it up with somebody. I dunno. I guess. Well, my daughters relying on me for her safety. She needs me to find out where she is. Maybe shes in trouble, maybe she isnt. Hey, lets take an example: You see some tough big kids talking to a little kid. Maybe theyre just buddies, fooling around. Or maybe theyre trying to sell him some pot or steal his lunch money. Youd go and find out, right? I would. Sure Thats all Im doing with my daughter. Trying to find out if shes okay. And going through that book would sure be a big help. The guard nodded. Well? Tate asked expectantly. Rules is rules. Cant be done. Have a state trooper or a county officer stop by. Ill be happy to help. Tate sighed. He glanced at Bett, who said icily, Lets go, Tate. Nothing more to be accomplished here. As they walked toward the car, the guard called, Sir? Tate turned. That was a good try, though. Kids and safety and everything. I almost bought it. He picked up a magazine on customized pickup trucks and sat down. Tate and Bett continued to the car then climbed in and drove out of the lot. Neither of them could contain the laughter for long. They both roared. Finally Bett gasped and said, That was the biggest load of hogwash I ever heard. Its the reason they hired a big, strong guy like you. You sounded like you were trying to pick him up. Wiping tears from his eyes, Tate controlled his laughing. That was some pretty good double-teaming. Bett reached under her blouse and pulled out the twenty or thirty sheets of notebook paper shed ripped from the Bust-er Book while Tate had distracted the guard with his absurd argument. I figured I better leave the notebook itself She muttered, The Bust-er Book? The Bust-er Book? Do people really take that stuff seriously? Tate drove about three blocks and pulled over to the curb. Okay, she said, Tuesday… Tuesday. Flipping through the pages. If the storm trooper back theres the one who keeps the book hes got handwriting like a sissy. Okay, Tuesday… She nodded then read: Two students reported a gray car, no school parking permit, parked on Sideburn Road. Single driver. Drove off without picking up student. A gray car. Not much to go on. Anything else? Not then. But Amy said Megand been thinking shed been followed for a while. Bett flipped back through the pages. Her perfect eyebrow rose in a delicate arc. Listen. A week ago. M. McCall (Green Team)thats her class section at schoolreported gray car appeared to be following her. Security guard Gibson took report. Did not personally witness incident. Checked but no car seen. Subject did not know tag or make of vehicle. Bett looked at her ex-husband. Why didnt she tell me about it, Tate? Why? Tate shrugged. He asked, Any description of the driver? None, no. What kind of car did her boyfriend drive? White… I think a Toyota. He couldve borrowed one to follow her, Tate mused. Could have, sure. More questions than answers. Tate stared at the turbulent clouds overhead. The sun tried to break through but a line of thick gray rolled over the sky heading eastward. Well come back and talk to Eckhard later, he said. Lets go to Leesburg.

10

Joshua LeFevre glanced down at the odometer. Hed driven another twenty miles along I-66 in his battered old Toyota since the last time hed checked. Which put him about seventy miles from Fairfax. Mr. Tibbs, the unflappable police detective within him, had finally figured out where Megan and her therapist lover were going: to the doctors mountain place. It was now chic for professionals to have vacation homes in the Blue Ridge or in West Virginia, where you could buy a whole mountaintop for a song. The rain had stopped and he cranked the sunroof open, listening to the wind hissing through the Yakima bike rack on the roof. It was early afternoon when he broke through the Shenandoahs and saw the hazy Blue Ridge in front of him. The rolling hills were not evocative gunmetal today, the literature major in him thought, but were tinted with the green frost of spring growth. Recalling that he and Megan had talked about a bike tour along Skyline Drive, which crested the ridge, later in the spring. Without the rain LeFevre could see more clearly now and he realized that only the doctor was visible in the car. Where was Megan? Taking a nap? Wait… Was her head resting in his lap? He was considering this appalling thought, distracted and angry, when the Mercedes got away from him. Never would have happened to Sidney Poitier. Damn. The Merce had pulled out to pass a semi and hed followed. But as soon as the big gray car had cleared the cab of the truck the doctor had steered hard to the right and pulled onto the exit ramp as the truck driver laid on his air horn and braked. LeFevres Toyota was caught in the left lane and he couldnt swerve back in time to make the exit. His head swiveled and he saw the roof of the Mercedes sink below the level of the highway as it slowed on the ramp. LeFevre slammed his fists on the wheel. Tantrums were definitely not Poitiers style but he couldnt help it. He thought about making an illegal U over the median, but he was a black kid with knobby dreads driving through the crucible of the Confederacy; the fewer laws he broke, the better. The next exit was a mile down the highway and by the time hed followed the Mobius strip of ramps and returned to the exit the Mercedes had taken, there was no sign of the big caronly an intersection of three different country roads, any one of which they might have taken. And now that he thought about it, the doctor might just have stopped for gas and gotten back on to the interstate, continuing west. He closed his eyes in frustration and pressed back hard into the headrest. Metal snapped. What the hellm I doing here? The stuff love makes you do, he thought. Hate it, hate it, hate it.. LeFevre pulled into the gas station, filled up at the self-service island then walked up to the skinny, sullen attendant with long hair sprouting from under a Valvoline giveaway cap, which was as greasy as his brown strands. How you doing? Sidney Poitier asked very politely. Okay yourself? the man muttered. Not bad. Not bad. The man stared at LeFevres hair, which was not exactly modeled on Mr. Poitiers, circa 1967, but was much closer to a rap stars. Helpya? It occurred to LeFevre that even Officer Tibbs, in suit, tie and polished oxfords, wouldnt get a lot of cooperation from a guy like this by asking which way a seventy-thousand-dollar automobile had just gone. At least, not without some incentive. LeFevre opened his wallet and extracted five twenties. Looked down at them. So did the attendant. Thats cash. Yes, it is. You charged your gas. I seen you. I did. Well, whatsitfor? The grimy hair swung as he nodded at the  money. Its for you, LeFevre said in his most carefully crafted queens English. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Whys it for me? The man seemed to sneer. I have a little problem. The stubbly face asked, Who cares? I was driving down sixty-six and this Mercedes cut me off, ran me off the road. Nearly killed me. (This had happened to Sidney Poitier in In the Heat of the Night. More or less.) Did it on purpose. The driver, I mean. Dont say. The man yawned. Front ends all screwed up now. And see what kind of bodywork Ill need? Thank goodness, LeFevre thought. Hed never fixed the damage after hed scraped the side of the car on a barricade when hed dropped his mother off at Neiman Marcus in Tysons Corner last month. The attendant looked at the car without a splinter of interest. So you want me to look at the front end? No, I want the license number of that Mercedes. He came by here five, ten minutes ago. I was hoping he stopped here for gas. This had seemed like a good way to break the iceasking for the license number. It made things officialas if the police were going to get involved. LeFevre believed this trick was definitely something that Sidney Poitier would do. Whyd he run you off the road? the man asked abruptly. Which brought LeFevre up cold. Well, I dont know. LeFevre shrugged. Then he asked, You know which car I mean? He remained respectful but asked this firmly. Hed decided not to be too polite. Sidney Poitier had glared at Rod Steiger quite a bit. Maybe. So he stopped here for gas. Nope. The scrawny guy looked at the money. Then he shook his head; his slick grin gave LeFevre an unpleasant glimpse of bad teeth. Fuck. Whyre you bullshittin me? You dont want that tag number. Um, I— What you want is to find out where that sumvabitch lives. Am I right? Well… An Ill tell you why you want that. Why? Cause he was drivin his big old Mercedes and he thunk thimself, Why, heres a black man-only he was thinking the N-word-driving a little shit Jap car and I can cut him off cause he dont mean shit to me and he dont got the balls to complain to nobody bout it. A faint laugh. And you dont want no tag number for State Farm Insurance or the po-leece. Fuck. You wanna find him and you wanna beat the shiny crap outta him. So, end of story. Well, it was a nice try. LeFevre was about to put the money away and return to his carbefore the man called some real-life Rod Steigerswhen the attendant shook his head and said, God bless you. Im sorry? That frosts me, what he done. Truly does. Im sorry? LeFevre repeated. I mean, I got friendsre black. Couple of em. And we have a good time together and one of ems wife cooks for me and my girlfriend nearly every week. Well, is that right? Fuck, yeah, thats right. The twenties were suddenly in the mans stained fingers. I say, more power to you. Find him and wail on him all you want. I know that sumvabitch. The man in the Mercedes? Yeah. Dr. Hanson, right? I dont know his name. But I seen him off and on for a spell. He comes and goes. Never stops hereprobably thinks my gas aint good enoughbut I seen him. Pisses me off royal, people like him. Moving everybody down the mountain. What do you mean, moving down the mountain? Sidney Poitier asked politely, smiling now and giving the man plenty of thinking room. See, what happened was, when folk settled here they moved to the top of the Ridge. Naturally, where else? Thats the best part. But they couldnt keep the land, most of em. Money troubles, you know. Taxes. So they kept selling to the government for the park or to rich folks wanted a weekend place, and families kept moving down the mountain, Now, most everybodys in the valleymost of the honest folk, I mean. Pretty soon there wont be no mountains left cept for the rich pricks and the government. S what my dad says. Makes sense to me. Wheres his place? The skinny young man nodded toward one narrow road. Thats the way he goes but I dont know where exactly his house is. Only place I know of up theres the hospital. Been for sale for years. He probably bought it ands gonna put a big fancy house on the land. What hospital? Loony bin. Closed a while ago. How far is it? Five miles, giver take, At the end of Palmer Road yonder. He pointed. Now, you aint going to kill him, are you? Id have some problems with that. No. I really do just want to talk. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. The man squinted then offered his bad-tooth grin again. You know, you remind me of that actor. I do? Yeah. Hes a good one. Dont exactly look like him but you sorta hold yourself the same. Whats his name? Whats his name? LeFevre, grinning himself, answered his question. The man blinked and shook his head. Who the hells Sidney Poitier? LeFevre said, Maybe he was before your time. Whats that guys name? I can picture him… Kicked the shit out of some ninjas in this movie with Sean Connery. Wait! Snipes… Wesley Snipes. Thats it. That man can act. LeFevre walked to the edge of the tarmac. The smell of gasoline mixed with the scent of spring growth and clayish earth. Palmer Road vanished into a dark shaft of pine and hemlock, winding up into the mountains. The young attendant stuffed a strand of slick hair up under his hat, You stay away from that hospital. I wouldnt go there for any money. Hear stories about it. People sometimes get attacked. By wild dogs or something. Or something? Kids find bloody bones sometimes. Probably deer or boar but maybe not. LeFevres anger was turning to concern. Megan, whatve you gotten yourself into? I just follow that road? Right. Five miles, Id guess. Keeps to the high ground. Then circles back on itself like a snake. A snake, LeFevre said, absently staring into the murky forest. Thinking of the quote from Dantes Divine Comedy: Halfway through life’s journey I came to myself in a dark wood, where the straight way was lost. Recalling the story too: the authors guided tour of hell. Listen, the attendant said, startling him, you stop on your way back, okay? Let me know what happens. LeFevre nodded and shook the mans oily hand. He climbed into his car and sped along Palmer Road. In an instant, civilization vanished behind him and the world became black bark, shadows and the waving arms of tattered boughs. The things we do for love, LeFevre thought. The things we do for love. Aaron Matthews pulled the Mercedes into a grove of frees beside the asphalt and climbed out, looking back over Palmer Road. No sign of the white car. He was sure hed tricked the boyfriend just fine when hed sped off the highway beside the truck. The kid was probably in West Virginia by now and even if he managed to figure out which exit theyd taken and backtracked hed have no way of knowing which way Matthews had gone into the maze of back roads here. Although Matthews had been coming to the deserted hospital for the past year, ever since hed brought his son here, hed made a point of never stopping for gas or food at the service station or grocery store near the exit ramp off I-66. He was sure the local hicks knew nothing about him. He climbed back in the car and continued on to the Blue Ridge Mental Health Facility. Just past the cleft where the road passed between two steep vine-covered hills, the ground opened into the shallow bowl of a valley. Through a picket line of scab by trees a sprawl of low, decrepit buildings was visible. BRMHF had been the last destination for the hard-core crazies in the commonwealth of Virginia. Schizophrenics, uncontrollable bipolars, borderline personalities, delusionals, souls lost forever. Security was highthe patients (that is, inmates) were locked down at night in secure quarters (padded cells). The eight-foot chain-link fence enclosing the ten-acre grounds was designed to provide comforting boundaries to patients and nearby residents alike (it sported a live current of 500 volts). The hospital had served its purpose well until two years ago, when it had been closed down by the state, and the patients were shipped to other facilities and halfway houses. BRMHF was soon overgrown with foliage and the place was forgotten. Dr. Aaron Matthews was intimately familiar with the hospital; the patients here had found him a confidant, confessor, judge… a virtual father over the course of nearly four years. When he thought of home he thought first of this hospital and second of the Colonial house in Arlington, Virginia, hed lived in with Margaret and their son, Peter. Matthews now braked the Mercedes to a halt and examined the place carefully for signs of intruders though a breakin would have been very unlikely. The current to the fence had been shut off long ago but the chain link was intact and the grounds were patrolled by five knob-headed rottweilers, as raw and brutal as dogs could be, teeth sharp as obsidian; they hunted in packs and once or twice a week killed one of the deer that often strolled through the gate when it was open. He listened carefully againno sound of approaching carsand unlocked the two tempered steel locks securing the gate. He drove inside and parked. Then he lifted Megan from the trunk and carried her inside, pushing through a door with his shoulder. Hed reversed the locks on the doorsyou could simply push in from the outside but couldnt get back out without a key. He stepped into the lobby. Asylums smell far more visceral than do regular hospitals because even though their province is the mind, the by-product of mental pathology is piss, shit, sweat, blood. This was still true of the Blue Ridge Facility years after its closing; the air stank of bodily functions and decay. Through these murky halls Matthews carried his prize in his arms. Feeling every ounce of her weightthough it wasnt the weight of a burden; it was the weight of treasure: a golden or platinum artifact, solid and perfect. Matthews carried Megan into the room hed fixed up for her. He laid her on the bed and undressed her. First the blouse and the bra. Then jeans and panties and socks. His eyes coursed up and down her body. Yet he touched her only onceto make sure her pulse was regular. Taking her clothes, he left the room, locked her door with a heavy padlock. He thought about stopping to see his son but the boy was in a different part of the hospital and Matthews had no time for a visit now. Tate Collier still troubled him. He left the building, got into his car and started through the gate. Hed driven only ten feet before he heard the thump-thump-thump of the flat tire. Oh, not now! His mood suddenly darkened. And he fought once more to keep the blackness at bay. He thought of Megan. It buoyed him just enough to keep him functional. Matthews climbed out and walked to the rear of the car. He took one look at the slash mark in the Michelin and leapt toward the drivers door to get to the pistol in his glove compartment. Too late. Dont move. The young man held the rusty machete, left over from the groundskeeping Matthews had done when hed brought his son here. He gripped the long knife awkwardly but with enough manic determination to make Matthews freeze and raise his hands. The boys muscles were huge. He blurted, Ill give you my wallet. And theres I want to know whats going on. The young mans voice was astonishing. What a beautiful patois. Carolinian and Caribbean and some succulent English, which tempered the two. This man could fuck any woman he wanted simply by telling her she was beautiful. Dont hurt me, Matthews said desperately. A flicker of uncertainty in the brown eyes. Whatve you done with Megan? Matthews frowned. Who are you? Ah, young man, asked the silent therapist within Matthews, youre not a fighter at all, are you? Youre out of your element, brandishing that knife like a squash racket… And why do you feel so guilty, why do you feel so unsure? The pistol was in the glove compartment only feet away. But his assailant was riding on pure nerves. With his strength it wouldnt take much for the boy to injure Matthews seriously, without even trying. Besides, while he believed the young man wasnt dangerous Matthews had learned that premature diagnoses can be very risky. He smiled and lowered his hands. He nodded knowingly. Wait, wait. Youre not… You must be Joshua. The boys face squirreled up into a frown. You know me? Sure, I know you, Matthews said smoothly. I was hoping wed get a chance to talk.

11

You startled me, said the soothing voice of Aaron Matthews. I didnt mean to react the way I did. He glanced at the tire, laughed. But, then again, you did attack my Mercedes with a machete. With his voice trembling (love that voice, love it), the boy said, I thought youd just brought her here on a date. To show her some of your property or something. Then I saw you carry her inside. What the hells going on? Tell me! Wait. Carry who inside? Matthews frowned. Show her some of your property? Megan. I saw you two. So hes thinking real estate development. Matthews shook his head, glanced toward the hospital. You mean just a few minutes ago? Well, I carried in some bags of cleaning supplies. And a tarp. I bought this place and Im turning it into condos. A minuscule lessening of his suspicion. Not believing your own eyes, are you? How often we dont. Also, in his face was a suspicion that the young man himself had made a stupid error here. You dont do well with embarrassment, do you? A gift from the African-American executive mom, Id say. The one with practiced elocution and the Chanel scarf over her shoulder and the defensive eyes? Matthews noted, however, that the boy continued to hold the rusty blade firmly in his hand. Where is she? What were you doing with her car? Joshua, Matthews said patiently, I just dropped Megan off at my weekend place up the road. He pointed into the woods. A couple miles from here. She wanted to get a head start on making lunch. Whyd you switch cars at the Metro? Megans got a friend. Amy. He paused. Joshua said, I know Amy. Amys borrowing her car. We left it at the Metro for her and took the Mercedes. The boy frowned. I didnt think Amy had a license. Matthews laughed. Oh? She didnt share that with us. I wondered why she didnt want us to drop it off at her house. Good, Matthews told himself, giving his performance high marks. But wait… I didnt see Megan in your car when I was behind you. You were following us? Now a frownat the boys odd behavior. Yes, I was following you. How did you think I found you? I assumed that Megan told you about me. And that we come up here sometimes. Joshua blinked. Matthews studied the young man for a moment then tilted his head and said with sympathy, Look, Joshua, dont do this to yourself. Do what? Oh, the desperation Matthews could see in the olive eyes was so sweet… He nearly shivered with pleasure. He whispered, You should forget about her. But I love her! Forget about her. For your own good. Matthews realized hed been right. The man had probably arrived at Hansons office toward the end of the session, planning to confront Meganand presumably the doctor tooabout Hansons advice on breaking up. A little obsessive-compulsive, are we? Or just too much testosterone in the blood? If it werent for romance we poor psychiatrists would have nothing to do. As Freud said, more or less, loves a bitch, aint it? You talked her into breaking up with me so you could see her! Joshua said. Megan said that? he snapped. Well, its not true. Thats completely unethical and Id never do it. Joshua blinked at the vehemence in Matthewss voice. The therapist had deduced that the boy would be a rules-and-regulations victim. Thanks to the other parent, of courseDad the soldier. The therapist continued, She decided to break up with you on her own, Joshua. And then we started going out. Thats not what she said. She said you told her to break up with me. No, Joshua. Thats not the way it was at all. But she told me! Well, we cant blame her for not being completely honest all the time, now, can we? Blame her? See, Megan has trouble taking responsibility for certain things. Not unusual, not a serious problem. We all suffer from it to varying degrees. Its hard for her to express her inner feelings. Given her parents… You know Tate and Bett? Hearing the names, the familiarity in Matthewss voice, the boys defenses slipped a bit more. But he was still dangerous. Too confused, too much in love, riding on too much emotion. Matthews decided he couldnt win the boys confidence; hed have to go in a different direction. Ive met her mother, not her father, Joshua said. Well, believe me, theyre to thank for a lot of her problems. Her lying, for instance. And the way shed lose her temper sometimes. It could be bad, couldnt it? A couple of times. But who doesnt blow off steam? The question told Matthews that the boy was buying the argument. He laughed. Joshua, put that thing down and go home. Forget about Megan. This is only going to mean heartache for you. I love her. He was nearly in tears. By now Matthews had pegged the boy the way a geologist recognizes pyrite. An underachiever terrified of his parents. Military dad. Supermother cutting a swath through America Online or TRW. A couple who probably wereto use Megans tired adjectivegreat people. And so Joshua wouldnt let himself be angry with them. But the anger was there inside him. It had to be. But where? Lets find out… Joshua, you dont understand. You Then tell me. Its not appropriate Joshua persisted. Tell me! What is going on? Matthewss eyes went wide, as if he were losing his temper. He said, All right! You want to know the truth? Yes! Matthews started to speak then shook his head as if he were struggling to control himself. No, no, you dont. Yes I do! The boy stepped forward, menacingly. All right. But dont blame me. The truth is Megan didnt like you. The young mans face froze into a glossy ebony mask. Thats not true! Matthewss mouth grew tight. She told me that the first night we slept together. Joshua gasped. Youre lying. You dont think were lovers? Matthews asked viciously; as befit a man no longer fearful but angry No, I don’t. Well, then how do I know about that birthmark just below her left nipple? Joshua couldnt hold Matthewss cold eyes and he looked down at the moss covering a fallen tree. His hands were shaking. What do we think of her pubic hair? A bit sparse? And what does she like in bed? She likes men to go down on her all night long. And she loves to get fucked in the ass. But not by you apparently, Matthews observed, noting the young mans shocked face. Stop it! During our first session she asked me how she could get rid of you. No. Yes! Matthews spat out. You know what she called you? The white nigger. The eyes glazed over in pain as the scalpel of these words incised the young mans soul. Shed never say that. You were the big minority experiment. She wanted a black man to fuck. But somebody who wasnt too black of course. She thought youd be a good compromise. About as white as they come. But then she decided shed got herself a clunker. She told me she had to drink a half bottle of Southern Comfort just so she could kiss you! No! She and Amyd stay up all night making fun of you. Megan does a great impression of you. Shes got you down cold. Go to hell! Joshua, you asked for this! Matthews shouted. You pushed me, so youre going to hear the truth whether you want it or not. She wanted your pathetic face out of her life. White nigger. You were a toy. She told me again this morning. When we were fucking on the desk in my office. The boy erupted. And while Matthewss words might have driven someone else to act ruthlessly and efficiently it drove Joshua manically forward toward Matthews, out of control. He dropped the machete and flailed away with his fists. She never said that! he cried. She never said that never said that never said that Matthews fell to the ground, covering his head with his left arm. And when he rose a moment later he was holding the machete. The young man froze. Matthews studied him for a momentthe boy suddenly realizing that something very bad was going on. Joshua lowered his arms. What are you going to do to me? he asked in a soft, pathetic whisper. Matthews tasted the extraordinary voice one last time and stepped forward, swinging the machete into Joshuas throat. The boy gave a gurgling scream and stumbled forward. Matthews leapt back, away from the boys swinging fist, and slashed his arm deeply Then his leg. Joshua fell onto his back, cradling the gash in his throat. Matthews plunged the rusty blade into the young mans abdomen. But with astonishing strength Joshua pushed Matthews off, twisted away, and rose to his knees, choking and coughing. The blood flowed between the fingers clutching his torn neck as Joshua crawled fast, like an animal, back through the gate toward the hospital. Matthews didnt bother to pursue him. Joshua got thirty feet into the field surrounding the hospital before collapsing in a stand of Queen Annes lace, which turned a deep purple under the spray of his blood. Matthews slowly walked toward him. Then stopped. He heard an animal snarling, growing closer. He backed quickly away from the quivering body. The rottweilers appeared from behind the house. They paused, stood rigid for a moment then charged forward hungrily Matthews stepped out of the gate and swung it closed as the dogs swarmed in a single muscular pack over the body, which had looked so strong and impervious moments ago and was now just ragged meat. Matthews leaned against the bars of the gate, enraptured, watching the young man die. Joshua fought hardhe tried to rise and struggled to hit the dogs. But it was useless. The big male rottie closed his enormous jaws on the back of Joshuas neck and began to shake. After a moment the body went limp. The animals dragged him into the ravine for the feast. His body vanished under the mass of snarling, bloody mouths. Matthews quickly changed the Mercedess tire and climbed into the car then sped down the rough road. Hed bury what remained of the boys corpse later. He didnt have time now. Too many things to do. He was thinking that this was just like when he was a practicing therapist. Busy days, busy days. There were people to see, people to talk to. Im here to change your life forever Who is he? Who? Megan McCall floated on a dark ocean, that one question the only thing in her thoughts. She opened her eyes and gripped the thin, filthy mattress she lay on. The room swayed and bobbed. She was dizzy and nauseated. Her mouth painfully dry, her eyes swollen half closed. She rolled onto her back and examined the small room. There were flaking cushions mounted on all the walls, bars on the windows. A padded cell. And the whole place stank so bad she thought she might puke. She sat up briefly, trying to find a light. There was none. The overhead lamp had been removed and the room was dark. Maybe she Suddenly roaring filled her ears. Her vision dissolved into black grains and she collapsed back on the bed, passed out. Sometime later she opened her eyes again, managed to sit up then waited until the dizziness passed and she stumbled into the tiny bathroom. The drug hed injected… it was still in her system. Shed have to take it slow. Megan sat down on the toilet, spread her legs and finally worked up the courage to examine herself. No tenderness or pain. No come. He might have groped but he hadnt raped her. She sighed in relief then urinated and washed her hands and face in the basin. She drank a dozen handfuls of icy water. As she stoodcareful, careful, take your timeshe caught sight of herself in the metal mirror bolted to the wall. She gasped. Pale and haggard, blond hair knotted and filthy. Eyes red and puffy. And frightened. Megan stepped away from the mirror quickly. She looked for her clothes. Nothing. She couldnt find anything to wrap herself in. No sheets or curtains. This started a crying fit. She huddled into a ball and sobbed. Wondering how long shed been unconscious. A week, a day? She wasnt hungry so she guessed it was still Saturday. Maybe Sunday at the latest. Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone know she was missing? Her parents, of course. Shed missed the lunch. Which shed been going to blow off anyway. Thank God she hadnt called her mother and told her she wasnt coming, the way shed planned. If that had happened they still wouldnt miss her. And Amy… Should have told her where I was going. But, no, Crazy Megan wouldnt hear of that. C.M. was embarrassed, didnt want anybody to know shes been seeing a shrink. Fuck. She shouldve gone to Juvie Detention after all. Ten days in jail and itd be over with. But Megan had to pick the nut doctor. Who is he? she screamed to herself. Was he the man in that car thatd been following her near school? Shed started to believe that was her imagination. Guess not, honey, Crazy Megan offers with no sympathy whatsoever. Standing by the bed, Megan looked out the barred window into a huge field of tall grass and brush. Some trees, many of them cut down and left to rot. She gasped suddenly as a huge dog trotted past the window and stopped, staring up at her. A bit of bloody flesh dangled from its mouth, red, like a scrap of steak. Its eyes were spookytoo humanand it seemed to recognize her. Then suddenly the dog tensed, wheeled and vanished. She examined the window. The iron bars were thick and the space between them was far too small for her to get through. Frustrated, she pounded her palms against the wall. Who is he? Megan strode to the door, gripped and pulled it hard. It was, of course, locked tight. The tears returned suddenly; they fell on her breasts, and her nipples contracted painfully from the sobbing and the dank cold of the dismal room. Who is he? Why did they make her go to see the doctor? If they hadnt this never wouldve happened. Whatd I do to deserve this? Nothing! I didnt do a thing! If her mother was going to fuck nerds in Baltimore then for Christs sake why didnt she call me? Just a three-minute phone call. Sorry honey Im going to be late call Dominos and use the charge card have Amy over and all right even Brittany too but no boys… If her father was going to waste his life chasing bimbettes why couldnt he at least spend more than one weekend a month with her? This was their fault! Her parents! I hate you so much! I fucking hate you. I A sound. What was it? A scuttling… It came from the ceiling. Looking up, she saw a number of dark clusters where the wall met the ceiling. She moved closer. Spiders! Two huge black ones. And one had just given birtha hundred hundred tiny dots of infants flowed down the wall like black water. Megan shivered, overwhelmed with disgust, her skin crawling at the sight. She raced toward the door, slamming into it with all her weight, and collapsed onto the splintery floor. She crawled along it, pushing at the baseboards, trying to find a weak spot. Nothing. She pulled a wad of toilet paper off the roll, hesitated then crushed the spiders with it. Megan flushed the messy shroud and curled up in a ball on the cold floor. Cried for five minutes. Whats that? Crazy Megan asks her alter ego. This stopped the tears. Squick, squick. That sound again. In the ceiling and the walls. Squirrels, she decided. Then stood and walked to the wall, which was made of cinder block. How could there be animals in the walls if they were made out of cement? Then she glanced into the bathroom and squinted. Those walls were just plasterboard. And there was a rectangular plate about twelve by eighteen inches mounted on the wall beside the toilet. Where did it lead? She walked inside, crouched down and ran her finger across the edge of the metal, which was covered with many layers of paint. In the corners she felt one screw head but three holes, from which the screws were missing. If she could break through the thick paint she might be able to pull the plate up and bend the metal till it snapped. But the enamel was thick, like glue, and with her short nails she couldnt get a grip. She thought of her friend Brittany, with the killer fingernails, a regular at a local Vietnamese manicure parlor. That was what she neededslut claws… She searched the bedroom once more but couldnt find anything to use as a tool. Sighing, she returned to the bathroom, lay on the floor and slugged the metal plate. It resounded hollowly, tantalizing with the promise of an empty passageway on the other side. But it didnt move a millimeter. Keep going, Crazy Megan says. Megan slammed her fist into it again and again, until her knuckles began to bruise and swell. She turned around and kicked with her heel. As the center pushed in slightly, a hairline crack formed around the edge and she kicked harder. Her foot felt as if it were going to shatter. Go! C.M. encourages. Go for it! Megan spun round and tried again to grab the side of the plate. But her nails just werent long enough to get a purchase in the crack and she howled in frustration then lunged forward, bared her teeth and shoved her face against the wall, trying to dig her incisors into the crack. Her gum tore open on the rough paint and plaster. Her jaw exploded with cramping pain and she tasted blood. Then suddenly, with a snap, her front teeth slipped into the crack and pulled the plate away from the wall a fraction of an inch. Megan pressed her hands to her face to ease the pain. Then she spit blood, grabbed the plate and yanked so furiously it gave way at once, ripping the remaining screw from the wall. She fell backward. Jesus, Crazy Megan says respectfully. Good job. With a gasp of joy she sat up, seeing faint light through the hole. She shoved her head into the opening, looking into another room. The plate had apparently covered an old heating vent. There was a thin grille on the other side about a foot away. On her back, she guided her leg into the wail and kicked. The grille fell clattering to the floor. She froze. Quiet! she reminded herself. He could be nearby. Then she started crawling through the opening, headfirst. Her shoulders were broad but she managed to ease them through. She had to reach down, cramping her arm, and cradle her breasts to keep her nipples from scraping on the sharp bottom edge of the vent. One inch at a time she forced her way through the vent. As she eased through she examined the other room. There were bars on these windows too. But the door was open. She could see a dim corridor beyond the doorway. Another ten or twelve inches. Then twelve more. Until her hips. They stopped her cold. Those fucking hips, Crazy Megan mutters. Hate em, hate em, hate em. You just couldnt lose those ten pounds, could you? I dont need any of your crap now, okay? Megan thinks to her alter ego. The vent on the other side of the wall was, it seemed, slightly smaller than the one in her room. Megan tried wriggling, tightening her muscles, licking her fingers and swabbing her sides with spit but she still remained stuckhalfway between each room, her butt dead center in the wall. No way, she thought to herself. Im not getting trapped here! A terrible burst of claustrophobia shook through her. She fought it down, wriggled slightly and moved forward an inch or two before she froze again. Then she heard the noise. Squick, squick. The scuttling of claws in the wall above. Accompanied by a high-pitched twitter. Oh, my God, no. The squirrels. Her heart began to pound. Squick, squick. Right above where she was stuck. Two of them, it sounded like. Then more, gathering where the wall met the ceiling. Then she looked into the corner of the roomat an animals nest. It rustled and a creature appeared, staring at her with tiny red eyes. Oh, fuck, theyre rats! Crazy Megan blurts. Megan began to sob. The noise of their little feet started coming down the wall. She stifled a scream as somethinga bit of insulation or woodfell onto her skin. Squick. Squick. squick. squick. Walking along the ceiling, several of them gathering above her, curious. Maybe hungry. Hundreds of terrible creatures moving toward her stuck bodycautiously but unstoppably. More rats. Squick. Twitters and scuttling, growing closer still. There seemed to be a dozen now, two dozen. She pictured needle-sharp yellow teeth. Tiny gray tongues. Closer and closer. Curious. Attracted to her smell. Shed just finished her period a day ago. Theyd smell the blood. Theyd head right for it. Jesus. More scuttling. Oh… She closed her eyes and sobbed in terror. It seemed that the whole wall was alive with them. Dozens, hundreds of rats converging on her. Closer, closer. Squick squick squick squicksquicksquick… Megan slapped her palms against the wall and pushed with all her strength, kicking her feet madly. Then, uttering a dentists-drill squeal, one rat dropped squarely onto her. She gasped and felt her heart stutter in terror. She pounded the wall, wriggling furiously. The startled animal climbed off and she felt the snaky tail slip in between her legs as he moved back up the wall. Oh, she choked, No.. As she struggled to free herself and scrabbled her feet on the bathroom floor, another animal tentatively reached out with a claw and then stepped onto the small of her back. The paws gripped softly and began to move. A damp whiskered nose tapped on her skin as the creature sniffed along her body. Her arms cramping, she shoved hard. Her foot caught the edge of the toilet in the bathroom behind her and she pushed herself forward two or three inches. It was just enough. She was able to wriggle her hips free. The rat leapt off her and Megan burst into the adjoining room. She crawled frantically into the far corner, as four rats escaped from the wall and vanished through the open door, joined by their friend in the nest. She sobbed, gasping for breath, brushing her palms over her skin frantically to make sure none of them clung to her. After five minutes shed calmed. Slowly she stepped back to the vent and listened. Squick squick squick… More scuttling, more twitters. She slammed the grille against the vent opening. The rest of the rats vanished up the wall. An angry hiss sounded from the hole. God… She found some stacks of newspapers, removed the grille, wadded up the papers and stuffed them inside the wall to keep the creatures trapped inside. She collapsed back on the floor, trying to push away the horrible memory of the probing little paws, filthy and damp. Looking into the dim corridor, cold and yellow, windows barred, filthy, she happened to glance up at a sign on the wall. PATIENTS SHALL BE DELOUSED ONCE A WEEK. That signa few simple wordsbrought the hopelessness home to her. Dont worry about it, Crazy Megan tries to reassure. But Megan wasnt listening. She shivered in fear and disgust and curled up, clutching her knees. Hating this place. Hating her life, her pointless life… Her stupid, superficial friends. Her sick obsession with Janis, the Grateful Dead and all the rest of the cheerful, lying, fake-ass past. Hating the man whod done this to her, whoever he was. But most of all hating her parents. Hating them beyond words.

12

The forty-minute drive to Leesburg took Tate and Bett past a few mansions, some redneck bungalows, some new developments with names like Windstone and The Oaks. Cars on blocks, vegetable stands sellingat this time of yearjars of put-up preserves and relishes. But mostly they passed farmland. Looking out over just-planted land like this, some people see future homes or shopping malls or town houses and some see rows of money to be plucked from the ground at harvest time. And some perhaps simply drive past seeing nothing but where their particular journey is taking them. But Tate Collier saw in these fields what he felt in his own farmlanda quiet salvation. Something he did, yet not of his doing, something that would let him survive, if not prosper, graciously: the silence of rooted growth. And if at times that process betrayed himhail, drought, tumbling marketsTate could still sleep content in the assurance that there was no malice in the earths heart. And that, the former criminal prosecutor within him figured, was no small thing. So even though Tate claimed, as any true advocate would, that it made no never mind to him whether he was representing the plaintiffs or defendants in the Liberty Park case, say, his heart was in fact with the people who wanted to protect the farmland from the roller coasters and concession stands and traffic. He felt this even more now, seeing these rolling hills. And he felt, too, guilt and a pang of impatience that he was distracted from his preparations for the Liberty Park hearing. But a look at Betts troubled face put this discomfort aside. Thered be time to hone his argument. Right now there were other priorities. They passed the Oatlands farm and as they did the sun came out. And he sped on toward Leesburg, into old Virginia. Confederate Virginia. There werent many towns like this in the northern part of the state; most people in Richmond and Charlottesville didnt really consider most of northern Virginia to be in the commonwealth at all. Tate and Bert drove through the city limits and slowed to the posted thirty miles per hour. Examining the trim yards, the white clapboard houses, the incongruous biker bar in the middle of downtown, the plentiful churches. They followed the directions Tate had been given to the hospital where Dr. Hanson was visiting his mother. Can he tell us much? Bert wondered. Legally, I mean. Shed be thinking, he guessed, of the patient-doctor privilege, which allowed a doctor to keep secret the conversations between a patient and his physician. Years ago, when theyd been married, Tate had explained this and other nuances of the law to her. But she often grew offended at these arcane rules. You mean if you dont read him his rights, the arrest is no good? Even if he did it? shed ask, perplexed. Or: Excuse me, but why should a mother go to jail if shes shoplifting food for her hungry child? I dont get it. He expected that same indignation now when he explained that Hanson didnt have to say anything to them. But Bett just nodded, accepting the rules. She smiled coyly and said, Then I guess youll have to be extra persuasive. They turned the corner and the white-frame hospital loomed ahead of them. Well, busy day, Bert said, assessing the front of the hospital as she flipped up the cars mirror after refreshing her lipstick. There were three police cars parked in front of the main entrance. The red and white lights atop one of them flashed with urgent brilliance. Car wreck? Bett suggested. Route 15, which led into town, was posted fifty-five but everybody drove it at seventy or eighty. They parked and walked inside. Something was wrong, Tate noted. Something serious had happened. Several nurses and orderlies stood in the lobby, looking down a corridor. Their faces were troubled. A receptionist leaned over the main desk, gazing down the same corridor. What is it? Bett whispered. Not a clue, Tate answered. Look, there he is, somebody said. God, someone else muttered. Two policemen were leading a tall, balding man down the corridor toward the main entrance. His hands were cuffed behind him. His face was red. Hed been crying. As he passed, Tate heard him say, I didnt do it. I wouldnt do it! I wasnt even there! Several of the nurses shook their heads, eyeing him with cold expressions on their faces. I didnt do it! he shouted. A moment later he was in a squad car. It made a U-turn in the driveway and sped off. Tate asked the receptionist, Whats that all about? The white-haired woman shook her head, eyes wide, cheeks pale. Speaking in Tongues / 129 We nearly had an assisted suicide. She was very shaken. I dont believe it. What happened? We have a patientan elderly woman with a broken hip. And it looks like heshe nodded toward where the police car had been comes in and talks to her for a while and next thing we know shes got a syringe in her hands ands trying to kill herself. Can you imagine? Can you just imagine? But they saved her? Tate asked. The Lord was watching over her. Bett blinked. Im sorry? The receptionist continued, A nurse just happened by. My goodness. Can you imagine? Bett shook her head, very troubled. Tate recalled that she felt the same about euthanasia as she did about the death penalty. He thought briefly of her sisters husbands death. Harris. Hed used a shotgun to kill himself. Like Hemingway. Harris had been an artista bad one, in Tates estimationand hed shot himself in his studio, his dark blood covering a canvas that hed been working on for months. Absently he asked the receptionist, That man. Who is he? Somebody like Kevorkian? Who is he? the woman blurted. Why, he was the poor womans son! Tate and Bett looked at each other in shock. She said in a whisper, Oh, no. It couldnt be. Tate asked the woman, The patient? Was her name Hanson? Yes, thats the name. Shaking her head. Her own son tried to talk her into killing herself! And I heard he was a therapist too. A doctor! Can you imagine?

*

Tate and Bert sat in the hospital cafeteria, brooding silence between them. Theyd ordered coffee that neither wanted. They were waiting for a call from Konnie Konstantinatis, whom Tate had called ten minutes agothough the wait seemed like hours. Tates phone buzzed. He answered it before it could chirp again. Lo. Okay, Counselor, made some calls, But this is all unofficial. Theres still no case. Got it? Are you comfortable with that? Got it, Konnie. Go ahead. The detective explained that he had called the Leesburg police and spoken to a detective there. Heres what happened. This old lady, Greta Hanson, fell and broke her hip last week. Fell down her back stairs. Serious but not too serious. Shes eighty. You know how it is. Right. Okay, today shes tanked up on painkillers, really out of it, and she hears her sonyour Dr. Hansonhears him telling her that it looks like the end of the road, they found cancer, she only has a few months left. Yadda, yadda, yadda. The pains gonna be terrible. Tells her its best to just finish herself off, its what everybody wants. Hes pretty persuasive, sounds like. Leaves her a syringe of Nembutal. She says shell do it. She sticks herself but a nurse finds her in time. Anyway, shes pretty doped up but tells em what happened and the administrator calls the cops. They find the son in the gift shop buying a box of candy. Supposedly for her. They collar him. He denies it all, of course. What else is he going to say? So. End of story. And this all happens fifteen minutes before Bert and I are going to talk to him about Megan? Its no coincidence, Konnie. Come on. Silence from Fairfax. Konnie. You hear me? Im telling you the facts, Counselor. I dont comment otherwise. Shes sure it was her son who talked to her? She said. But she was drugged up. So maybe it was somebody else talking to her. Maybe. But We can talk to Hanson? Nope. Not till the arraignment on Monday. And hes probably not gonna be in any mood even then. All right. Answer me one question. Can you look up what kind of car he drives? Who? Hanson? Yeah, hold on. Tate heard typing as he filled Bett in on what Konnied said. Oh, my, she said, hand rising to her mouth. A moment later the detective came back on the line. Two cars. A Mazda nine two-nine and a Ford Explorer. Both this years models. What colors ? Mazdas green. The Explorers black. It was somebody else, Konnie. Somebody was following Megan. Tate, she took the train to New York. Shes going to see the Statue of Liberty and hang out in Greenwich Village and do whatever kids do in New York and You know the Bust-er Book? What the hell is a buster book? the detective grumbled. Kids at Jefferson High are supposed to write down anybody who comes up and offers them drugs or candy or flashes them. Oh, that shit. Right. A friend of Megans said thered been a car following her. In the Bust-er Book, some kids reported a gray car parked near the school in the afternoon. And Megan herself reported it last week. Gray car? Right. A sigh. Tate, lemme ask you. Just how many kids go to that school of hers? Im not saying its a good lead, Konnie And just how many parents in gray cars pick em up? but it is a lead. Tag number? Make, model, year? Tate sighed. Nothing. Look, Counselor, get me at least one of the above and well talk… So, whatre you thinking, somebody snatched her? The Amtrak schedule is bogus? I dont know. Its just fishy. Its not a case, Tate. Thats the watchword for today. Look, I gotta go. One last question, Konnie. Does she have cancer? Hansons mother? The detective hesitated. No. At least its not what theyre treating her for. So somebody talked her into believing shes dying. Talked her into trying to kill herself. Yeah. And that somebody was her son. He could have a hundred motives. Gotta go, Counselor. Click. He relayed to Bett the rest of his conversation with Konnie. Megan was seeing a therapist who tried to kill his mother? God. I dont know, Bett, he said. You saw his face. Did he look guilty? He looked caught, she said. Tate glanced at his watch. It was two-thirty. Lets get back to Fairfax and find that teacher. Eckhard.

*

Crazy Megan finally gets a chance to talk. Listen up, girl. Listen here, kiddo. Biz-nitch, you listening? Good. You need me. This is serious… Youre not sneaking cigarettes in the Fair Oaks mall parking lot. Youre not flirting with a George Mason junior to get him to buy you a pint of Comfort or Turkey. Youre not sitting in Amys room, snarfing wine, hating it and saying its great, while youre like, Sure, I come every time Josh and Ifuck.. Leave me alone, Megan thought. But G.M. wont have any of her attitude. She snaps, You hate the world. Okay. What you want A family is what I want, Megan responded. Thats all I wanted. Oh. Well, thats precious, her crazy side offers, nice and sarcastic. Who the fuck doesnt? You want Mommy and Daddy to wave their magic wand and get you out of here? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, aint going to happen, girl. So get off your fat ass and get out. I cant move, Megan thought. Im scared, Im tired. Up, girl. Up. Look, he And who is he? Crazy Megan is in good form today. What difference does it make? Hes the bogeyman, hes Jason, hes Leather face, hes Freddy Krueger, hes your father All right, stop it. Youre like so… tedious. But C.M.s wound up now. Hes everything bad, hes your mother giving Brad a blow job, hes the barn at your fathers farm, hes an inconvenient child, hes a whispering bear Stop it, stop it, stop it! Megan screamed out loud. But nothing stops Crazy Megan when she gets going. It doesnt matter who he is. Dont you get it? He thinks youre locked up tight in your little padded cell. But youre not. Youre out. And you may not have much time. So get your shit together and get the hell out of here. I dont have any clothes, Megan pointed out. Thats the girl 1 love. Oooo. The sarcasm is thick as Noxema. Sit back and find excuses, Lets see: Youre pissed cause Moms off to Baltimore to fuck Mr. Rogers and do you say anything about it? No. It rags you that Dad fits you in around his dates with girls whove got inflatable boobs but do you bitch about it? Do you call him on it? No. You go off and get drunk. You have another cigarette. What other distractions can we come up with? Nail polish, CDs, Victorias Secret Taco Bell the mall the multiplex a boys fat dick gossip… I hate you, Megan thought. I really, really hate you. Go away, go back where you came from. lam where I came from, Crazy Megan responds. You may have some time to fuck around like this, whining, and you may not. Now, youre buck naked and you dont like it. Well, if thats an issue, go find some clothes. And, no, theres no Contempo Casual around here. Of course, I personally would say, Fuck the clothes, find a door and run like hell. But thats up to you. Megan rolled to her feet. She stepped into the corridor. Cold, painful. Her feet stung from kicking the wall. She started walking. Looking around, she saw it was a rambling place, one story; and built of concrete blocks. All the windows had thick bars on them. With the padded cell, she figured it was a mental hospital but she couldnt imagine treating patients here. It was totally depressing. No one could have gotten better here. She found a door leading outside and pushed it. It was locked tight. The same with two others. She looked outside for a car, didnt see one in the lot. At least she was alone. Dr. Peters must have left. Keep going, Crazy Megan insists. But Keep. Going. She did. The place was huge, wing after wing, dozens of corridors, gloomy wards, private rooms, two-bed rooms. But all the doors leading outside were sealed tight and all the windows were barred. Every damn one of them. Two large interior doorways had been bricked off sloppily with cinder blocks and Sakretemaybe because they led to less restricted wings. Dozens of the large concrete blocks that hadnt been needed lay scattered on the floor. She picked up one and slammed it into a barred window. It didnt even bend the metal rods. For several hours she made a circuit of the hospital, moving quietly. She was careful; in the dim light she could make out footprints, hundreds of them. She couldnt tell if theyd been left by Dr. Peters alone or by him and someone else but she was all too aware that she might not be alone. By the time shed made it back to her cell she hadnt found a single door or window that looked promising. Shit. No way out. Okay, Crazy Megan offers, chipper as ever. At least find something you can use to nail his ass with. What do you mean? A weapon, bitch. What do you think? Megan remembered seeing a kitchen and returned there. She started going through drawers and cupboards. But there wasnt anything she could use. There were no metal knives or forks, not even dinner knives, only hundreds of packages of plastic utensils. No glasses or ceramic cups. Everything was paper or Styrofoam. She pulled open a door. It was a pantry full of food. She started to close the door but stopped, looked inside again. There was enough food for a family to live on for a year. Cheerios, condensed milk, Diet Pepsi, Doritos, Lays potato chips, tuna, Hostess cupcakes, Cup-A-Soup, Chef Boyardee… Whats funny here? Jesus. Crazy Megan catches on first. Megans hand rose to her mouth as she too understood and she started to cry. Jesus, Crazy Megan repeats. These were exactly the same brands that Megan liked. This was what her mothers cupboards were stocked with. Here too were her shampoo, conditioner and soap. Even the type of tampon that Megan used. Hed been in her house, he knew what she liked. Hed bought this all for her! Dont lose it, babes, dont… But Megan ignored her crazy side and gave in to the crying. Thinking: If a family of four could live on this for a year, just think how long it would last her by herself. Twenty minutes later Megan rose from the floor, wiped her face and continued her search. It didnt take her long to find the source of the footprints. In a far wing of the hospital were two rooms that had been homi-fied, as Bett would say when shed dress up a cold-looking house to make it warmer and more comfortable. One room was an office, filled with thousands of books and files and papers. An armchair and lamp and desk. The other room was a bedroom. It smelled stale, turned her stomach. She looked inside. The bed was unmade and the sheets were stained. Off-white splotches. Guysre so disgusting, Crazy Megan offers. Megan agreed; who could argue with that? This meant that someone else probably lived heresomeone young (she supposed older guys jerked off too but tried to imagine, say, her father doing it and couldnt). Way gross thought. From CM. Then she saw the closet. Oh, please! She mentally crossed her fingers as she pulled the door open. Yes! It was filled with clothes. She pulled on some jeans, which were tight around her hips and too long. She rolled the cuffs up. She found a work shirtwhich was tight, too, but that didnt matter. She felt a hundred percent better. There were no shoes but she found a pair of thick black socks. For some reason, covering her feet gave her more confidence than covering the rest of her body. She looked through the closet for a knife or gun but found nothing. She returned to the other room. Rummaged through the desk. Nothing to use as a weapon, except a Bic pen. She took it anyway. Then she looked through the rest of the room, focusing at first on the bookshelves. Some books were about psychiatry but most were fantasy novels and science fiction. Some were pretty weird. Stacks of comic books too Japanese, a lot of them. Megan flipped through several. Totally icky girls being raped by monsters and gargoyles and aliens. X-rated. She shivered in disgust. The name inside the books and on the front of the comic books was Pete Matthews. Sometimes hed written Peter M. It was written very carefully but in big block letters. As if he was a young kid. Megan looked through the files, most of them filled with psychological mumbo jumbo she couldnt understand. There were also stacks of the American Psychiatric Association Journal. Articles were marked with yellow Post-its. She noticed theyd been written by a doctor named Aaron Matthews. The boys father? she wondered. His bio gave long lists of credentials. Dozens of awards and honorary degrees. One newspaper clipping called him the Einstein of therapists and reported, He can detect and categorize a psychosis from listening to a patients words for three or four minutes. A master diagnostician. In between two file folders was another clipping. Megan lifted it to the light. It showed Dr. Peters and a young man in his late teens. But wait… The doctors last name wasnt Peters. The caption read: Dr. Aaron Matthews leaves the funeral home after the memorial service for his wife. He is accompanied by his son, Peter. Matthews… the one who wrote those articles. So he must have been a doctor here. Thats how he knew about the hospitaland that it would make a perfect prison. Megan studied the picture again, feeling crawly and scared. The doctors son was… well, just plain weird. He was a tall boy, lanky, with long arms and huge hands. He had thick floppy hair that looked dirty and his forehead jutted over his dark eye sockets. He had a sick smile on his face. Leaving his mothers funeral and hes smiling? So this was his roomthe sons. Maybe Peterswell, Matthews kept the boy locked up here, a prisoner too. Her eyes fell to an official-looking report. She read the top page. EMERGENCY INTAKE EVALUATION Patient Peter T. Matthews presents with symptoms typical of an antisocial and paranoid personality. He is not schizophrenic, under DSM-III criteria, but he has, or claims to have, delusions. More likely these are merely fantasies, which in his case are so overpowering that he chooses not to recognize the borderline between his role-playing and reality. These fantasies are generally of a sadoerotic nature, with him playing a nonhuman entitystalking and raping females. During our sessions Peter would sometimes portray these entitiesright down to odd mannerisms and garbled language. He was often in character, and quite consistent in his role-playing. However, there was no evidence of fugue states or multiple personalities. He changed personas at his convenience, to achieve the greatest stimulation from his fantasies. Peter is extremely dangerous. He must be hospitalized in a secure facility until the determination is made for a course of treatment. Recommend immediate psychopharmacological intervention. Stalking… rape. Megan put the report back on the desk. She found a notebook. Peters name was written on this too. She read through it. In elaborate passages Peter described himself as a spaceman oran alien stalking women, tying them up, raping them. She dropped the book. Tears again. Then another thought: Her cell! This Dr. Matthews, her kidnapper, had locked her up not only to keep her from getting out but to keep his son from getting in. He was A creak, a faint squeal. A door closed softly in a far part of the hospital. Megan shivered in terror. Move it, girl! Crazy Megan cries, in a silent voice as panicked as uncrazy Megans. Its him, its the son. She grabbed a pile of things to take with herseveral of the magazines, file folders about the hospital, letters. Anything that might help her figure out who this Dr. Matthews was. Why hed taken her. How she might get out. Footsteps… Hes coming. Hes coming here… Move it. Now! Holding the files and clippings under her arm, Megan fled out the door. She ran down the corridors, getting lost once, pausing often to listen for footsteps. He seemed to be circling her. Finally she found her way and raced into the room that adjoined hers, the rat room. She rubbed the grate along the edges of the hole in the wall to widen it. She started through and, whimpering, clawed her way forward. Five inches, six, a foot, two feet. Finally she grabbed the toilet in her room and wrenched herself through the hole. She replaced the grate on the far side of the wall and then slammed the metal plate into place in her bathroom. She ran to the door and pressed her ear against it. The footsteps grew closer and closer. But Peter didnt stop at her door. He kept moving. Maybe he didnt know she was here. Megan sat on the icy floor with her hands pressing furiously against the plate until they cramped. Listen, C. M. starts to say. Maybe you can Shut up, Megan thought furiously. And for once Crazy Megan does what shes told.

13

The eyes. The eyes tell it all. When Aaron Matthews was practicing psychotherapy he learned to read the eyes. They told him so much more than words. Words are tools and weapons and camouflage and shields. But the eyes tell you the truth. An hour ago, in Leesburg, hed looked into the glassy, groggy eyes of a drugged Greta Hanson and knew she was a woman with no reserves of strength. And so hed leaned close, become her son and spun a tale guaranteed to send her to the very angels that she was babbling on and on about. Its quite a challenge to talk someone into killing herself and hed thoroughly enjoyed playing the game. He doubted shed die from the dosage of Nembutal hed given her and he doubted that she could find a vein anyway. Besides, it was important for her to remain aliveto blame her son for the Kevorkian number. Poor Doe Hanson now either in jail or on the run. In any case, hed be no help as a witness to Tate Collier. Now, as he strolled along the sidewalk near Jefferson High School, Aaron Matthews was looking at another set of eyes. Robert Eckhardsthe teacher whod seen his car as he stalked Megan. Studying the mans eyes, Matthews was concluding that Eckhard might or might not have been a good English teacher but he didnt doubt that he was one hell of a girls volleyball coach. The diminutive, tweedy man sat with a sports roster on his lap outside the sports field between the grade and high schools. Wearing a baseball cap and thick-framed reading glasses hed bought at Safewayhe remembered that Eckhard might have seen him near the school in the MercedesMatthews walked slowly past. He studied his subject carefully. The teacher was a middle-aged man, in Dockers and a loose tan shirt. Matthews took in all these observations and filed them away but it was the eyes that were most helpful; they told him everything he needed to know about Mr. Eckhard. Continuing down the sidewalk, Matthews walked into a drugstore and made several purchases. He slipped into the rest room of the store and five minutes later returned to the school yard. He sat down on the bench next to Eckhards and rested the Washington Post in his lap. He gazed out at the young girls playing informal games of soccer or jump rope in the school yard. Once, then twice, Eckhard glanced at him. The second time, Matthews happened to turn his way and saw the teacher looking at him with a hint of curiosity in his tell-all eyes. Matthewss face went still with uneasy alarm. He waited a judicious moment then stood quickly and walked past Eckhard. But as he did, the disposable camera fell from the folds of his newspaper. Matthews blinked then stepped forward suddenly to pick it up but his foot struck the yellow-and-black box. It went skidding along the sidewalk and stopped in front of Eckhard. Matthews froze. The teacher, his eyes on Matthewss, smiled again. He reached down and picked up the camera, looked at it. Turned it over. I Matthews began, horrified. Its okay, Eckhard said. Okay? Matthewss voice faltered. He looked up and down the sidewalk, uneasy I mean, the cameras okay, Eckhard said, rattling it. It doesnt seem to be broken. Matthews began speaking breathlessly, over explainingas his script required. See, what it was, I was going to D.C. later today. I was going to the zoo. Take some pictures of the animals. The zoo. Eckhard examined the camera. Matthews again looked up and down the sidewalk. You like photography? the teacher asked. After a moment, Matthews said, Yes, I do. A hobby Smiled awkwardly, summoning a blush. Everybody should have a hobby Thats what my father said. He fell silent. Its my hobby too. Really? Been doing it for about fifteen years, Eckhard said. Me too. Little less, I guess. You live around here? the teacher asked. Fairfax. Long time? A couple of years. Silence grew between them. Eckhard still held the camera. Matthews crossed his arms, rocked on his feet. Looking out over the school yard. Finally he asked, You do your own developing and printing? Of course, Eckhard said. Of course. The expected answer. Matthewss eyes narrowed and he appeared to relax. Harder with color, he offered. But they dont make the throwaways in black and white. Im getting a digital camera, Eckhard said. I can just feed the pictures into my computer at home. Ive heard about those. Theyre expensive, arent they? They are… But you know hobbies. If theyre important to you youre willing to spend the money. Thats my philosophy, Matthews admitted. He sat down next to Eckhard. They looked out on the playing field, at a cluster of girls, who were around ten or eleven years old. Eckhard looked through the eyepiece of the camera. Lens isnt telephoto. No, Matthews said. Then after a moment: Shes cute. That brunette there. Angela. You know her? Im a teacher at the high school. Im also a grade school counselor. Matthewss eyes flashed enviously. Teacher? I work for an insurance company. Actuarial work. Boring. But summers I volunteer at Camp Henry. Maryland. Ages eight through fourteen. You know it? Eckhard shook his head. I also coach girls sports. Thats a good job too. Matthews clicked his tongue. Sure is. Eckhard looked out over the field. I know most of these girls. You do portraits? Some. You ever photograph her? That girl by the goal post? But Eckhard wouldnt answer. So, you take pictures just around the area here? Matthews said, Here, California. Europe some. I was in Amsterdam a little while ago. Amsterdam. I was there a few years ago. Not as interesting as it used to be. Thats what I found. Bangkoks nice, though, Eckhard volunteered. Im planning on going next year, Matthews said in a whisper. Oh, you have to, Eckhard encouraged, kneading the yellow box of the camera in his hands. Its quite a place. Matthews could practically see the synapses firing in Eckhards mind, wondering furiously if Matthews was a cop with the Child Welfare Unit of the Fairfax County Police or an FBI agent. Matthews had treated several pedophiles during his days as a practicing therapist. He recognized the classic characteristics in Eckhard. He was intelligent an organized offenderand hed know all about the laws of child molestation and pornography. He could probably just keep the testosterone under control to avoid actually molesting a child but photographing young girls was a compulsion that ruled his life. Matthews offered another conspiratorial smile then glanced at a girl bending down to pick up a ball. Gave a faint sigh. Eckhard followed his gaze and nodded. The girl stood up. Eckhard said, Nancy. Shes nine. Fifth grade. Pretty. You wouldnt happen to have any pictures of her, would you? I do. Eckhard paused. In a nice skirt and blouse, I seem to recall. Matthews wrinkled his nose. Shrugged. He wondered if the man would take the bait. Snap. Eckhard whispered, Well, not the blouse in all of them. Matthews exhaled hard. You wouldnt happen to have any with you? No. You have any of yours? Matthews said, I keep all of mine on my computer. One of Matthewss patients had seven thousand images of child pornography on computer. Hed traded them with other pedophiles while hed been serving time for a molestation charge; the computer they resided on was the wardens at Hammond Falls State Penitentiary in Maryland. The prisoner had written an encryption program to keep the files secret. The FBI cracked it anyway and, despite his willingness to go through therapy; the offense earned him another ten years in prison. Matthews said, I dont have too many in my collection. Only about four thousand. Eckhards eyes turned to Matthews and they were vacuums, He whispered a long, envious Well. . Matthews added, Ive got some videos too. But only about a hundred of them. A hundred? Eckhard shifted on the bench. Matthews knew the teacher was lost. Completely. Hed be thinking: At worst, its entrapment and I can beat it in court. At worst, I can talk my way out of it. At worst, Ill flee the country and move to Thailand… As a therapist Matthews was continually astonished at how easily people won completely unwinnable arguments with themselves. Still, you land a fish with as much care as you hook it. You seem worried…, Matthews started. And I have to say, I dont know you, and Im a little nervous myself. But Ive just got a feeling about you. Maybe we could help each other out… Let me show you a couple of samples of what Ive got. The teachers eyes flickered with lust. Always the eyes. Thatd be fine. Thatd be good. Please. Eckhard cleared his excited throat. Oh, you pathetic thing… I could give you a computer disk. Matthews suggested. Sure. Thatd be great. I only live about three blocks from here. Let me run up to my house and get some samples. Good. Oh, Matthews said, pausing. A frown. I only have girls. Yes, yes. Thats fine, Eckhard said breathlessly. A bead of spit rested in the corner of the mouth. Desperately he asked, Can you go now? Sure. Be right back. Matthews started up the street. He turned and saw the teacher, a stupid smile on his face, grinning from ear to ear, looking out over the field of his sad desire, rubbing his thumb over the disposable camera. In the drugstore once again, Matthews walked up to the pay phone and called 911. When dispatch answered he said urgently, Oh, you need somebody down to Markus Avenue right away! The sports field behind Jefferson School. He described Eckhard and said, He took a little girl into the alley and pulled his, you know, penis out. Then took some pictures. And I heard him ask her to his house. He said hes got lots of pictures of little girls like her on his computer. Pictures of little girls, you know… doing it. Oh, its disgusting. Hurry up! Im going back and watch him to make sure he doesnt get away He hung up before the dispatcher could ask for his identity. Matthews didnt know if snapshots of a fully dressed little girl in a school yard next to frames of a mans erect dick (Matthewss own penis, taken in the drugstore rest room twenty minutes ago) were an offense, but once the cops got a search warrant for the mans house Eckhard would be out of commissionand a completely unreliable witness about a gray Mercedes or anything elsefor a long, long time. By the time he was back on the street, walking toward his car, Matthews heard the sirens. Fairfax County apparently took childrens well-being very seriously. Tate and Bett arrived at the school yard, taking care to avoid the main building, just in case the clean-cut young fascist of a security guard had happened to glance inside the Bust-er Book after Tate and Bett had left and found twenty pages missing. But volleyball practice had been canceled for today, it seemed. Nobody quite knew why. In fact the yard was almost deserted, despite the clear skies. They found two students and asked if theyd seen Eckhard. They said they hadnt. One teenage girl said, We were coming here for the practice. Volleyball? Right. And what it was was somebody said its been canceled and we should all go home. And stay away from here. Totally weird. And you havent seen Mr. Eckhard? Somebody said he had to go someplace. But they didnt tell us where. I dont know. He was here earlier. I dont get it. Hes always here. I mean, always. Do you know where he lives? Fairfax someplace. I think. Whats his first name? Robert. Tate called directory assistance and got his number then called. There was no answer. He left a message. He looked out over the school yard for a moment and had a thought. Tate asked his ex-wife, Where did she hang out? Hang out? Bett asked absently. He saw her looking into her purse, eyes on the letter containing her daughters searing words. Yeah, with her friends. After school, She looked up. Just around. You know But where? Well go there, ask if anybodys seen her. There was a long hesitation. Finally she said, Im not sure. Youre not? Tate asked, surprised. You dont know where she goes? No, Bett answered testily Not all the time. Shes a seventeen-year-old girl with a drivers license. Oh. So you dont know where shed spend her afternoons. Not always, no. She glanced at him angrily. It is not like she hangs out in southeast D.C., Tate. I just Megans a responsible girl. She knows where to go and where not to go. I trust her. They walked in silence back to the car. Bett grabbed her phone again and her address book. She began making callsto Megans friends, he gathered. At least she had their numbers, if not Megans boyfriends. Still, it irked him that she didnt seem to know much basic informationimportant informationabout the girl. When they arrived at the car she folded up the phone. Her favorite place was called the Coffee Shop. Up near Route fifty. Bett sounded victorious. Like Starbucks. All right? Happy? She dropped into the seat and crossed her arms. They drove in silence north along the parkway.

14

Braking to five miles an hour, Tate surveyed the crowded parking lot. He found a space between a chopped Harley-Davidson and a pickup bumper-stickered with the Reb stars n bars. He navigated the glistening Lexus into this narrow spot. He and Bett surveyed the cycles, the tough young men and women, all in denim, defiantly holding open bottles, the tattoos, the boots. At the other end of the parking lot was a very different crowd, younger boys with long hair, girls with crew cuts, layers of baggy clothes, plenty of body piercing. Bleary eyes. Welcome to the Coffee Shop. Here? Bett asked. She came here? Starbucks? Tate thought. I dont think so. She glanced at the notes shed jotted. Off fifty near Walney. Thiss it. Oh my. Tate glanced at his ex-wife. Her horrified expression didnt diminish his anger. How could she have let Megan come to a place like this? Didnt she check up on her? Her own daughter, for Christs sake… Tate pushed the door open and started to get out. Bett popped her seat belt but he said abruptly, Wait here. He walked up to the closest clusterthe bikers; they seemed less comatose than the slacker gang at the other end of the lot. But no one he queried had heard of Megan. He was vastly relieved. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe her friend meant a generic coffee shop someplace. At the far end of the lot he waded into a grungy sea of plaid shirts, Doe Marten boots, JNCO jeans and bell-bottom Levis. The girls wore tight tank tops over bras in contrasting colors. Their hair was long, parted in the middle, like Megans. Peace symbols bounced on breasts and there was a lot of tie-dyed couture. The images reminded Tate of his own coming-of-age era, the early seventies. Megan? Sure, like I know her, said a slim girl, smoking a cigarette she was too young to buy. Have you seen her lately? Shes here a lotta nights. But not in the last week, you know. Like, whore you? Im her father. Shes missing. Wow. That sucks. Howd she get in? She was seventeen. Uhm. I dont know. Meaning: a fake ID. He asked, Do you know if anybodys been asking about her? Or been following her? I dunno. But her and me, we werent, like, real close. Hey, ask him. Sammy! Hey, Sammy. To Tate she added, Theyd hang out some. A large boy glanced their way, eyed Tate uneasily. He set a paper cup behind a garbage can and walked up to him. He was about the lawyers height, with a pimply face, and wore a baseball cap backward. He wore a pager and a cell phone. Im looking for Megan McCall. You know her? Sure. Have you seen her lately? She was here this week. She comes here a lot? Tate asked. Yeah, she, like, hangs here. Her and Donna and Amy. You know. How about her boyfriend? That black dude from Mason? Sammy asked. The one she broke up with? Naw, this wasnt his scene. I only saw em together once, I think. Was somebodysome man in a gray carasking about her, following her around? Sammy gave a faint laugh. Yeah, there was. Last week, Megan and me, we were here and she was like, Whats he want? Him again. And Im like, You want me to go fuck him up? And she goes, Sure. I go up to the car but the asshole takes off. Did you get a look at him? Not too close. White guy. Your age, maybe a little older. You get the plate number? No. Didnt even see what state. But it was a Mercedes. I dont know what model. All those fucking numbers. American cars have names. But German cars, just fucking numbers. And you dont have any idea who he was? Well, yeah, I mean, I knew who he was. But Megan doesnt like to talk about it. So I let it go. Tate shook his head. Talk about what? You know. No, I dont know, Tate said. What? Well, just… Sammy lifted his hands. What she used to do. I figured he was looking for some more action and had tracked her down here. Action? I dont understand. What are you saying?

I figured him and Megan had… get it? And he wanted some more. What are you talking about? Tate persisted. What dyou think Im talking about? The kid was confused. He fucked Megan and liked what he got. Are you saying she had a boyfriend in his forties? Boyfriend? Sammy laughed. No, man. Im saying she had a customer. What? Sure, she The boy probably had twenty or thirty pounds on Tate but farm work keeps you strong and in two seconds Sammy was flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Both hands were raised, protecting his face from Tates lifted fist. What the fuckre you saying? the lawyer raged. Sammy shouting back, No, man, no! I didnt do anything. Hey.. Are you saying she had sex for money? No, Im not saying nothing! Im not saying a fucking thing! The girls voice was close to his ear, the blonde hed first spoken to. Its, like, not a big deal. It was a couple years ago. Couple years ago? Shes only seventeen now, for Christs sake. Tate lowered his hand. He stood up, brushed the dust off. He looked at the people in front of the bar, staring at him. The huge, bearded bouncer was amused. Bett was half out of the car, looking at her ex-husband with alarm. He motioned her to stay where she was. Sammy said, Fuck, man, whatd you do that for? I didnt fuck her. She gave it up a while ago. You asked me what I thought and I told you. I figured the guy liked what he had and wanted more. Jesus. The girl said, Sorry; mister. She had a thing for older men. They were willing to pay. But it was okay, you know. Okay? Tate asked, numb. Sure. She always used rubbers. Tate stared at her for a moment then walked back to the car. Sammy stood up, picked up his beeper, which had fallen off his belt in the struggle. Fuck you, man. Fuck you! Whore you anyway? Turning back, Tate snapped, Im her father. Father? the boy asked, frowning. Yeah. Her father, Sammy looked at the girl, who shrugged. The boy said, Megan said she didnt have a father. Tate frowned and Sammy continued, She said he was a lawyer or something but he ran off and left her when she was six. She hasnt heard from him since. In the car Tate asked angrily, You didnt know she went there? I told you I didnt. You think Id let her go to a place like that? I just think you might want to know where she was hanging out. From time to time. You just think. You know when people say that? What are you? he began. They say that when they mean, you damn well ought to know where she was. I didnt mean that at all, Tate snapped. Though, of course, he had. He sped out onto the highway, tires squealing, gravel flying from beneath the tires. Putting the Coffee Shop far behind them. She finally asked, What was that all about? He didnt answer. Tate? What were you fighting with that boy about? You dont want to know, he said darkly. Tell me! He hesitated but then he had to say it. He said he thought the guy in the gray car mightve been a customer. Customer? Of Megans. What?… Oh, God. You dont mean… Thats exactly what I mean. Thats what the boy said. And that girl too. Vile. Youre disgusting.. Me? Im just telling you what he said. Tears coming down her face. She wouldnt! Theres no way. Its impossible. They didnt seem to think it was impossible. They seemed to think she did it pretty often. Tate! How can you say that? And he said it was a couple years ago. When she was fifteen. She didnt, Im certain. A wave of fury consumed him. His hands cramped on the steering wheel. How could you not know? What were you so busy doing that you didnt notice any condoms in your daughters purse? Didnt you check who called her? Didnt you notice what time she got home? Maybe at midnight? At one? Two? Stop it! Bett cried. Dont attack me. Its not true! Its a misunderstanding. Well find her and shell explain it. They seemed to think She screamed, Its a lie! Its just gossip. Thats all it is! Gossip. Or theyre talking about somebody else. Not Megan. Yes, Megan. And you should have Oh, youre blaming me? It isnt my fault! You know, you might have been more involved with her life. Me? he snapped. Okaysure, your happy family didnt turn out the way you wanted. Well, Im sorry about that, Tate. But you could have checked on her once in a while. I did. I paid support every month Oh, for Christs sake, I dont mean money You know how often shed ask me, Why doesnt Daddy like me? And Id say, He does, hes just busy with all his cases. And Id say, Its hard to be a real daddy when he and Mommy are divorced. And Id say I spent Easters with her. And the Fourth of July, Yeah, and you shouldve heard the debriefings on those joyous holidays. Bett laughed coldly. What do you mean? She never complained. You have to know somebody before you complain to them. I took her shopping, he said. I always asked her about school. I You couldve done more. We mightve made some accommodation. Mightve been a little more of a family. Like hell, he spat out. Peopleve done it. In worse situations. What was I supposed to do? Take up your slack? This isnt about me, she snapped. Well, apparently it is. Youre her mother. You want somebody else to fix what youve done? Or havent done? Ive done the best I could! Bett sobbed. By myself. But it wasnt you yourself. It was you and the boyfriends. Oh, I was supposed to be celibate? No, but you were supposed to be a mother first. You shouldve noticed that she had problems. Tate couldnt help but think of Betts sister, Susan. The woman had desperately wanted children, while Bell had always been indifferent to the idea. After her husband, Harriss, death Susan had moved in with a man very brieflyhe was abusive and, from what Tate heard, half crazy. But he was a single mandivorced or widowedwith a child. And Susan put up with a lot of crap from him just to have the young boy around; she desperately wanted someone to mother. After theyd broken up, the lover had turned dangerous and stalked her but even at the worst moments Susan still seemed to regret the loss of that child in her life. Tate now wished Bett had shown some of that desire for Megan. I saw she was unhappy, Bett said. But who the hell isnt? What was I supposed to do? Wave a magic wand? His anger wouldnt release the death grip it had on his heart. Hell, thats probably exactly your idea of mothering. Sure. Or cast a spell, look up something in the I Ching. Read her tarot. Oh, stop it! I gave up all that shit years ago… I tried to be a good mother. I tried. Did you? he was astonished to find himself saying. You sure you werent out looking for your King Arthur? Easier than changing diapers or helping her with homework or making sure when she was home after school. Making sure she wasnt fucking I tried… I tried Bett was sobbing, shaking. Tate realized the car was nudging eighty. He slowed. A deep breath. Another. Long, long silence. His eyes, too, welled up with tears. Listen, Im sorry. I tried. I wanted… I wanted. . Bett, please. Im sorry. I wanted a family too, you know, she whispered, wiping her face on the sleeve of her blouse. I saw the Judge and his wife and you and the rest of the Colliers. I didnt talk about it the way you did but I wanted a family too. But then things happened… You know. I lost my temper. I dont … Youre right. Those kids back there… it was probably just gossip. But his words were flaccid. And, of course, they came far too late. The damage had been done. He wondered if theyd separate now and never speak to each other again. He supposed that would happen. He supposed that it would have to. And oddly, he realized how much the idea upset him, No, it terrified him; he had no idea why. A long moment passed. Bett spoke first. He was surprised to hear her say, in a calm, reasoned voice, Maybe its true, Tatewhat you heard about her. Maybe it is. And maybe part of its my fault. But you know, people change. They can. They really can. They continued on in silence. Bett closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest. What a man hears, he may doubt. What he sees, he may possibly doubt. Bett? I am sorry. What he does… Bett? But she didnt answer.

15

She decided she was safest here, in her cell. If the fatherAaron Matthewshad wanted to kill her he could have done so easily. He didnt have to stash her away here, he didnt have to buy all the food. No, no, she had this funny sense that though he kidnapped her he didnt want to hurt her. But the son… He was the threat. She needed protection from him. Shed stay here locked in Crazy Megans padded cell until she figured out how to escape. She opened one of the files shed taken from Peters room. In the dim light she scanned the pages, trying to find something that might help her. Maybe the hospital was near a town. Were there photos or brochures of the hospital and grounds? Maybe she could find a map. If she started a fire, people might see the smoke. Or maybe shed find ventilation shafts or emergency exits. She remembered a padlocked door marked Basement down one of the corridors nearby. If she could break the lock on the door, were there exits down there she might get through? She flipped through the documents, looking for a picture or photo of the hospitaltrying to find basement windows or doors she might climb out of. Damn, thats smart, says an impressed Crazy Megan. Shhhh… Megan happened to glance at the papers on the top of the pile. …patient Victoria Skelling, 37, paranoid schizophrenic, was found dead in her room at 0620 hours, April 23. COD was asphyxia, from inhalation of mattress fibers. County police (see annexed report) investigated and declared the death suicide. It appeared patient Skelling gnawed through the canvas ducking of her mattress and pulled out wads of stuffing. She inhaled approximately ten ounces of this material, which lodged in her throat. The patient had been on Thorazine and Haldol, delusions were minimal. Orderlies described her in good spirits for much of the morning of her death but after spending the day on the grounds with a group of other patients she grew increasingly depressed and agitated. She complained that rats were coming to get her. They were going to chew her breasts off (earlier delusions and certain dreams centered around poisoned breast milk and suckling). She calmed again at dinnertime and spent the evening in the TV room. She was extremely upset when she went to bed and orderlies considered using restraints. She was given an extra dose of Haldol and locked into her room at 2200 hours. She said. Its time to take care of the rats. They win, they win. She was found the next morning dead… Gross, both Megan and C.M. think simultaneously. She flipped through more pages. …Patient Matthews (No. 97-4335) was the last person to see her alive and he reported that she seemed all spooky. So Aaron Matthewss son, Peter, had been hospitalized here. And after the hospital was closed his father brought him back. Why, she couldnt guess. Maybe he felt at home here. Maybe his father broke him out of the hospital for the criminally insane to have him nearby. She flipped through another report and learned that someone else had committed suicide. …The body of Patient Garber (No, 78-7547) was found behind the main building. The police and coroner had determined that he had swallowed a garden hose and turned the water on full force. The pressure from the water ruptured his stomach and several feet of intestine. He died from internal hemorrhaging and shock. Although several patients were nearby when this happened (Matthews, No. 97-4335, and Ketter, No. 9h3212), they could offer no further information. The death was ruled suicide by the medical examiner. Megan read through several other files. They were all similarreports of patients killing themselves. One victim was found in the library. Hed apparently spent hours tearing apart books and magazines, looking for a sheet of paper sturdy enough to slice through the artery in his neck. He finally succeeded. She shivered at the thought. Someone else had leapt out of a tree and broken his neck. He didnt die but was paralyzed for life. When asked about why hed done it he said, Hed been talking to some patients and he realized how pointless life was, how he was never going to get better Death would bring some peace. Yet another report stated, Patient Matthews was the last person to see victim alive. The administrator wondered if hed been involved and the boy had been interviewed and evaluated but no charges were brought. Reading more, she found that not long after the last suicide a reporter from the Washington Times heard of the deaths and filed an investigative report. The state board of examiners looked into the matter and closed the hospital. But Megan understood that the deaths werent suicides at all. How could they have missed it? Peter Matthews had killed the other patients and somehow covered up the evidence to make the deaths look like suicide. She flipped through the rest of the files and clippings. Nothing she found told her anything helpful. She shoved them under the bed. What can I do? There has to Then she heard the footsteps. Faint at first. Oh, no… Peter was coming back up the hall. Well, hed missed her before. Closer, closer. Very soft now, as if he was trying not to make any noise. But she heard his breathing and remembered the picture of the eerie-looking boyhis twisted mouth, the tip of his pale tongue in the corner of his lips. She remembered the stained sheets and wondered if he was walking around, looking for her, masturbating… Megan shivered violently. Started to cry. She eased up to the door, put her head against it, listened. No sounds from the other side. Had he? A fierce pounding on the door. The recoil knocked her to her knees. Another crash. A whispered voice. Megan And in that faint word she heard lust and desperation and hunger. Megan. He knows Im here… He knows who I am! Peter was rattling the lock. A few loud slams of a brick or baseball bat on the padlock. No, please… Whyd Matthews leave her alone with him? As much as she hated the doctor, Megan prayed hed return. Megannnnnnn? It now sounded as if the boy was laughing. A sudden crash, into the door itself. Then another. And another. Suddenly a rusty metal rodlike the spears in his horrible comic bookscracked the wood and poked through a few inches. Just as Peter pulled the metal back out Megan leapt into the bathroom, plastered herself against the wall. She heard his breath on the door and she knew he was looking through the hole hed made. Looking for her. Megan.. But from that angle he couldnt see that there was a bathroom; the door was to the side. For an eternity she listened to his lecherous breathing. Finally he walked off. She started back into the room. But stopped. Had he really gone? she wondered. She decided shed wait until dark. Peter might be outside and hed see her. And if she plugged up the hole hed know for certain she was there. She sat on the toilet, lowered her head to her hands and cried. Come on, girl. Get up. I cant. No, I cant. Im scared. Of course youre scared, Crazy Megan chides. But whats that got to do with anything? Lookit that. Lookit the bathroom window. Megan looked at the bathroom window. No, its nuts to think about it. You know what youve got to do. I cant do it, Megan thought. I just cant. Yeah? What choiceve you got? Megan stood and walked to the window, reached through the bars and touched the filthy glass. I cant. Yes, you can! Megan crawled back into the room, praying that Peter wasnt outside the door and looking through the peephole hed made. She reached under the bed, sure shed come up with a handful of rat. But no, she found only the manila file folder shed been looking for. She returned to the bathroom and eased up to the window, pressed the folder against the glass. She drew back her fist and slugged the pane. The punch was hard but the glass held. She hit it again and this time a long crack spread from the top to the bottom of the window Finally, another slug and the glass shattered. She pulled her fist back just as the sharp shards fell to the windowsill. She picked a triangular piece of glass about eight inches long, narrow as a knife. Taking her cue from patient Victoria Skellings sad end, Megan, using her teeth, ripped a strip off one of the mattress pads on the wall. She wound this around the base of the splinter to make a handle. Good, C.M. says with approval. Proud of her other self No, better than good Megan reflected: great. Fuck you, Dr. Matthews. I feel great! It reminded her of how shed felt when shed written those letters to her parents in Dr. Hansons office. It was scary, it hurt, but it was completely honest. Great. Crazy Megan wonders, So whats next? Fuck the kid up with the knife, Megan responded out loud. Then get his keys and book on out of here. Atta girl, C.M. offers. But what about the dogs? Theyve got claws, Ive got claws. Megan dramatically held up the glass. Crazy Megan is impressed as hell. Theres a van. A van? Bett asked. Following us, Tate continued, as they drove past the Ski Chalet in Chantilly. Bett started to turn. No, dont, he said. She turned back. Looked at her hands, fingers tipped in faint purple polish. Are you sure? Pretty sure. A white van. Tate made a slow circle through the shopping center then exited on Route 50 and sped east. He pulled into the Greenbriar strip mall, stopped at the Starbucks and climbed out. He bought two teas topped with foamed milk and returned to the car. They sipped them for a moment and when a red Ford Explorer cut between his Lexus and the van he hit the gas and took off past a bookstore, streaking onto Majestic Lane and just catching the tail end of the light that put him back on Route 50, heading west this time. When he settled into the right lane he noticed the white van was still with him. Howd he do that? Tate wondered aloud. Hes still there? Yep. Hell, hes good. They continued west, passing under Route 28, which was the dividing line between civilization here and the farmland that led eventually to the mountains. Whatre we going to do? But Tate didnt answer, hardly even heard the question. He was looking at a large sign that said, FUTURE HOME OF LIBERTY PARK… He laughed out loud. This was one of those odd things, noticing the sign at the same time the van was following them. A high-grade coincidence, he would have said. Bettwell, the old Bettwould of course have attributed it to the stars or the spirits or past lives or something. Didnt matter. Hed made the connection and at last he had a solid lead. What? she cried, alarmed, responding both to his outrageous U-turn, skidding 180 degrees over the grassy median and the harsh laugh coming from his throat. I just figured something out. Were going to my place for a minute. I have to get something. Oh. What? A gun. Betts head turned toward him then away. Youre serious, arent you? Oh, yep. Very serious. Some years ago, when Tate had been prosecuting the improbable case of the murder of a Jamaican drug dealer at a Wendys restaurant in suburban Burke, Konnie Konstantinatis had poked his head into Tates office. Time you got yourself a piece. Of what? Ha. Youll want a revolver cause all you do is point n shoot. Youre not a boy to mess with clips and safeties and stuff like that. Whats a clip? Tate had been joking, of courseevery commonwealths attorney in Virginia was well versed in the lore of firearmsbut the fact was he re -ally didnt know guns well. The Judge didnt hold with weapons, didnt see any need for them and believed the countryside would be much more highly populated without weaponry But Konnie wouldnt take no for an answer and within a week Tate found himself the owner of a very unglamorous Smith & Wesson .38 special, sporting six chambers, only five loaded, the one under the hammer being forever empty; as Konnie always preached. This gun was locked away where itd been for the past three or four yearsin a trunk in Tates barn. He now sped up his driveway and leapt out, observing that with his manic driving hed lost the white van without intending to. He ran into the barn, found the key on his chain and after much jiggling managed to open the trunk. The gun, still coated with oil as hed left it, was in a Ziploc bag. He took it out, wiped it clean and slipped it into his pocket. In the car Belt asked him timidly, You have it? the way a college girl might ask her boyfriend if hed brought a condom on a date. He nodded. Is it loaded? Oh. Hed forgotten to look. He took it out and fiddled with the gun until he remembered how to open it. Five silver eyes of bullets stared back from the cylinder. He clicked it shut and put the heavy gun in his pocket. Its not going to just go off, is it? I mean by itself. No. He noticed Belt staring at him. What? he asked, starting the engine of the Lexus. Youre… you look scary. He laughed coldly. I feel scary. Lets go. Manassas, Virginia, is this: Big-wheeled trucks, sullen pick-a-fight teenagers (the description filling both the boys and the girls), cars on the street and cars on blocks, Confederate stars n bars, strip malls, PCP labs tucked away in the woods, concrete postwar bungalows, quiet mothers and skinny fathers struggling, struggling, struggling. Its domestic fights. Its women sobbing at Garths concerts and teens puking at Aerosmiths. And a little of it, very little, is Grant Avenue. This is Doctors and Lawyers Row. Little Taras, Civil War mansions complete with columns and detached barns for garages, surrounded by expansive landscaped yards. It was to the biggest of these housesa rambling white Colonial on four acresthat Tate Collier now drove. Who lives here? Bett asked, cautiously eyeing the house. The man who knows where Megan is. Call Konnie, she said. No time, he muttered and he rolled up the drive, past the two Mercedesesneither of them gray, he noticedand skidded to a stop about five feet from the front door, nearly knocking a limestone lion off its perch beside the walk. Tate! But he ignored her and leapt from the car. Wait here. The anger swelled inside him even more powerfully, boiling, and he found himself pounding fiercely on the door with his left hand, his right gripped around the handle of the pistol. A large man opened the door. He was in his thirties, muscular, wearing chinos and an Izod shirt. I want to see him, Tate growled. Who are you? I want to see Sharpe and I want to see him now. Pull the gun now? Or wait for a more dramatic moment? Mr. Sharpes busy right at the Tate lifted the gun out of his pocket. He displayed it, more than brandished it, to the assistant or bodyguard or whatever he was. The man lifted his hands and backed up, alarm on his face, Jesus Christ! Where is he? Hold on there, mister, I dont bow who you are or what youre doing here but Jimmy, whats going on? a voice called from the top of the stairs. Cot a problem here, Mr. Sharpe. Tate Collier come a-calling, Jack Sharpe sang out. He glanced at the gun as if Tate were holding a butterfly net. Collier, whatcha got yourself there? He laughed. Cautious, sure. But it was still a laugh. Was he driving the white van? Tate pointed the gun at the man in the chinos, who lifted his hands. Careful, sir, please! he implored. Its okay; Jimmy, Sharpe called. Just let him be. Hell calm down. What van, Collier? You know what van, Tate said, turning back to Sharpe. Was he the asshole driving? Whynt you put that thing away sos nobody gets hurt. And well talk… No, Jimmy, its okay, really. I can shoot him if you want, Mr. Sharpe. Tate glanced back and found himself looking into the muzzle of a very large pistol, chrome plated, held steadily in Jimmys hand. It was an automatic, he noticedwith clips and safeties and all the rest of that stuff No, dont do that, Sharpe said. Hes not going to hurt anybody. Collier, put it away Be better for everybody. Jimmy kept the gun pointed steadily at Tates head. Tate put his own pistol back into his pocket with a shaking hand. Come on upstairs. Should I come too, Mr. Sharpe? No, I dont think well needya, Jimmy. Will we, Collier? I dont think so, Tate said. No. Come on up. Tate, breathless after the adrenaline rush, climbed the stairs. He followed Jack Sharpe into a sunlit den. He glanced back and saw that Jimmy was still holding the shiny pistol pointed vaguely in Tates direction. Sharpewearing navy-blue polyester slacks and a red golfing shirt was now all business. No longer jokey. What the fucks this all about, Collier? Wheres my daughter? Your daughter? How should I know? Whos driving the white van? I assume youre saying that somebodys been following you. Yeah, somebodys been following me. When Tate had seen the Liberty Park sign hed remembered that his clients in that case had complained to him last week that private eyes had been following them. Tated told them not to worryit was standard practice in big cases (though he added that they shouldnt do anything they wouldnt want committed to videotape). Same as somebody’s been following my clients. And probably my wife Thought you were divorced, Sharpe noted. Howd you know that? Seem to remember something. So if you were following us Me? Sharpe tried for innocence. It didnt take. youve been following my daughter too. Who just happened to disappear today. Sharpe slowly lifted a puller from a bag of golf clubs sitting in the corner of his study, addressed one of the dozen balls lying on the floor and sent it across the room. It missed the cup. I hire lawyers to fight my battles for me. As you well know, having decorated the walls of the courtroom with their hides recently. Thats all I hire. Tate asked, No security consultants? Ha, security consultants. Thats good. Yeah, thats good. Well, no, Collier. There aint no private eyes and no see-curity consultants on my payroll. Now, whats this about your daughter? Shes missing and I think youre behind it. Another putt. He missed the cup again. Me? Why? Oh, I get it. To take you outta the running at the oral argument next Thursday down in Richmond, right? Makes sense to me. Well, it dont make sense to me. I dont need to do that to beat you. You know, I fired those half-assed shysters you reamed at the trial. I got the big boys involved now. Lambert, Stone and Bums. Theyre gonna run right over you. Dont flatter yourself. Theyll bum you up like Atlanta. Liberty Park, Sharpe. Tell me. How muchll you lose if it doesnt get built? The park? It dont go through? I dont lose a penny. Then he smiled. But the amount I wont make is to the tune of eighteen million. Say, aint it unethical for you to be here without my lawyer being present? Tate said, Where is she? Tell me. I dont know what youre talking about. Come on, Jack. You think I dont know about defendants harassing clients and lawyers so theyll drop cases? Sharpe ran his hand through his white hair. He sat down beneath a picture of himself on the eighteenth tee of the Bull Run Country Club, a place that proudly had not a single member who wasnt white and Protestant. Male toothough that went without saying. Collier, I dont kidnap people. But how about some of those little roosters that work for you? I wouldnt put it past a couple or three of them. That project manager of yours. Wilkins? He was in Lorton for eighteen months. For passing bad paper, Collier, not kidnapping girls. Who knows who they mightve hired? Some psycho who does kidnap girls. And maybe likes it. Nobody hired nobody, Sharpe said, though Tate could see in his eyes that he was considering the possibility that one of his thugs had snatched Megan. But five seconds on the defensive was too much for Jack Sharpe. Running outta patience here, Collier. And whatta I knowIm just a country boybut if Im not mistaken isnt that slander or libel or some such youre spouting? So file suit, Jack. But tell me where she is. Youre barking up the wrong tree, Collier. Youre gonna have to look elsewhere. Youre not thinking clear. You bow Prince William as good as your grandfather did before you. If you do a deal like Liberty Park you play hardball. Thats the way business works in these parts. But for Christs sake, this aint southeast D.C. Im not gonna hurt a seventeen-year-old girl. Now its time for you to leave. I got work to do. He sank the next putt into the small cup, which spit the ball back to him. Tate, chin quivering with rage, stared back at the much calmer face of his opponent. From the doorway Jimmy asked calmly, You want me to help him outside? Sharpe said, Naw. Just show him to the door. Hey, so long, Counselor. See you in Richmond next Thursday. Hope youre rested and comfy. Theyre going to rub every inch of your skin off. Its gonna be pretty to watch.

16

Rhetoric, Plato wrote, is the universal art of winning the mind by argument. Tate Collier, at eleven years of age, listened to the Judge recite that definition as the old man rasped a match to light his fragrant pipe and decided that one day he would do rhetoric. Whatever that meant. He had to wait three years for the chance but finally, as a high school freshman, he argued (what else?) his way into Debate Club, even though it was open only to upperclassmen. Tournament debating started in colonial America with the Spy Club at Harvard in the early 1700s and opened up to women a hundred years later with the Young Lathes Association at Oberlin, though hundreds of less formal societies, lyceums and bees had always been popular throughout the colonies. By the time Tate was in school, intercollegiate debate had become a practiced institution. He argued in hundreds of National Debate Tournament bouts as well as the alternative-formatCross Examination Debate Associationtournaments. He was a member of the forensic honorary fraternitiesDelta Sigma Rho, Phi Rho Pi and Pi Kappa Deltaand was now as active in the American Forensics Association as he was in the American Bar Association. In collegewhen it was fashionable to be antimilitary, antifrat, anti-ROTCTate shunned bell-bottoms and lie-dye for suits with narrow lies and white shirts, There he honed his technique, his logic, his reasoning. If…then…Major premise, minor premise, conclusion. Knocking down straw men, circular logic and ad hominem tactics by his opponents. He fought debaters from Georgetown and George Washington, from Duke and North Carolina and Penn and Johns Hopkins, and he beat them all. With this talent (and, of course, with the Judge for a grandfather) law school was inevitable. At UVA hed been the state moot court champion his senior year at the Federal Bar Moot Court Open in the District. Now he frequently taught well-attended appellate advocate continuing-ed courses, and his American Trial Lawyers Association tape was a bestseller in the ABA catalogue. When hed been a senior at UVA and the champion debater on campus the Judge had traveled down to Charlottesville to see him. As predicted, hed won the debate (it was the infamous pro-Watergate contest). The Judge told him that hed heard someone in the audience say, Hows that Collier boy do it? He looks like a farm boy but when he starts to talk hes somebody else. Its like hes speaking in tongues. No, there was no one Tate Collier would not match words with. Yet the incident with Sharpe had left him unnerved. Hed let emotions dictate what hed said. What was happening to him? He was losing his orators touch. I blew it, he muttered. And told Bell what had happened. Did he have anything to do with it? I think he did, yeah. He was slick, too slick, He was expecting me. But he was also surprised about something. What? I think something happened he hadnt planned on. Its true. I dont think his boys would kidnap Megan themselves, But I think they hired somebody to do it. Oh, and he knew we were divorced and that Megan was seventeen. Why would he how that if he hadnt looked into our lives? Are you going to tell Konnie? Oh, sure I am. But people like Sharpe are good. They dont leave loose ends. You follow the trails and they vanish. She picked up the pistol, which hed set on the dashboard. She slipped it in the glove compartment distastefully. Arent we a pair, Tate? Guns, private eyes. He said, Bett, Im sorry. About before. She shook her head. No, she said firmly. There was truth in what you said. They drove in silence for several moments. She sighed then asked reflectively, Do you like your life? He glanced at her. Responded: Sure. Just sure? How much more can you be than sure? You can be convincing, she said. Whats life, he asked, but ups and downs? You ever get lonely? Ah, theres a question for you… . Sometimes the women would stay the night, sometimes theyd leave. Sometimes they decided to return to their husbands or lovers or leave him for other men, sometimes theyd talk about getting divorced and sometimes they were single, unattached and waiting for a ring. Sometimes theyd introduce Tate to their parents or their cautious-eyed children or, if they had none, talk about how much they wanted youngsters. A boy first, theyd invariably say, and then a girl. They all faded from his life and, yes, most nights he was lonely. I keep pretty busy, he said. You? She said quickly, Im busy too. Everybody needs interior design. Sure, he agreed. Things working out well with Brad? Oh, Brads a dear. Hes a real gentleman. You dont see many of them. You were one. I mean, you still are. She laughed. You know, I keep expecting to see you on Court TV, she said. Prosecuting serial killers or terrorists or something. Channel Nine loved you. You gave great interviews. Those were the days. Whyd you quit practice? He kept his hands at ten to two on the wheel and his eyes straight ahead. Tate? she repeated. Prosecutings a young mans game, he said. Thinking he was the epitome of credibility. But Bell said, Thats an answer. But not the answer. I didnt quit practice. You know what I mean. You were the best in the state. Remember those rumors that youd get that job you wanted? Solicitor generalthe lawyer who represented the government in cases before the Supreme Courtthe most important forensic orator in the country. Tates grandfather had always hoped his grandson might get that job. And Tate himself had for years had his sights on that job. I wanted to spend more time on the farm. Bullshit. Well, this was definitely a new Bell McCall. The ethereal angel had come to earth with muddy cheeks. Why wont you tell me? Okay. I lost my taste for blood, he explained. I prosecuted a capital case. I won. And I wished I hadnt. Bett had been deeply ashamed that while they were married Tate had sent six men to death row in Jarratt, Virginia. Her horror at this achievement had always seemed ironic to him for she believed in the immortality of souls and Tate did not. He was innocent? she asked. No, no. It was more complicated than that. He killed the victim. There was no question about that. But he was probably only guilty of manslaughter at best. Criminally negligent homicide, most likely. The defense offered a pleaprobation and counseling. I rejected it and went for lethal injection. The jury gave him life imprisonment. The first week he was in prison, he was killed by other inmates. Actuallyhis voice caughthe was tortured and then he died. God, Tate. What a man hears, he may doubt… I talked him to death, Bett. I conjured the jurors. I had the gift on my side, not the law. And hes dead when he shouldnt be. If hed been out of prison, had some help, hed be alive now and probably a fine person. But what he does, he cannot doubt. He waited for her disgust or anger. But she said only, Im sorry. He looked at her and saw not pity or remorse but simple regret at his pain. They fired you? The commonwealth’s attorneys office? Oh, no. No. I just quit. I never heard about it. Small case. Not really newsworthy. The story died on the Metro page. Staring at the road, Tate confessed, You know something? He felt Betts head turn toward him. He continued, I wanted to tell you about what happened. When I heard that hed died I reached for the phone to call youbefore anybody else. Even before Konnie. I hadnt seen you in over a year. Two years maybe. But you were the one I wanted to tell. I wish you had. He chuckled. But you hated me taking capital cases. There was a long pause. She said, Seems to me youve served enough time over that one. Most everybody gets a parole hearing, dont they? As Tate signaled to make the turn for Betts exit she said, Could we just drive a bit? I dont feel like going home. His hand wavered over the signal stem. He clicked it off.

17

Tate piloted his Lexus back through Centreville, which some of the redder of the rednecks around these parts disparagingly called New Calcutta and New Seoulbecause of the immigrants settling here. He made a long loop around Route 29 and turned down a deserted country road. The sun was low now but the heat seemed worse. The sour, sickly aroma of rotting leaves from last years autumn was in the air. Tate, Bett asked slowly, what if nothing happened? Nothing happened? What if nobody kidnapped her? What if she really did run off? Because she hates us. He glanced at her, She continued, If we find her When we find her, he corrected. What if shes so mad at us that she wont come home? Well convince her to, he told her. Could you do it, do you think? Talk her into coming back home? Can I? he wondered. Theres a transcendent moment in debate when your opponent has the overwhelming weight of logic and facts on his side and yet still you can win. By leading him in a certain direction you get him to build his entire argument on what appears to be an irrefutable foundation, the logic of which is flawless. But which you nonetheless destroy at the same time as you accept the perfection of his argument. Its a moment, Tate tells his classes, just like in fencing, when the red target of a heart is touched lightly with the button of the foil while the fencers attention is elsewhere. No flailing away, no chops or heavy strokes, but a simple, deadly tap the opponent never sees coming. All cats see in the dark. Midnight is a cat. Therefore Midnight can see in the dark. Irrefutable. The purest of logic. Unless… Midnight is blind. But what kind of argument could he make to convince Megan to return home? He thought about the two letters shed written and he didnt have any thoughts at all; he saw only her perfect anger. Well get her back, he told Bett. Ill do that. Dont worry Bett pulled down the makeup mirror in the sun visor to apply lipstick. Tate was suddenly taken back to the night they metat that party in Charlottesville. Hed driven her home afterward and had spent a passionate half hour in the front seat of the car removing every trace of her pink Revlon. Five weeks later hed suggested they move in together. A two-year romance on campus. Hed graduated from law school the year Bell got her undergraduate degree. They left idyllic Charlottesville for the District of Columbia and his clerkship at federal District Court; Bell got a job managing a New Age bookstore. They lived the bland, easy life that Washington offered a young couple just starting out. Tates consolation was his job and Bells that she finally was close to her twin sister, who lived in Baltimore and had been too ill to travel to Charlottesville, Married in May His antebellum plantation built the next spring. Megan born two years later And three years after that, he and Bett were divorced. When he looked back on their relationship his perfect memory was no longer so perfect. What he recalled seemed to be merely sharp peaks of an island that was the tip of a huge undersea mountain range. The wispy, ethereal woman hed seen at the party, singing a sailors mournful song of farewell. Walks in the country. Driving through the Blue Ridge toward Massanutten Mountain. Making love in a forest near the Luray Caverns. Tate had always enjoyed being out of doors the cornfields, the beach, backyard barbecues. But Betts interest in the outside arose only at dusk. When the line between the worlds is at its thinnest, shed told him once, sitting on the porch of an inn deep in the Appalachians. What worlds? he asked. Shhh, listen, shed said, enchanting him even while he knew it was an illusion. Which was, he supposed, irrefutable proof of her ability to cast a spell. Betty Sue McCall, devoted to her twin sister, with whom she had some mystical link that unnerved even rationalist Tate, reedy folk singer, collector of the unexplained, the arcane, the invisible… Tate had never figured out if her sublime mystique magnified their love falsely or obscured it, or indeed if it was the essence of their love. Magic… In the end, of course, it didnt matter, for they separated completely, moved far away from each other emotionally. She became for him what shed been when he was first captivated by her: the dark woman of his imagination. Today she prodded her face in the mirror, rubbed at some invisible blemish as he remembered her doing many times. Shed always been terribly vain. She flipped the mirror back, Pull over, Tate. He glanced at her. No, it was not an imperfection shed been examining; shed been crying again. What is it? Just pull over. He did, into the Park Service entrance to the Bull Run Baffle-field. Bett climbed from the car and walked up the gentle slope. Tate followed and when they were on level ground they stopped and simultaneously lifted their eyes toward the tumultuous clouds overhead, What is it, Bett? He watched her stare at the night sky. Looking for an angel to help you decide something? Suddenly he was worried that shed take offense at thisan implicit reference to her flighty sidethough he hadnt meant it sardonically. But she only smiled and lowered her eyes from the sky. I was never into that angel stuff. Too Hallmark card, you know. But I wouldnt mind a spirit or two. Well, he said, thisd be the place. General Jackson came charging out of those trees right over there and stopped the Union boys cold in their tracks. Right heres where he earned himself the name Stonewall. The low sun glistened off the Union cannons black barrels in the distance. Bett turned, took his hands and pulled him to her. Hold me, Tate. Please. He put his arms around herfor the first time in years. They stood this way for a long moment. Then found a bench and sat. He kept his arm around her. She took his other hand. And Tate wished suddenly, painfully, that Megan were here with them. The three of them together and all the hard events of the past dead and buried, like the poor bodies of the troops whod died bloody and broken on this very spot. Wind in the trees, billowing clouds overhead. Suddenly a streak of yellow flashed past them. Oh, whats that? Bett said. Look. He glanced at the bird that alighted near them. Thatd be, let me see, a common yellowthroat. Nests on the ground and feeds in the tree canopy. Her laugh scared it away. You know all these facts. Where do you learn them? A girlfriend, age twenty-three, had been a bird-watcher. I read a lot, he said. More silence, What are you thinking? she wondered after a moment. A question women often ask when they find themselves in close contact with a man and silence descends. Unfinished business? he suggested. You and me? She considered this. I used to think things were finished between us. But then I started to look at it like doing your will before you get on a plane. Hows that? If you crash, well, maybe all the loose endsre tied up but wouldnt you still rather hang around for a little while longer? Theres a metaphor for you. He laughed. She spent a moment examining the sky again. When you argued before the Supreme Court five or six years ago. That big civil rights case. And the Post did that write-up on you. I told everybody you were my ex-husband. I was proud of you. Really? He was surprised. You know what occurred to me then, reading about you? It seemed that when we were married you were my voice. I didnt have one of my own. You were quiet, thats true, he said. Thats what happened to us, I think. Part of it anyway. I had to find mine. And when you went looking.., so long. No half measures for you. No compromises. No bargaining. The old Bett would have grown angry or dipped into her enigmatic silence at these critical words. But she merely nodded in agreement. That was me, all right. I was so rigid. I had all the right answers. If something wasnt just perfect I was gone. Jobs, classes… husband. Oh, Tate, Im not proud of it. But I felt so young. When you have a child, things do change. You become more. . Enduring? Thats it. Yes. You always know the right word. He said, I never had any idea what you were thinking about back then. Betts thoughts might have been on what to make for dinner. Or King Arthur. Or a footnote in a term paper. She might have been thinking of a recent tarot card reading. She might even have been thinking about him. I was always afraid to say anything around you, Tate. I always felt tongue-tied. Like I had nothing to say that interested you. I dont love you for your oratorical abilities. He paused, noting the tense of the verb. I mean, thats not what attracted me to you. Then reflected: Oh, shes so rightwhat shed said earlier… We humans have this terrible curse; we alone among the animals believe in the possibility of changein ourselves and those we love. It can kill us and maybe, just maybe, it can save our doomed hearts. The problem is we never know, until its too late, which. You know when I missed you the most? she said finally Not on holidays or picnics. But when I was in Belize What? Tate asked suddenly She waved lethargically at a yellow jacket. You know, you and I always talked about going there. Theyd read a book about the Mayan language and the linguists who trooped through the jungles in Belize on the Yucatan to examine the ruins and decipher the Indian code. The area had fascinated them both and they planned a trip. But theyd never made the journey. At first they couldnt afford it. Tate had just graduated from law school and started working as a judges clerk for less money than a good legal secretary could make. Then came the long, long hours in the commonwealths attorney’s office. After that, when they had the money saved up, Betts sister had a serious relapse and nearly died; Bett couldnt leave home. Then Megan came along. And three years after that they were divorced. When did you go? he asked. Three years ago January. Didnt Megan tell you? No. I went with Bill. The lobbyist? Tate shook his head, not remembering who he was. He asked, Have a good time? Oh, yeah, she said haltingly Very nice. It was hotter than Hades. Really hot. But you like the heat, he remembered. Did you see the ruins? Well, Bill wasnt into ruins so much. We did see one. We took a day trip. I… Well, I was going to sayI wished youd been with me. Two years ago February, Tate said, What? I was there too. No! Are you serious? She laughed hard. Whod you go with? Her face grew wry when it took him a moment to remember the name of his companion. Cathy. He believed it was Cathy. Did you get to the ruins? Well, we didnt exactly. It was more of a sail boarding trip. I dont believe it… Damn, how bout that. We finally got down there. We talked about that vacation for years. Our pilgrimage. Great place, he said, wondering how dubious his voice sounded. Our hotel had a really good restaurant. It was fun, she said enthusiastically. And pretty. Very pretty, he confirmed. The trip had been agonizingly dull. Her face was turned toward a distant line of trees. She was thinking probably of Megan now, and the Yucatan had slipped far from her thoughts. Let me take you home, he said. Theres nothing more we can do tonight. We should get some rest. Ill call Konnie, tell him about Sharpe. She nodded. They drove to Fairfax and he pulled up in front of her house. She sat in the front seat in silence for a while. You want to come in? she asked suddenly. His answer was balanced on the head of a pin and for a long moment he didnt have a clue which way it was going to tilt. Tate pulled her to him, hugged her, smelled the scent of Opium perfume in her hair. He said, Better not.

18

Crazy Megan reveals her true self. She isnt crazy at all and never has been. What C.M. is is furious. Hes going down, she mutters. This asshole Peter is going down hard. Megan McCall was angry too but she was much less optimistic than her counterpart as she moved cautiously through the corridors of the hospital, clutching three boxes of plastic dining utensils under her arm and her glass knife in the other. Though she was feeling better physically, having eaten half a box of her favorite cerealRaisin Branand drunk two Pepsis. Listening. There! She heard a shuffle, a few steps of Peters feet. Maybe a whisper of breath. Another shuffle. A voice. Was he muttering her name? Yes, no? She couldnt tell. This could be it! Got a good grip on the knife? Be quiet! Megan thought. She shivered and felt a burst of nausea from the fear. Wished she hadnt eaten so fast. If I puke hell hear and thatll be it.. She inhaled slowly. A clunk nearby. More footsteps. These were close. Megan gasped and closed her eyes, remaining completely still, huddling behind an orange fiberglass chair. She pressed into the wall and began mentally working her way through Janis Joplins Greatest Hits album line by line. She cried noiselessly throughout Me and Bobby McGee, then grew defiant once more when she mind-sang Down on Me. Peter Matthews wandered away, back toward his room, and she continued on. Ten endless minutes later she made it to the end of the corridor shed decided to use. It was here that she was going to lay the trap. She needed a dead endshe had to be sure of which direction hed come from. Crazy Megan points out, though, that it also means shell have no escape route if the trap doesnt work. Whos the pussy now? Megan asked. Like, excuse me, C.M. snaps in response. Just letting you know. She rubbed her hand over the wall. Sheetrock. Megan had recalled one time shed been at her fathers house. A few years ago. Hed been dating a woman with three children. As usual hed been thinking about marrying herhe always did that, it was so weirdandd gone so far as to actually hire a contractor to divide the downstairs bedroom into two smaller ones for her young twins. Halfway through the project theyd broken up; the construction went unfinished but Megan recalled watching the contractors easily slice through the Sheetrock with small saws. The material had seemed as insubstantial as cardboard. She took a plastic dinner knife from the box. It was like a toy tool. And for a moment the hopelessness of her plan overwhelmed her. But then she started to cut. Yes! In five minutes shed sliced a good-sized slit into the wall. The blades were sharper than shed expected. For about fifteen minutes the cutting went well. Then, almost all at once, the serrated edge of the knife wore smooth and dull. She tossed it aside and took a new one. Started cutting again. She lowered her head to the plasterboard and inhaled its stony moist smell. It brought back a memory of Joshua. Shed helped him move into his cheap apartment near George Mason University. The workmen were fixing holes in the walls with plasterboard and this smell reminded her of his studio. Tears flooded into her eyes. Whatre you doing? an impatient Crazy Megan asks. I miss him, Megan answered silently. Shut up and saw. Time for that later Cutting, cutting… Blisters formed on the palm of her right hand. She ignored them and kept up the hypnotic motion. Resting her forehead against the Sheetrock, smelling mold and wet plaster. Hand moving back and forth by itself. Thoughts tumbling… Thinking about her parents. Thinking about bears… No, bears cant talk. But that didnt mean you couldnt learn something from them. She thought of the Whispering Bears story, the illustration in the book of the two big animals watching the town burn to the ground. Megan thought about the point of the story. She liked her version better than Dr. Matthewss; the moral to her was: people fuck up. But it didnt have to be that way. Somebody in the village could have said right up front, Bears cant talk. Forget about em. Then the story would have ended: And they lived happily ever after. Working with her left hand now, which was growing a crop of its own blisters. Her knees were on fire and her forehead too, which shed pressed into the wall for leverage. Her back also was in agony. But Megan McCall felt curiously buoyant. From the food and caffeine inside her, from the simple satisfaction of cutting through the wall, from the fact that she was doing something to get out of this shithole. Megan was thinking too about what shed do when she got out. Dr. Matthews had tricked herto get her to write those letters. But the awesome thing was that what shed written had been true. Oh, she was pissed at her parents. And those bad feelings had been bottled up in her forever, it seemed. But now they were out. They werent gone, no, but they were buzzing around her head, getting smaller, like a blown-up balloon you let go of. And she had a thought: The anger goes away; the love doesnt. Not if its real. And she thought maybe, just maybewith Tate and Bettthe love might be real. Or at least she might unearth a patch of real love. And once she understood that she could recall other memories. Thinking of the time she and her father went to Pentagon City on a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree and hed let her drive the Lexus back home, saying only, The speedometer stops at one forty and you pay any tickets yourself. Theyd opened the sunroof and laughed all the way home. Or the time she and her mother went to some boring New Age lecture. After fifteen minutes Bett had whispered, Lets blow this joint. Theyd snuck out the back door of the school, found a snow saucer in the playground and huddled together on it, whooping and screaming all the way to the bottom of the hill. Then theyd raced each other to Starbucks for hot chocolate arid brownies. And she even thought of her sweet sixteen party the only time in how long?five, six years shed seen her parents together For a moment theyd stood close to each other, near the buffet table, while her father gave this awesome speech about her. Shed cried like crazy hearing his words. For a few minutes they seemed like a perfectly normal family. If I get home, she now thought. . No, when I get home, Ill talk to them. Ill sit down with them. Oh, Ill give em flicking hell but then Ill talk. Ill do what I shouldve done a long lime ago. The anger goes away; the love doesnt… A blister burst. Oh, that hurt. Oh, Jesus. She closed her eyes and slipped her hand under her arm and pressed hard. The sting subsided and she continued to cut. After a half hour Megan had cut a six-by-three-foot hole in the Sheetrock. She worked the piece out and rested it against the floor then leaned against the wall for a few minutes, catching her breath. She was sweating furiously. The hole was ragged and there was plaster dust all over the floor She was worried that Peter would see it and guess shed set a trap for him. But the window at this end of the corridor was small and covered with grease and dirt; very little light made it through. She doubted that the boy would ever see the trap until it was too late. She snuck back to where his fatheror someonehad bricked up the entrance to the administration area of the hospital and, quietly, started carting cinder blocks back to the trap, struggling under their weight. When shed lugged eight bricks back to the corridor she began stacking them in the hole shed cut, balancing them on top of one another, slightly off center. Megan then used her glass knife and sliced strips off the tail of her shirt. She knotted them into a ten-foot length of rope and tied one end to one of the blocks in the stack. Finally she placed the piece of Sheetrock back in the opening and examined her work. Shed lead Peter back here and when he walked past the trap shed pull the rope. A hundred pounds of concrete would crash down on top of him. Shed leap on him with the knife and stab himshe decided she couldnt kill him but would slash his hands and feetto make sure he couldnt attack or chase her. Then shed demand the keys and run like hell. Megan walked softly down to the main corridor and looked back. Couldnt see anything except the tail of rope. Now, she just needed some bait. Guess thats gonna be us, right? she asked, speaking out loud, though in a whisper. Who else? Crazy Megan answers. Bett McCall poured herself a glass of chardonnay and kicked her shoes off. She was so accustomed to the dull thud of the bass and drums leaching through the floor from Megans room upstairs that the absence of the sound of Stone Temple Pilots or Santana brought her to tears. Its so frustrating, she thought. People can deal with almost anything if they can talk about it. You argue. You make up and live more or less comfortably for the rest of your lives. Or you discover irreconcilable differences and you slowly separate into different worlds. Or you find that youre soul mates. But if the person you love is physically goneif you cant talkthen you have less than nothing. Its the worst kind of pain. The house hummed and tapped silently. A motor somewhere clicked, the computer in the next room emitted a pitch slightly higher than the refrigerators. The sounds of alone. Maybe shed fake a bath, Bett thought. No, that would remind her of the soap dish Megan was going to give her. Maybe… The phone rang. Heart racing, she leapt for it. Praying that it was Megan. Please… Please… Let it be her. I want to hear her voice so badly. Or at least Tate. But it was neither. Disappointed at first, she listened to the caller, nodding, growing more and more interested in what she heard. All right, she said. Sure… No, a half hour would be fine…Thank you. Really, thank you. After she hung up she dropped heavily into the couch and sipped her wine. Wonderful, she thought, feeling greatly relieved after talking to him for only three minutes. The caller was Megans other therapista colleague of Dr. Hansons, a doctor named Bill Peters, and he was coming over to speak to her about the girl. He didnt have any specific news. But he wanted to talk to her about her daughters disappearance. Hed sounded so reassuring, so comforting. She was curious only about one thing that the doctor had said during his call. Why did he want to see her alone? Without Tate there? III

THE DEVILS ADVOCATE

19

When you called, Bett McCall confessed, I was a little uneasy. Of course, the man said, walking into the room. Dr. Bill Peters seemed confident, comfortable with himself. He had a handsome face. His eyes latched onto Betts and radiated sympathy. What a terrible, terrible time for you. Its a nightmare. Im so sorry. He was a tall man but walked slightly stooped. His arms hung at his side. A benign smile on his face. Bett McCall, short and slight, was continually aware of the power of body stature and posture. Though she was a foot shorter and much lighter, she feltfrom his withdrawing stance alonethat he was one of the least threatening men shed ever met. He looked approvingly at the house. Megan said you were a talented interior designer. I didnt know quite how talented, though. Bett felt a double burst of pleasure. That he liked her painstaking efforts to make her house nice. But, much more significant to her, that Megan had actually complimented her to a stranger. Then the memory of the letter came back and her mood darkened. She asked, Have you heard about Dr. Hanson? That terrible thing with his mother? Dr. Peter’s face clouded. Its got to be a mix-up. Ive known him for years. He glanced at a crystal ball on her bookshelf. Hes been an advocate for assisted suicide and I think he did talk about it with his mother. You do? But I think she misinterpreted what he said. You know that a nurse said his mother lifted the hypodermic off a medicine cart. Bett considered this. Maybe Tate had been wrong about somebody framing Dr. Hanson to get him into jail and unavailable to speak to them. Doctor. . Oh, call me Bill. Please. Is he a good therapist? Dr. Hanson? The therapist examined a framed tapestry from France, mounted above the couch. Why was he hesitating to answer? Hes very good, yes, Dr. Peters said after a moment. In certain areas. What was your impression of him? Well, she said, weve never met. You havent? He seemed surprised. He hasnt talked to you about Megan? No. Should he have? Well, maybe with his mothers accident… hes had a lot on his mind. But that just happened this week, Bell pointed out. Megans been seeing him for nearly two months. In his face she could see that he couldnt really defend his friend. Well, frankly, I think he should have talked to you. I would have. But he and I have very different styles. Mrs. McCall Bett, please. Betty? Betty Sue. She smiled, and then blushed. Hoped he couldnt see it, thankful for the dimmed lighting. All right… Deep, dark secret? The names Beatrice Susan McCall. My sister Your twin. Megan told me. Thats right. Shes Susan Beatrice. We were named dyslexically. I cant tell you how many years we plotted revenge against Mom and Dad for that little trick. He laughed. Say, could I trouble you for a glass of water? Of course. She noticed that he examined her brieflythe light black jeans and black blouse. Wild earrings dangled; crescent moons and shooting stars. She started toward the kitchen. Come on in here. Would you rather have a soda? Or wine? No, thanks … Oh, look. He picked up a bottle of Mietz merlot, which Brad had bought for them last week and they hadnt gotten around to drinking yet. He glanced at the eighteen-dollar price tag. Funny, I just bought a case of this. Its a wonderful wine. Eighteens a great price. I paid twenty-one a bottleand that was supposed to be a discount. You know the vineyard? Brad said its real hard to find. It is. She said, Lets open it, Youre sure? Yep. Bett was happy to impress him. She opened and poured the wine. They touched glasses. Do you live in the area? she asked. In Fairfax. Near the courthouse. Its a nice place. Only… therere a lot of law offices around there and I get these lawyers coming and going at all hours. Drives me crazy sometimes. She gave a brief laugh. He lifted an eyebrow. Shed been thinking of all the nights Tate had spent in that very neighborhood, interviewing prisoners and police and getting home at ten or eleven. Tate Your ex. Right. Im afraid hes one of them. Working late, I mean. Oh, thats right. Megan told me he was an attorney. But he doesnt live in Fairfax, does he? Didnt she tell me hes got a farm somewhere? Prince William. But his office is here. Dr. Peters smiled and examined the collection of refrigerator magnets that she and Megan had collected. It pinched her heart to see them. And she had to look away before the tears started. He asked her some questions about the interior design business in Virginia. It turned out his mother had been a decorator. Where? she asked. Boston. No kidding! Thats where the McCalls are from. She pointed to some pictures of her family in front of Old Ironsides and in their front yard, the Prudential building towering over the skyline in the background. Sure, he said. I thought I detected a bit of accent. Im driving the car to the party… She laughed. You miss it? he asked. No. We moved here when I was ten. The South definitely appeals to me more than New England. To the extent this is the South, he offered. Thats true. He took her glass and refilled it. He handed it back and leaned against the island, glanced at the expensive stainless-steel utensils. I love to cook, he said. Its a hobby of mine. Me too. Its relaxing to open some wine, come out to the kitchen and start slicing and dicing. He lifted the heavy Sabatier butcher knife and tested the edge carefully with his thumb. Nodded. Sharp knives are safer than dull ones, she said. My mother taught me that. Mine too, he said, weighing the knife in his hand for a moment, studying the blade carefully. Then he set it on the table. Should we go back in the other room? Sure. He nodded toward the door. She preceded him into the living room. Bett sat on the couch and he walked over to the bookshelves, looked at her collection of crystals and several boxes of tarot cards. He chided, Didnt you know youre supposed to keep your tarot cards wrapped in silk? You know about that? She laughed. Sure do. I was really into the occult a long time ago. She smiled and realized that she was relaxing for the first time all day. I was kind of crazy when I was young. You look embarrassed. You shouldnt be. I think our spiritual sides as important as our physical and our psychic sides. I use a holistic approach in my treatment. A lot of times Ill prescribe herbsthey have both organic and psychosomatic effects. I try to use them whenever I can, Bett said. If my patients need something Id rather it was Saint-Johns-wort instead of Prozac. He was a doctor who felt this way? How often had she explained these things to doctors, or to friends, or to Tate, only to be met with a politely wary gazeat best. Dr. Peters continued. It makes a lot of sense to me. Take tarot cards … do they predict the future? Well, in a way they do. They make us look at who we are, where we fit in with the godhead or the Oversoul Oh, you know Emerson? she asked, pointing to a book of his writings. Dr. Peters walked to it and pulled the volume off the shelf He flipped through it, held up the book and showed her the title of an essay The Oversoul. Ive been reading him since college … I think fortune-telling makes us look at where we fit in with the life force, what our relationships are like, makes us question where were going. That has to affect our future. Thats true, she said, feeling warm and comfortable. She sipped more wine. Thats what Ive always felt. Most people dont get it. They just make fun of the Madame Zostras fortune-telling stuff Its not fair. My ex… But she decided to let the thought die. And Dr. Peters didnt push her to finish. The doctor was looking at her bookshelf, head cocked sideways. Pointing out volumes. Ah, Joseph Campbell. Thats very good. Sure, sure…You know Jung? Sort of, not really. About the archetypes? There are certain persistent myths we see surfacing in peoples lives. The Arthurian legendyou know it? Know it? she thought, laughing to herself I lived it. T. H. White, Camelot, the whole thing. She pointed out an old copy of The Once and Future King. What a book that is, he said. Oh, and The Mists of Avalon, nodding at the book. The best, she said enthusiastically. Remembering how Tate didnt have time for any of this. She found the old angers and resentments churning up again and recalled how much comfort shed found in the New Age world. Here was a man who truly understood her. It was so refreshing… Dr. Peters tapped his glass to hers and they sipped. Her glass was nearly empty. Yet she didnt feel drunk, she felt elated. He sat down close to her. Um, Bert… I dont know how much Megan told you about me. Nothing, really. But she didnt want to talk about her therapy sessions. Thats what we were going to do today, Tate and I. Meet her for lunch and find out how it was going. He nodded. He was really quite a handsome man, well built. Interior designer Bett McCall thought: Proportions are everything. Dr. Hanson saw her more frequently than I did. But I wanted to come over tonight and just talk to you about her a little. Try to reassure you. Oh, Ill take that. Anything you want to give me in the reassurance department, Ill take. Have you heard anything from her? he asked. Not a word. But there are some funny things going on. What sort of things? We think maybe somebody was following her. My husband… my ex-husband thinks it might have to do with a case hes working on. He thinks the man hes suing is trying to distract him or something. I dont know. Any… what would they say on NYPD Blue? Any concrete leads? Not really. But Tates been in touch with a friend of his at the police. Oh, is that the detective who called me? He asked me a few questions about Megan. Um, whats his name again? Konstantinatis. Right. Well, he continued, pouring more wine, I think you should know what I told him. Whats that? That I dont think shes in any danger. Oh, did she say something to you about running away? Bett asked quickly. Youd tell me if she did. Ordinarily thatd be confidential. But … yes, I would tell you. And she didnt say anything specific about it though she was always talking about going to a big city like San Francisco or New York. They found an Amtrak timetable in her car. Shed marked trains to New York. He nodded, as if a mystery had been explained. Id guess thats what happened. No, Id say Im positive thats what happened. I really doubt there are stalkers or bogeymen out to get her. Whyre you so sure? He didnt answer her. Instead he said, I think we need more wine. Ill get it. Okay? Sure. Dr. Peters vanished into the kitchen. He returned a moment later, sat down and poured. After a moment he asked, How does your husband feel about his daughter? Tates… She groped for words. He supplied one. Indifferent? Yes. Hes never been very involved with Megan. I understand that. But why? She now looked at the crystal ball. In it was captured the orange glow from a wall lamp. She stared at the distorted trapezoid of light and said, Tate wanted to be his grandfather. He was a famous lawyer and judge in the area. He had a big family, a traditional lifestyle. Well, Tate wanted thatand a good, dependable farmwife. She lifted her hands and slapped her thighs. He got me instead. Big disappointment. No, thats not you. The doctor smiled wryly. I can see that. That was very unfair to you for him to expect that. To me? she asked. Unfair? Of course, he offered as if it were obvious. Your husband had a distorted level of expectationsbased on a childs view of the past and he tried to project that onto you. Ill bet he worked a lot, spent time away from home. He did, yes. But I was busy too. My sister was sick Her heart condition. Oh, she could talk to this man for hours! Shed met him only thirty minutes ago and yet he knew her. Knew her better than Tate dideven after all those years of marriage. Thats right. But why are you taking the blame? Youre attractive, intelligent, have a mind of your own. If you wanted an independent life, why should you feel bad about that? It seems to me that he’s the one to blame for all this. He went into the marriage knowing who you were and tried to change you. And probably in some less-than-honest ways. Less than honest? He appeared supportive, Ill bet. He probably said, Honey, do whatever you want to do. Ill be behind it. She was stunned. It was as if Dr. Peters were looking directly into her memories. Yes, thats exactly what hed say. But in fact, what he was doing was the opposite. Little comments, even body language, thatd whittle away at your spirit. He wanted you barefoot and pregnant and wanted you to give up your life, have dinner on the table for him, give him a brood of kids, ignore your ill sister. And he was going to make a name for himself as a prosecutor and to hell with everybody else. His eyes flickered with painher pain. It was horrible what he did to you. Inexcusable. But I suppose its understandable. His character, you know. Character. You know the old expression? A mans character is his fate. Thats your ex-husband. Hes reaping now what he sowed. With Megan running away. I wish I could believe that, Bett thought. Please… Tears now. From the wine, from the astonishing comfort she felt, years and years of pain and confusion and loneliness being stripped away. I She caught her breath. Hed sit down and talk to me and say that he loved me and what could he do for me Tricks, Dr. Peters said quickly. All tricks. I couldnt argue with him. He had an answer for everything. Hes smooth, isnt he? A slick talker. Megan told me that. Oh, you better believe it. I couldnt win against him. Not at words. Never. I always came away feeling, I dont know, violated, I guess. Bett, most women wouldve put up with that. They wouldve stayed and stayed and destroyed themselves. And their children. But you had the courage to do something about it. To strike out on your own. But Megan… shes suffered. Suffered? He laughed. Because of him, yes. Not because of you. Youve done a miraculous job with her. Heres to you. He tapped her glass and they drank. The room was swimming. She realized hed moved very close to her and she enjoyed the proximity. A miraculous job? Bett shook her head, felt her eyes swimming with tears. Oh, I dont think so. Dr. Peters said firmly, Why, if every mother cared for her children the way you care for Megan Id be out of business. Do you really think that? she asked in a choked voice. The tears were coming fast now But she wasnt the least embarrassed. Not in front of this man. She could tell him anything, she could do anything. Hed understand, hed forgive, hed comfort. She said wistfully, Too bad Megan doesnt think so. Oh, but she does. He frowned in confusion. No, no… theres a letter… She glanced toward her purse, where the girls horrible note sat like a puddle of cold blood. The detective told me about it. Thats the main reason why I wanted to see you. Alone, without your husband here. He took the wineglass from her and set it on the table. Then he sat forward, took her hands in his. Looked at her until she was gazing into his dark eyes, nearly hypnotized. Listen to me. Listen carefully. She didnt mean what she wrote you. She She. Didnt. Mean. It. Do you hear what Im saying? Bett was shaking with sobs. But what she wrote, it was so terrible.. No, he said in a firm whisper. No. He was completely focused on her. She thought of the other men in her life with whom shed had serious talks. Tate was often elsewherethinking of cases or trying to dissect what she was saying. Brad would smother her with an adoring gaze. But Dr. Peters was looking at her as a person. Heres what you have to understand. Your letter doesnt mean anything. Oh, please, she thought, please explain how this happened. Please explain to me why Im not a witch, please explain how my daughter still loves me. She thought of an expression shed heard once and believed was true: Youd kill for your mate; but youd die for your child. Well, I would, she thought. If only Megan knew that she felt that way. He squeezed her hands. Your daughter hates your husband. I dont know what the genesis of that is but its a very deeply ingrained feeling. Bett felt the impossibility of compressing seventeen years into a few minutes. Her eye went to a board game, Monopoly sitting dusty on the shelf. “There were so many things she wanted from Tate… Megan wanted us to play games together. Tate, her and me. But he never would. And then It doesnt matter, the doctor interrupted. The fact is that she was the child and he was the parent and he failed her. Megan knows it and she hates him. The anger inside her is astonishing. But its only directed at himI guarantee you that. She loves you so much. Shaking with tears. But the letter.. You know the Oedipus and Electra principles? The attractions of sons and mothers and daughters and fathers? A little, I guess. In Megans subconscious her anger at your ex-husband makes her feel terribly guilty. And directing it only at him is intolerable. With the natural attraction between fathers and daughters she either had to write no letter at all or write you both. She was psychically unable to point her anger only at its true source. Oh, if I could believe that…” During our sessions she was always telling me how proud she was of you. How she wants to be like you. How hard a life youve had. I promise you, without a doubt, she regrets writing that letter to you. She doesnt mean it. Shed give anything to take it back. Bett lowered her head and put her face in her hands. Why was the room swimming so badly? His arm went around her shoulders. You okay? She nodded. Will she be coming back? Bett asked. I dont doubt it for a minute. It might be awhileyour husbands caused some serious damage. But nothing thats irreparable. Megan knows that she couldnt ask for a better mother in the world. Youve done everything right. She loves you and misses you. Bett sagged against his chest, felt the muscles in his arms tighten as he held her. Oh, when was the last time shed felt this good, this easy, this comforted? Years. She felt his hot breath on the top of her head. She smelled a faint aftershave. I feel so light-headed. Did she say that? Or think it? She wept and she laughed. The doctors hand went to her forehead. Youre so hot. . He hugged her harder and his hand slid downward, fingers encircling her neck. An electric chill went through her and then her arms were snaking around him, pulling him to her. Her head was up and she pressed her cheek against his. No, no, she thought. I cant be doing this… But she was thinking these words from a very different place, very remote. And it was impossible for her to release her grip on the man whod repaired her bleeding soul. He thinks Im a good mother, he thinks Im a good mother, he thinks… He leaned down and kissed her tears. The light touch of his lips felt so good… She was so giddy, so happy… Stretching out, getting comfortable… The room was hot, the room was wonderful… And what was this? she thought like an excited high school girl. He was kissing her on the mouth. Or am I kissing him? Bert didnt know. All she knew was that she wanted to be close to him. To the man whod found her single worst fear and killed it dead. No, he protested. But his voice was a whisper. But she was not letting him go. She knew she should stop but she couldnt. She pulled him down next to her on the couch, refusing to let go, arms fixed forever around his neck. The room filling with heat, spinning, orange lights, yellow Eights Kissing harder now. Hands on her belly, then her chest. She glanced down and wasnt surprised to see her blouse was undone. Her bra up, his fingers cupping her breast. This seemed completely natural. A pop, the snap of her jeans opened. Had he done that, or had she? It didnt matter. Getting close to him was all that mattered, hearing him whisper whatever he would whisper in her ear as he lay on top of her. That was what she wanted, hearing him speak to her. The sex wasn’t important but shed gladly give him that if only hed keep reassuring her, keep speaking to her.. She opened her mouth and kissed him hard. And then the world ended. The front door was swinging open. And a familiar voice was crying, Bett…why, Bett! Gasping, she sat up. Dr. Peters backing away a shocked look on his face. Brad Markham stood in the doorway, his face a horrified mask. His key to her house dropped to the floor with a loud ring. What… He was breathless. What… Brad, I thought… I was in Baltimore? he spat out. He shook his head. I was. A policeman called and told me about Megan. I drove down to be with you…Your daughters missing and youre fucking somebody. Youre cheating on me? No, she said, feeling faint and nauseous from the wine and shock. Tears coming again. Tears of horror. You dont understand. I didnt mean it. I didnt know what I was doing. Im sorry. Dr. Peters looked horrified. I didnt know you had a boyfriend. You never said anything. Boyfriend? Brad spat out. Were engaged. Youre what? The doctor stared at Brad. Im so sorry. She never said anything. How could you? Brad spat out, raging at her. After everything Ive done for you? And Megan? How could you? I dont know what happened. . Brad stalked outside leaving the door open. No! Bett cried, sobbing, pulling her bra down and buttoning her blouse as she stumbled toward the door. Wait. Through her tears she saw Brads car squeal off down the street. Leaning against the doorjamb, sobbing, sinking to the floor. Close to fainting, wishing to die… No, no, no.. Then the doctor was standing next to her, crouching down. His mouth close to her ear. When he spoke the voice was so different from the soothing drone of ten minutes ago. It was flint, it was ice water. What I told you Megan said about you? That wasnt true. I only said it to make you feel better… All she told me was that you were a selfish whore. I didnt believe her. But I guess she was right. He took a final sip of wine. What a pitiful excuse for a mother you are. The doctor rose, set the glass on the table and stepped over her, out the door. It seemed he was smiling, though Bett was blinded by the tears and couldnt say for certain. Tate Collier hung up the phone. Sighed. No, man, Josh still isnt home. I dont know where he is. You called, like, three times already. Maybe well give it a rest now? Okay? Well, where the hell was Megans boyfriend? Konnie too was still out of the office. And it irked Tate that the detective hadnt returned his page. He fed the Dalmatian and paced up and down his front porch, looking at the clear early evening skies and the dusting of April growth over his fields. No more Dead Rebs that he could see. Again his eye settled on the dilapidated picnic bench in the backyard. Remembering Bett unhooking the Japanese lanterns, feeling the odd heat of that fall so many years ago, feeling the residual exhaustion from the funeral. Sweating in November, the hot wind pushing crisp, curled leaves over the shaggy grass. He remembered: Bett looking down at him. Asking, What is it? Alarmed, as she gazed at the expression on his face. What is it, what is it, what is it?… A simple question. Yet simple words cant convey the answerthat two people who were once in love no longer are. Hed closed his eyes. I dont want to be married to you anymore, hed said. Good-bye… Tate now looked away from the bench and glanced impatiently at the cordless phone, sitting on the porch swing. Why wasnt It rang. He blinked and snagged it from the cradle. Hello? Silence for a moment. Then: Tate? Im here, Bett. Whats wrong? His heart went cold at the sound in her voice. Im on my way to Baltimore. You are? Why? More silence. Brad left me. What? At a time like this? Its not his fault. I did something stupid. I dont know… I dont want to go into it. Its… Oh, Jesus, its a mess. Bett, you sound terrible. Are you crying? I cant talk about it. Not now Whenll you be back? What about Megan? I dont care. He heard utter defeat in her voice. What do you mean? Oh, Tate. Weve blown it. Theres nothing we can do. Weve ruined her life, shes ruined ours. Maybe shell come back, maybe she wont. Lets just let her go and hope for the best. I dont care anymore. This doesnt sound like you. Well, it is me, all right? It was stupid looking for her, it was stupid getting together like this, you and me. We should have kept our lives on different sides of the universe, Tate. Whatve we got to show for it? Just pain. Were going to find her. She doesnt want to be found. Dont you get that? Let her go and dont worry about it. Shes part of the past, Tate. Let her go. The phones breaking up. Im coming to a tunnel. Good-bye, Tate… Good-bye..

20

Bait. Thats me, yes sir. Thats me. Hes on to you, Crazy Megan says. Move, move, move. She went to the right and Peter Matthews went to the right. Left and left, straight and straight. Getting closer all the time. Whispering, Megan, Megan, Megan. Other words too. She wasn’t sure but she thought he was muttering, I want to fuck you, I want to fuck you. Or maybe cut you. Megan was part of his fantasy now. She was a victim from those disgusting comic books. The tentacles, the monsters, the purple dicks, the claws and pincers… And was nothing more than a game to the boyif you can call a six-foot, two-hundred-pound thing a boy. As she moved up and down the corridors, gripping the handle of her glass knife in her right hand, which stung fiercely from the blisters, she had all sorts of terrible thoughts: why the father had brought her here, for instance. As a bride for his son. Jesus… Maybe Aaron Matthews had wanted grandchildren. Maybe Peterd been at Jefferson High they had a special ed departmentand hed gotten obsessed with her. That might be it. And his father had kidnapped her to be a present for his son. Down the corridor toward the kitchen. Scuffling, muttering, but no sight of him. Down the corridor that led past the door to the basement. The lock looked flimsy but not that flimsy. Breaking it open would make a hell of a noise. And what was down there anyway? No, Crazy Megan tells her, Stick to your plan. Hes gotta go down. Well, one of us does, thought the less confident half of the duo, Keep going, keep looking for him. Up and down the dim halls. It didnt seem that late but the hospital was in a valley and the sun was behind a mountain to the west. The whole place was bathed in cold blue light and she was having trouble seeing. She stopped. The boys footsteps were getting closer. This is it, Crazy Megan says. Just stab the flicker in the back and get it over with. But Megan reminded her that she couldnt do that. As much as she hated him, she couldnt kill. He wants to fuck you. He wants to pretend hes one of those insect monsters and fuck you till you bleed. You have to Be quiet! Im doing the best I can. Closer. The steps got closer. The sound coming from around the corner. She didnt have time to get into the main corridorhe was too close. She stepped into a little nook. Trapped. He moved closer, paused. Maybe hearing her. Maybe smelling her. Hed stopped whispering her name. Which scared her more because he knew he was close to his prey and didnt want to be heard. He was sneaking rip on her. He was playing the invisible monster; shed seen that story in one of the comic books. Some creature you couldnt see snuck into girls locker rooms and raped stragglers after gym class. The comic had been limp, as if Peterd read that one a thousand times. He moved forward another few cautious steps. Her hand started to shake. Should she jump out into the corridor and just run like hell? But he couldnt be more than ten feet away And hed looked so big in the photographs! He could lunge like a snake and grab her by the throat in two steps. Suddenly a flash of pain went through her handfrom one of the blistersand she dropped the knife. Gasped involuntarily. Megan froze, watching the knife tumble to the floor. It cant break! No… Just before the icy glass hit the floor she shoved her foot under it, waiting for the pain as the tip of the blade sliced into the top of her foot. Thunk. The knife hit her right foot flat and rolled, unbroken, to the floor. Thank you, thank you… She bent down and picked it up. Another two footsteps, closer, closer. No choice. She had to run. He was only three or four feet away. Megan took a deep breath, another. Jump out, slash with the knife and run like hell toward the trap. Now! She leapt out, turned to the right. Froze. Gasping. Her ears had played tricks on her. No one was there. Then she looked down. The rata large one, big as a catstanding on his haunches, sniffing the air, blinked at her, cowering. Then indignantly it turned away as if angry at being startled. Megan sagged against the wall, tears welling as the fear dissipated. But she didnt have much time for recovery. At the far end of the dim corridor a shadow materialized into the loping form of Peter Matthews, hunched over and moving slowly. He didnt see her and disappeared from view. Megan paused for only a few seconds before she started after him. The Shenandoahs and Blue Ridge keep the air in northwest Virginia clean as glass in the spring, and when the sun sets, its a fierce disk, bright as an orange spotlight. Newscasters report on sun delays from the glare at various places on the highway. This radiant light, behind Tate, lit every detail in the trees and buildings and oncoming cars as he sped down I-66 at eighty miles an hour. He skidded north on the parkway, then east on Route 50, pulled into the county police station house and climbed out of the car. He practically ran into Dimitri Konstantinatis as he too happened to arrive, carrying two large Kentucky Fried Chicken bags. Oh-oh, the detective muttered. What oh-oh? That look on your face. I dont have a look, Tate protested. You had it comin into my office when you were prosecutor and you needed that little bit of extra evidencewhichd mean Id lose a weekend. And youve got it now. That oh-oh. They walked inside the building and into Konnies small office. You didnt call me back, Tate said. Did so. Ten minutes ago. You musta left. Whats that? Tate set the letter Megan had written him and the knucklebone hed found in his house that morning, both in Baggies, on the cops desk. Prints, Tate said. A prince among menyes, I am. So, whats going on? I want you to run the letter through Identification. Somethings up. Betts acting funny You complained about that when you were married, Konnie pointed out. Crystals, mumbo jumbo, long distance calls to peopled been dead a hundred years. That was cute funny Thiss weird funny. Witnessesve been disappearing and not calling back and its just too much of a coincidence. And I think I know whos behind it. He also told Konnie about his run-in with Jack Sharpe. Ooo, that was bright, Counselor, and you were packing your gun to boot? Tate shrugged. Was your idea for me to get one. But it wasnt my idea to threaten an upstanding member of the Prince William mafia with it. Grant me that at least. Ive been on his bad side since I routed his lawyers at the injunction hearing last week. Whats wrong with a nice theme park round here, Tate? Youd rather have what we got now in Manassas? A track fulla big wheels slugging it out in a mud pit. Id vote for Disneyland, with them fun rides and cotton candy and knock-the-clown-in-the-water shit. Im just telling you that Jack Sharpe would love for me to be out of commission come that argument at the Supreme Court in Richmond next week. And I think hes had somebody in a van following me. Sorry, no tag, no model. Konnie nodded slowly. Then added, But hes got boys hed hire for that. And they could hire other boys. No way could you trace it back to him. And you think anybodyd snitch on Jack Sharpe? Im not a prosecutor anymore, Konnie. I dont want to make a case. I want to find Megan. Period. End of story. And kneecap the prick who did it. Tate pushed the bags containing the letter and the bone toward Konnie again. Please. Another mournful glance at his cooling dinner. Be right back. Wait. Tate handed him another Baggie. Exemplars of Megans prints on the keys and mine on that glass. And remember you handled the note too. Konnie nodded. The prosecutor in you aint dead, I see. Carrying the bags, he walked down the hail toward the forensic lab. He returned a moment later. Wont be long. I was looking forward to supper. Tate ignored the red-and-white KEG bag and continued. Now, there was a gray Mercedes following her. Can you check that out? Check what out? Registered owners of gray Mercedeses. I was asking before: year, model, tag? Still none. Konnie laughed. He typed heavily on his computer keyboard. Thisll be worth it just to see your expression. As he waited for the results Konnie peeked into the tallest Kentucky Fried bag, kneaded his ample stomach absently. You know what the worst is? The worst is when the mashed potatoes get cold. You can eat the chicken when its cold because everybody does that. On a picnic, say. Same with the beans. But when mashed potatoes get cold you have to throw them out. Which is bad enough but then you think about them all nighthow good they wouldve been. Thats what I mean by the worst. The screen fluttered. Konnie leaned forward. Heres what we got. I did Fairfax, Arlington, Alexandria, Prince William and Loudoun. Mercedes, all types, all years, gray. Tate leaned forward and read: Your request has resulted in 2,603 responses. Two thousand, Tate muttered. Man. in “Two thousand six hundred. Tate knew from his prosecuting days that too much evidence was as useless as too little. If youre Just not buying the runaway stuffKonnie sighed were gonna have to do more thinking. All right, you think Sharpes a possibility and I dont think hes above snatching a girl. But there anybody else? Think hard now, Tate. Anybody hassling her? Recently? Like last years weirdoes dont count? Konnie snorted. Whenever! Not that I know of. I have to say there was a rumor… it was just a rumor… she mightve been seeing… well, having sex with some older men. And maybe there was some money involved. I mean, they were paying her. If Konnie felt anything about this he didnt show it. You have any idea who? Where? Some kids at this place called the Coffee Shop. They been trying to close that piss hole down for a year. Well, I can poke around there. Ask some questions. Now, was she in any cults or anything? No, dont think so. You or Bell in anything like that? Me? All right, your wife. Ex, Tate corrected. Whatever. She did that sort of stuff It was strictly softball with her. No Heavens Gate or Jonestown or anything like that. Bett wouldnt even put up these Indian posters because they had reverse swastikas on them. Nothing to do with Nazis; she just thought it was bad karma. Karma, Konnie scoffed. Any relationships of yours go south in a big way recently? I” Fore you answer, think back to every one of them twenty-oneyear-olds you promised diamonds to and then ran for the hills. I never proposed to a single one, Tate said. Never proposed to marry em, maybe. You dont get Fatal Attraction after three dates. Thats about the longest term I went. Sad, Tate, sad. How bout Bett? I dont know. But I dont think so. Any relatives acting squirrelly? Mightve wanted to take the girl and run? Only relative nearbys Betts sister, Susan. Outside of Baltimore. Shed never do anything to hurt her. Hell, she was always joking about adopting Megan. This got Konnies attention. Adopting her? You sure shes not involved in this? Maybe she went over the edge, decided to get herself a daughter. Imagine Bett but fifteen pounds lighter. She couldnt kidnap a bird. But she couldve hired somebody to. She could have a wacko boyfriend. I just cant see it, Konnie. Gimme her name anyway. Tate wrote it down. Okay, how bout any business associates of either of yall? Clients? Or the bad guys? Other than Sharpe. Betts got this interior design business. I dont think her clientsre the sort for this kind of thing. Me, all Ive been doing are wills, trusts and house closingsexcept for the Liberty Park case. Konnie grunted. The detective got a call. Grabbed the phone. Nodded. Slammed it down. Interesting … That was the lab. Only her prints and yours on the bone. And mine, yours and hers on the letter. But… there were some smudges on the bone that mightve been from latex gloves. Cant say for certain, But that starts rue wondering. Think its about time to do a Title Three.” A wiretap? Yours and your wifes phones both. Ex. You keep saying that. Broken record. Thats in case you get a ransom call. I thought this wasnt a case. Its becoming one. Tell me again what happened this morning at your place. I mean exact. Tate remembered this about Konnie: he was a working dog when it came to dredging for evidence and hammering on suspects and witnesses. Only exhaustion would slow him downand even then it never stopped him. Tate gave another recap of the events. So you never actually saw her at your house? No, Tate said. I got back home about ten A.M. from the office then got suited up and went to check on a busted pipe. The sharecroppers there? No. Not on Saturday. I never saw anybody at all. Just the lights go out around ten-twenty. All of em? Yeah. Didnt you think that was funny? No. Megan doesnt like bright lights. She likes candlelight and dimmers. This gave Tate a burst of pleasureproving to Konnie that he knew something about the girl after all. It was dark as pitch this morning, the detective mused. With all that rain. Most peopled want some light, youd think. Less they didnt want to be seen from the outside. True. And shit, Tate, wait a minute. Whyd she go to your place at all? To leave the letters and get the backpack. Well, doesnt she have any suitcases or book bags at your wifes? Sorry your exs. Your dee-vorced spouses. Sure she does. Youre right. Most of them are there, as a matter of fact. And she had her book bag with her at Amys. And a lot more clothes and makeup at Betts place than mine. The cop continued, You and Megan hardly ever saw each other. True again. So you wouldnt go into her room much, would you? Once a month maybe. So whyd she leave the letters there? Why not at her mothers? That wouldve made more sense, true. The detective added, And hell, why go to the house and leave some letters this morning around the time you were going to meet her? I tell you, if I was going to leave a note to diss my folks and run Id leave it someplace they werent going to be. Dontcha think? So he made her write em and planted them himself. Whoever he is. Thats what I think, Counselor… Heres what Im gonna do. Order some serious forensic work and then have a chat with the captain. Guess what? Thiss just become a case. And in a big way. Konnie pulled a drumstick from the bag and charged down the hall. Tate returned home. No messages and no one had called; the caller ID box was blank. Twelve hours ago he had wanted Megan and Bett out of his life again. Hed gotten his wish and he didnt like it one bit. So Brad had left Bett. He didnt know what to make of that. Why? And why now? He had a feeling that whoever was behind Megans disappearance was behind this too. Then his thoughts segued to Belize, the trip he and Bett had planned to take. A second honeymoon. Well, a first honeymoon technicallysince theyd never taken one after their wedding. He looked out over the dark sky; at the spattering of a million stars. Tate laughed to himself. What a kick if theyd run into each other. He wondered how Bell would have reacted to Karen. No. Cathy. Probably not well. Not a jealousy thing so much as a matter of approval. Shed never liked his taste in women. Well, Tate didnt either, now that he looked back at his lovers over the past ten years. Belize… Was there actually a possibility that he and Bett might take that trip together stillafter they found Megan? Whatever happened with Brad, the presence of a fiancé didnt seem as insurmountable as simply the concept of Tate and Bett taking a trip together. At one time their joined names had been a common phrase among their friends. But that was a long, long time ago. Yetthis was feelings again, not Cartesian logicyet somehow he believed that theyd get along just fine. The fight today had been as bad as any theyd had fifteen years ago. And yet thered been a reconciliation. This astonished him. That never would have happened in the past. He sighed, sipped his wine, looked out at the Dalmatian nosing about in the tall grass. Thinking now of Megan. But even if husband and wife were to get together again, what would the girl come home to? And more important… who was the person coming home? Was the girls drinking and the water tower incident more than just a onetime fluke? Was that the real Megan McCall, a bitter young woman who slept with men for money? Or was there another person within her? One Tate didnt know wellor maybe one he hadnt even yet met? Tate Collier felt a sudden desperation to know the girl. To know who she was. What excited her, what she hated, what she feared, What foods she liked. What clothes shed pick and which shed shun. What bad TV shows shed want to watch. What made her laugh. And what weep. And he was suddenly stung by a terrible thought: that if Megan had died this morning, the victim of a deranged killer or an accident, hed have been distraught, yes, terribly sad. But now, if that happened or the most horrifyingif she simply vanished forever, never to be found at all, hed be destroyed. It would be one of those tragedies that breaks you forever. He remembered something hed told Bett when theyd been married, a case he was working onprosecuting an arson murder. The victim had run into a burning building to save her child, whod survived, though the mother had perished. Hed read the facts, looked up to Bett and said, Youll kill for your spouse but youll die for your child. . In rhetoric, lawyers use the trick of personificationpicking words to make their own clients seem human and sympathetic and their opponents less so. Mary Jones instead of the witness or the victim. Juries find it far easier to be harsh to abstractions. The defendant. The man sitting at that table there. Its a very effective trick and a very dangerous one. And its just how Ive treated Megan over the years, Tate now thought. He rose, walked into the den and spent a long time looking for another picture of her. He was terribly disappointed he couldnt find one. Hed given his only snapshot to Konnie and Beauridge that afternoon. He sat down in his chair, closed his eyes and tried to create some images now. Images of the girl. Smiling, looking perplexed, exasperated… A few came to mind. He tried harder. And harder still. Which was why he hadnt heard the man come up behind him. The cold finger of a pistol touched his temple. Dont move, Mr. Collier. No, no. I really mean that. For your sake. Dont move.

21

Jimmy, Tate recalled. His name was Jimmy. And he was the man whod been far more willing than Tate to engage in some gunplay in Jack Sharpes immaculate foyer. Tate glanced at the phone. Jimmy shook his head. No. What do you want? Mr. Sharpe sent me. Figured that. The gun was really very large. The mans finger wasnt on the trigger; it was outside of the guard. This didnt reassure Tate at all. I have something for you to look at. Look at? Im going to give it to you to look at. Then Im going to take it back. And neither me or Mr. Sharpell ever admit we know what youre talking about if you ever mention it. You understand? Tate didnt understand a thing. But he said, Sure. Say, is that loaded? Jimmy didnt respond. From the pocket of his leather jacket he took a videocassette. Set it on the table. Backed up. Nodded toward it. Tate walked over, picked it up. I should play it? Jimmys face scrunched up impatiently. Tate put the cassette in the player and fiddled with the controls until the tape started to play. The scene on the TV showed a building, some bushes. The date and time stamp revealed that it had been made that morning, at nine forty-two. He didnt recognize where. The tape jumped ahead four minutes; now whoever was making the tape was driving, following another car down a suburban street. Tate recognized the car being followed. It was Megans Tempo. Because of the rain he couldnt make out who was driving. Where did you get this? Tate demanded. Watch, dont talk, Jimmy muttered. The gun was pointed directly at Tates back. Another jump on the tape. To nine-fifty that morning. Tate recognized the Vienna Metro station. The man tapingof course, one of the private eyes hired by Sharpe, despite his protests to the contrary must have been afraid of getting too close to his subject. He was about fifty yards away and shooting through the mist and rain. Megans car stopped at a row filled with other cars. There was a pause and then motion. After a moment he caught a glimpse of someone. A white man, it seemed, wearing a dark jacket, though he couldnt be sure. Tate could see no distinguishing features. Then there was more motion. Finally a gray Mercedes pulled out of a space and a moment later Megans car eased into where the Merce had been. At 10:01 the Mercedes sped out of the lot. The tape went fuzzy. Then black. Tate stared, his heart pounding. Thinking of the vague motion hed seenpixels of light on the screen, distorted to start with, more distorted in the rain and fog. But he believed it might have been the man lifting a heavy object from the trunk of Megans car and putting it into the Mercedes. An object about the size of a human body. Thats all, Jimmy said. Could you eject it? Tate did. Did he see anything else? he asked. Who? Jimmy asked. You know who. The private eye. Can I talk to him? Please? Jimmy nodded at the table. If you could just set the tape there and backup. Tate did. He knew he wouldnt get an answer. This was as far as Sharpe was willing to go. But he asked one more question. Why did he show this to me? He didnt have to. Jimmy pocketed the cassette, gun still held steadily at Tate. He backed to the door. Mr. Sharpe asked me just to mention the old adage that one good deed deserves another. He hopes youll remember that next Thursday at the argument down in Richmond. Look He said he didnt think youd agree. He just asked me to mention it. Jimmy walked to the sliding door, through which hed apparently entered. He paused. The answer to your question? I myself would guess its because hes got two daughters of his own. Good night. After hed gone Tate drained his wineglass with a shaking hand and picked up the phone and dialed a number. When Konnie answered Tate said, Got a lead. Asking or telling? Telling. Go on. Long story. That case with Sharpe? Right. Tate said, It wasnt just me he had a PI tailing. It was Megan too. Why? Dig up dirt? Thats my guess. Lawyers daughter scores drugs. Sleeps around. Something like that. Any-way, a friend of his just showed me a tape. Tate described it. Hot damn. Get it over here Forget it. Its been atomized. But I think it was Megan the perp was moving from one trunk to another. She was probably drugged. Tate prayed the girl had merely been unconscious. Tags? Nope. Sony. Damn, Tate. Whyd you think they put those cute little signs on cars? After a pause Konnie continued. Okay. Soyou dont think its Sharpe? He didnt have to show me diddly. He didnt even bargainwell, not too hard. You know, throw the case and Ill tell you what the PI saw. He couldve done that. Would youve agreed? Tate didnt hesitate for an instant. Yes, I would have. Okay, so its not Sharpe. Then lets think. Shes got a stalker after her. Hes checking out her routine. Following her. When she goes to school, when she goes to pom-pom practice. Tate tried to picture Megan as a cheerleader. As if? He knows where shes going to be this morning. He gets her, drugs her, drives her to Vienna, where hes left his own car. Hes got to switch wheels. The Mercedes. Right. Leaves her car with the timetable. So it looks like shes headed off on Amtrak… He took off to wherever he was going to stash her. Which means what, Counselor? Tate couldnt think. When he said nothing Konnie gave a harsh laugh. Damn, Id forgot how I had to hold your hand when we were putting all those bad guys away Whats sitting right under her car at the moment? Tread marks! The Mercedess tread marks. Theres hope for you after all, boyif you apply yourself and work real hard. Okay, Counselor, thiss gonna take some time. Listen, you sit tight and have some nice hot mashed potatoes. And think of me when you eat em. Konnie Konstantinatiss first lesson in police work was to watch his father fool the tax men like coons tricking hounds. The old Greek immigrant was petty, weak, dangerous, a cross between a squirrel and a ferret. He was a born liar and had an instinct for knowing human nature cold. He put stills next to smokehouses, stills next to factories, stills in boats, disguised them like henhouses. Hid his income in a hundred small businesses. Once he smooth-talked a revenuer into arresting Konnies fathers own innocent brother-in-law instead of him and swore an oath at the trial that cost the bewildered man two years of his life. So from the age of five or six Konnie had observed his father and had learned the art of evasion and deception. And therefore hed learned the art of seeing through deceit. This was a skill to be practiced slowly and tediously. And this was how he was going to find the man whod kidnapped Tate Colliers daughter. Konnie arranged for a small crane to lift Megans car out of its spot, rather than drive it out and risk obliterating the Merces tread marks. He then spent the next two hours taking electrostatic prints of the twelve tire treads that he could isolate and differentiateones he determined werent from Megans car. He then identified the matching left and right tires and measured wheelbases and lengths of the cars theyd come from. He jotted all this, in lyrical handwriting, into a battered leather notebook. He then went over the entire parking space with a Dust buster and hunched in the front seat of his carlooked over all the trace evidence picked up in the paper filter. Most of it was nothing more than dust and meaningless without laboratory analysis. But Konnie found one obvious clue: a single fiber that came from cheap rope. He recognized it because in one of the three kidnapping cases hed worked over the past ten years the victims hands had been bound with rope that shed fibers just like this. Speeding back to the office, the detective sat down at his computer and ran the wheel dimensions through the motor vehicle specification database. One set of numbers perfectly fit the dimensions for a Mercedes sedan. He examined the electrostatic prints carefully. Flipping through Burnes Tire Identifier, he concluded that they were a rare model of Michelin and because they showed virtually no wear he guessed the tires were no more than three or four months old. Encouraging, on the one hand, because they were unusual tires and it would be easier to track down the purchaser. But troubling too. Because they were expensive, as was the model of the car the man was driving. It was therefore likely that the perp was intelligent, which suggested he was an organized offenderthe hardest to find. And the sort of criminal that presented the most danger. Konnie then started canvassing. It was Saturday evening and although most of the tire outlets were still openGeneral Tire, Sears, Merchants, Mercedes dealershipsthe managers had gone home. But nothing as trivial as this stopped Konnie. He blustered and bullied until he had the names and home phone numbers of night staff managers of the stores record-keeping and data-processing departments. He made thirty-eight phone calls and by the time he hung up from speaking with the last parts department manager on his list, faxes of bills of sale were starting to roll into police headquarters. But the information wasnt as helpful as hed hoped. Most of the sales receipts included the manufacturer of the customers car and the tag number. Some had the model number but virtually none had the color. The list kept growing. After an hour he had copies of 142 records of the sales of that model of Michelin in the past twelve months to people who owned Mercedeses. He looked over the discouragingly lengthy list of names. Standard procedure was to run the names through the outstanding warrants/prior arrests database. But a net like that didnt seem to be the sort that would catch this perphe wasnt a chronic jacker or a shooter with a long history of crime. Still, Konnie was a cop who dotted his is and he handed the stack to Genie. You know what to do, darling. Its seven forty-two on a Saturday night, boss, the assistant pointed out. You had dinner at least. Lemme tell you something, Konnie, the huge woman said, nodding at the KFC bags. Throw those out. Theyre starting to stink. Dutifully, he did. As he returned to his desk he grabbed his ringing phone. Detective Konstantinatis, please? Yeah. This is Special Agent McComb with the FBI. Child Exploitation and Kidnapping Unit. Sure, how you doin? Konnied worked with the unit occasionally. They were tireless and dedicated and top-notch. Im doing a favor for my boss in Quantico. He asked me to take a look at the Megan McCall case. Youre involved in that, right? Yup. Its not an active case for us but you know Tate Colliers the girls father, right? Know that. Well, he did some pretty good work for us when he was a commonwealth’s attorney so I said Id look into her disappearance. As a favor. Just what Im doing, more or less. But Im gonna present it as an active case to my captain tonight. Are you really? Found some interesting forensics. Konnie was thinking, Man, if I could turn the tire data over to the Feds… the FBI has a whole staff of people who specialize in tires. Thats good to know. We ought to coordinate our approaches. Do some proactive thinking. Sure. Konnies thinking was: They might be the best cops in the world but feebies talk like assholes. The agent said, Im up at Ernies, near the parkway. You know it? Sure. Its a half mile from me. I was about to order dinner and was reading the file when I saw your name. Maybe I could come by in an hour or so. Or maybethis might appeal to you, Officeryou might want to join me? Let Uncle Sam pick up the dinner tab. He paused for a moment. Why not? Be there in ten minutes. Good. Bring whatever youve got. Will do. They hung up. Konnie stuck his head in Genies office, where she was looking over the warrants and arrests request results. Everythings negative, Konnie. Dont worry. We got the feds on the case now. My. He took the stack of faxed receipts from her desk, shoved them into his briefcase and headed out the door. Konnie was feeling pretty good. Ernies served some great mashed potatoes.

22

Aaron Matthews sat at a booth in a dark corner of the restaurant, looking out the window at a tableau of heavy equipment, bright yellow in the dusk, squatting on a dirt hillside nearby. This was an area that five years ago had been fields and was now rampantly overgrown with town houses and apartments and strip malls. Starbucks, Chesapeake Bagels, Linens n Things. Ernies restaurant fit in perfectly, an upscale franchise. Looked nice on the surface but beneath the veneer it was all formula. Matthews stirred as the waddling form of Detective Konstantinatis entered the restaurant and maneuvered through the tables. Watching the mans eyes, seeing where they slidfurtively, guiltily. Always the eyes. Matthews waved and Konstantinatis nodded and steered toward him. Matthews had no idea what official FBI identification looked like and wouldnt have known how to fake some if he had but hed dressed in a suit and white shirtwhat he always wore when seeing patientsand had brought several dog-eared file folders, on which hed printed FBI PRIVILEGED AND CONFIDENTIAL with stencils hed made from office materials bought at Staples. These sat prominently in front of him. He hoped for the best. But after glancing at the files the detective merely scooted into the seat across from Matthews and shook his hand. They made small talk for a few momentsMatthews using his best government-speak. Stiff, awkward. If the fake files hadnt fooled the cop the stilted language surely would have. The waitress came and they ordered. Matthews wasnt surprised when the detective ordered milk with dinner. Matthews himself ordered a beer. He said, Im afraid we dont have many leads. But from what you were telling me you think theres a chance she was kidnapped? First I just thought she ran off. But theres apparently a tape that shows somebody switching her car with this gray Mercedes around the time she vanished. And maybe hustling the girl into the trunk, unconscious. I see, said Aaron Matthews, who felt fire burn right through him. His battleship gray 560 sat in the parking lot, fifty feet from them. Resplendent with its stolen license plates. A tape? Whod taken it? He was furious for a moment but anger was a luxury he had no time for. Youve got this tape? Vanished into thin air. Long story. Oh. Dont envy you that job, the detective said. Looking for missing kids all day long. Must be hard. Revealing a sentimental side Matthews wouldnt have guessed he had. Matthews said in a soft voice, Its where I feel I can make the most difference. Their drinks came. They clinked glasses. Matthews spilled some beer on the table. Wiped it up sloppily with a cocktail napkin. Detective Call me Konnie. Everybody else does. Okay Konnie. I hate to ask but I dont know this Collier and the questions come up. Do you think there was anything between him and the girl? Naw. Not Tate. If anything, just the opposite. Hows that? Hell, I didnt even know he had a daughter until wed been working together awhile. Its not that. I do think somebody napped her. No motive yet, though might be a case Tates working on. Hes decided this local real estate guy didnt do it. But Im not so sure. I also have some thoughts about the girls auntapparently shes pretty jealous of her sister having a child. Betts sister… How did Konnie know about her? I statted some tire treads and got a list of a hundred and a half people bought that brand of tire in the past year. Could I give you the receiptshe patted the briefcasehave your people check em out? Be happy to. Have you done anything with them yet? Just run em through the outstanding warrants and arrests. Nothing showed up. Planning for the kidnapping, Matthews had bought new tires for the car two months ago; he couldnt afford to be slowed up by a flat. At least when hed taken the car into General Tire hed given a fake name and paid cash. But then I got to thinking, Konnie continued, on the way over here, what I shoulda doneI shoulda looked at the receipts and found out who paid cash. Anybody who did, I figure itd be a fake name. I mean, those tires cost big money. Nobody pays cash for something like that. So what your folks could do is check the tags and see if the name matcheson all the cash receipts. If they dont then thats our prime suspect. Jesus in heaven. Matthews hadnt swapped plates when hed taken the car in to have the new tires mounted. The tag would reveal his real name and the address of his rental house in Prince William County. Which didnt match the fake information hed given the clerk at the tire store. Thats a good idea, Matthews said. A proactive idea. He sounded casual but he wanted to scream. A dark mood hovered over him. The food came and Konnie ate hungrily, hunched over his meal. Matthews picked at his. Hed have to act soon. He flagged the waitress down and ordered another beer. You want to give me those receipts? Matthews nodded at the briefcase. Sure, but lets go back to headquarters after. Its right up the street here. You can fax em to your office. Okay. The second beer came. Konnie glanced at it for a second, returned to his food. This Tate Collier, Matthews said slowly, savoring his microbrew. Sounds like a good man. None better. Best fucking lawyer in the commonwealth. I get sick of these shits getting off on technicalities. When Collier was arguing the case they went to jail and stayed there. Matthews held up the beer. To your theory of tires. The detective hesitated then they tapped glasses. Matthews drank half the beer, exhaled with satisfaction and set it down. Hot for April, dont you think? Is, the detective grunted. Matthews asked, You on duty now? Naw, I been off for three hours. Then hell, chug down that milk and let me buy you a real drink. He tapped the beer. No thanks. Come on, nothing like a nice beer on a hot day Fact is, I gave up drinking a few years back. Matthews looked mortified. Oh, Im son. Not at all. I wasnt thinking. A man drinking milk. Shouldnt have ordered this. I am sorry. The cop held up a calm hand. S no problem at all, I dont hold with making other folk change their way of life cause of me. Matthews lifted the glass of beer. You want me to get rid of it or anything? As the cop glanced at the beer his eyes flashedthe same as they had when hed walked through the bar, looking longingly at the row of bottles limed up like prostitutes on a street corner. Nope, the detective said. You cant go hiding from it. He ate some more mashed potatoes then said, Where you find most of the runaways go? Matthews enjoyed each small sip of the beer. The detective eyed him every third or fourth. The aroma from the liquid hed spilledon purposefilled the booth with a sour malty scent. Always the big city. What a lure New York is. They think about getting jobs, becoming Madonna or whoever the girls want to become nowadays. The boys think theyll get laid every night. Matthews sipped the beer again and looked outside. Damn hot. Imagine that battle. Bull Run? Yep, well, I call it first Manassas but thats because Im from Pennsylvania. Matthews enjoyed another sip. You married? Or did the wife leave the drunk? Was. Divorced now Kids? Or did they cut Daddy off cold when they got tired of him passing out during Jeopardy! on weeknights and puking to die every Sunday morning? Two. Wifes got em. See em some holidays. Matthews poured down another mouthful, Must be tough. Can be. The fat cop took refuge in his potatoes. After a minute Matthews asked, So, you a graduate? Hows that? Twelve steps. AA? Sure. The cop glanced down at his beefy hands. Been four years, four months. Eight years for me. Another flicker in the eyes. The cop glanced at the beer. Matthews laughed. Youre where you are, Konnie. And Im where I am. I was drinking a fifth of fucking bad whiskey every day. Hell, at least that. Sometimes Id crack the revenue of a second bottle just after dinner. Konnie didnt notice how FBI-speak had turned into buddy talk, with syntax and vocabulary very similar to his. Crack the revenue. Konnie laughed. My daddy used to say that. So had some of Matthewss patients. Bottle and a half? Thats a hell of a lot of drinking. Oh, yes, it was. Yes sir. Knew I was going to die. So I gave it up. How bad was it for you? The cop shrugged and shoveled peas and potatoes into his mouth. Hurt my marriage bad, he offered. Reluctantly the cop added, I guess it killed my marriage. Sorry to hear that, Matthews said, thrilling at the sorrow in the mans eyes. And it was probably gonna kill me someday. What was your drink? Matthews asked. Scotch and beer. Ha! Mine too. Dewars and Bud. Konnies eyes grew troubled. So you hat? The cop nodded at the tall-neck hot tie. What happened? You fell off, huh? Matthewss face turned reverential. Ill tell you the Gods truth, Konnie. He took a delicious sip of beer. I believe in meeting your weaknesses head-on. I wont run from them. The cop grunted affirmatively. See, it seemed too easy to give up drinking completely. You understand me? Not exactly.” It was the cowards way. A lot of people just stop drinking altogether. But thats as much a failure to me … sorry, dont take this personal. Not at all, keep going. Im interested. Thats as much a failure to me as somebody who drinks all the time. Guess that makes some sense, the cop said slowly Matthews swirled the beer seductively in his glass. Take a man addicted to sex. You know that can be a problem? Ive heard. They got a twelve-step for that too, you know? Right. But he can hardly give up sex altogether, right? Thatd be unnatural. Konnie nodded. Oh, hes with me, Matthews thought. Hell, this is like sex talking your way into a mans soul. He felt so high. So, he continued, I just got back to the point where I could control it. And that worked? Konnie asked. The toady little man seemed awestruck. You betcha. I stopped cold for two years. Just like I told myself Id do. This was all planned out. Sometimes it was tough as hell. Im not gonna sugarcoat it. But God helped me. As soon as I had it under control, two years to the day I stopped, I took my first drink. One shot of Dewars, Drank it down like medicine. What happened? Nothing. Felt good. Enjoyed it. Didnt have another. Didnt have anything for a week. Then I had another shot and a Bud. I let a month go by. A month? Konnie whispered. Right. Then I poured a glass of scotch. Let it sit in front of me. Looked at it, smelled it, poured it down the drain. Let another month go by. The cop shook his head in wonder. Sounds like youre one of them masochists or whatever you call em. But there was a desperation in his laugh. Sometimes we have to find the one thing thats hardest for us and turn around and stare right at it. Go deep. As deep as we can go. Thats what courage is. Thats what makes men out of us. I can respect what youre saying. Ive been drinking off and on for the past six years. Never been drunk once. He leaned forward and rested his hand on the cops hammy forearm. Remember that feeling when you were first drinking? I think It made you relaxed, peaceful, happy? Brought out your good side? Thats the way it is now. Matthews leaned back. Im proud of myself To you. The cop swallowed and tipped his milk against the beer glass. His eyes slid over the golden surface of the brew. Oh, you poor fool, thought Aaron Matthews. You dont have a soul in the world to talk to, do you? Sometimes, he continued pensively, when I have a real problem, something eating at me, something making me feel so guilty its like a fire inside… Well, Ill have a shot. That numbs it. It helps me get through. No foolin. The fork probed the diminished pile of potatoes. Lets go deep. Touch the most painful part… If I found myself in a situation where there was somebody I loved and she was drifting away because of the way Id becomewell, Id want to be able to face whatever had driven her away. I could show her I was in control again andwho knows?maybe I could just get her back. The cops face was flushed and it seemed that his throat had swollen closed, Matthews sipped more beer, looked out the window, at the dusk sky. Yes sir, I hated living alone. Waking up on those Sunday mornings. Those March Sunday mornings, the sky all gray… The holidays by myself… God, I hated that. My wife gone… The one person in the world I needed. The one person I was willing to do anything for.. The detective was paralyzed. Now, Matthews thought. Now! Let me show you something. Matthews leaned forward, winking. Watch this. He waved to the waitress. Shot of Dewars. One? she called. Just one, yeah. Numb, the cop watched the glass arrive. Matthews made a show of reaching down and picking up the brimming glass. He leaned forward, smelled the glass, then took the tiniest sip. He set the glass down on the table and lifted his hands, palms up. Thats it. The only hard liquor Ill have for two, three weeks. You can do that? The cop was dumbfounded. Easiest thing in the world. Without a single problem. He returned to his beer and called the waitress over. Im sorry, honey. Ill pay you for it but I changed my mind. I think I better keep a clear head tonight. You can take it. Sure thing, sir. The cops hand made it to the glass before hers. She blinked in surprise at the vehemence of the big mans gesture. Oh, you want me to leave that after all? The cop looked at Matthews but then turned his dog eyes to the waitress. Yeah. And bring my friend here another beer. A fraction of a pause. Their eyes met. Matthews said, Make it two. Sure thing, gentlemen. Put it on your tab? Oh, no, Matthews insisted. Thiss on me. Matthews, wearing his surgical gloves, drove Konnies car out of the parking lot of the strip mall and toward the interstate. The cop was in the passenger seat, clutching a bottle of scotch between his legs like it was the joystick in a biplane. His head rocked against the Tauruss window. Spit and liquor ran down his chin. Matthews parked on a side road, not far from Ernies, lifted the bottle away from Konnie and splashed some on the dashboard and seat of the car, handed it back. Konnie didnt notice. How you doing? Matthews asked him. The big man gazed morosely at the open mouth of the bottle and said nothing. At the strip mall where theyd bought the scotch Matthews had pitched out a trash bag containing the tire receipts and all the rest of the notes on the Megan McCall investigation. The doctor now climbed out of the car, pulled Konnie into the drivers seat. Konnie gulped down two large slugs of liquor. He wiped his sweating, pasty face. Wherem I going? Youre going home, Konnie. Okay. You go on home now. Okay. Im going home. Is Carol there? Your wife? Yeah, shes there, Konnie. Shes waiting for you to come home. You better hurry. I really miss her. You know where to go, dont you? Matthews asked. I think His bleary eyes looked around. I dont know That road right there. See it? Sure. There? Right there, Matthews said. Just drive down there. Thatll get you home. Thatll get you home to Carol. Okay. Good-bye, Konnie. Good-bye. That road there? Thats right. Hey, Konnie? Matthews looked at the rheumy eyes, wet lips. You say hi to Carol for me, wont you? The cop nodded. Matthews flicked the gearshift into drive and stepped back as Konnie accelerated. He was driving more or less down the middle of the road. Matthews was walking back to Ernies to pick up the Mercedes when he heard the sudden squealing of brakes and the blares of a dozen horns, signaling to Konnie that hed turned his dark blue Taurus onto the exit, not entrance, ramp of I-66 and was driving the wrong way down the interstate. It was no more than thirty seconds later that he heard the pounding crash of what was probably a head-on collision andthough perhaps only in his imaginationa faint scream.

23

Night now. The corridors of the asylum were murky, illuminated only by the light from two outdoor security lamps bleeding in through the greasy windows. Megan McCall, gripping her glass sword, moved silently through the main wing. She couldnt get the comic books out of her mind, the tentacles gripping screaming women, the monsters raping them. Moving toward the boys room. Closer, closer. She stepped into the large lobby. In the dim light, shadows filled the space. She believed he was back in his room but he could have been anywhere. Megan felt a breath on her neck and spun around, practically feeling the metal rod he carried swinging toward her head. Gasping. Nothing but a faint breeze. Was he asleep in there? Reading? Jerking off? Fantasizing about her? About what he was going to do to her? The hospital corridors were like a maze. She lost her way and was no longer sure where his rooms were. Made several false turns and found herself back where shed started. Feeling desperate now. Megan was afraid that hed find the trapher only advantage against the boy She walked more quickly, listening carefully. But she heard no obscene breathing, no lewd whispering of her name. In a way the silence was more frightening than his mutterings, not having the least indication where he was. Then she turned a corner and found his room. She saw light spilling into the corridor from the open door. It flickered and darkened for a moment. He was inside, Megan, sweating. Megan, scared. Scared of dying, scared of the monster who lives up the hail, scared of the whispering bears, Well, you wanted him, Crazy Megan whispers. Whatre you waiting for? Go get him. Megan started to tell CM. to be quiet. But suddenly she stopped because a thought hit her with the strength of the cinder blocks piled up in her trap. It was this: that Crazy Megan not only isnt crazy, shes completely sane. And more than that: CM. is the only one of them whos real. Crazy Megan is the genuine Meganthe Megan who danced on the scaffolding of the water tower on a dare, just to get Bett or Tate or somebody to notice her. The Megan who secretly dreamed of going to San Francisco for a year after high school and then to college in Paris. The Megan who made fierce love with a sexy black boyfriend who fuck you, Dr. HansonI do love after all! The Megan who wanted to poke her finger into her fathers face and scream at him, The inconvenient childs back and youve got her whether you like it or not! Oh, yeah, Crazy Megans the sane one. And the other ones just a loser. Okay, she said out loud. Okay, prick, come and get me. The shadow of Peter Matthews froze on the wall. The light clicked out and the corridor filled with darkness. Come on, you fucker! she shouted. There was a ring of metalhe must have picked up the rod. She couldnt see clearly but she could just make out his form lumbering slowly from the doorway. He looked up and down the hail and then turned toward her. Megan. God, hes big. Megan! he rasped. He started toward her. Moving much faster than shed expected from the shuffling lope shed heard earlier. Her courage dissolved. What a fucking stupid idea this is! Hell, its not going to work. Of course it isnt. Hell get her. No! she screamed in panic. Get going! Crazy Megan shouts. Run. She backed up fast, knowing that she should be watching where she was going but afraid to take her eyes off him for an instant. Feeling the wall behind her. Nearly tripped on a table. She spun around, pushed it aside. And when she looked back he was gone. Were fucked, Crazy Megan whispers hopelessly He could be anywhere now! Coming up around her from the left or the right. And, of course, she remembered, hed have keys to the place; he could hide in one of the locked rooms arid wait for her to pass by And then… move from room to room and come up behind her. There was nothing she could do now except return to the dead end corridor where shed set up the trap. Get there as fast as she could and wait. But in her panic she was turned around. Was it back that way? Or down this corridor? She gazed down two hallways. Which? He could be down either of them. She could hardly see a thing in the darkness. There, she thought. Its got to be that one. Im sure. Almost sure. She sprinted. She slammed into a fiberglass chair, sending it flying. She stayed upright but the noise of the furniture hitting the wall was very loud. Megan froze, Had he heard? Had Suddenly a huge form stepped from the corridor about two feet away, lunging toward her. Megan.. Megan screamed, couldnt get the knife up in time. She closed her eyes, swinging her left fist toward where his face was. She connected hard and must have broken his nose because he wailed in pain and dropped back, around the corner. She ran. Turned one corner and paused at the entrance to the hallway that led to the trap. He followed, moving toward her. She made sure he got a good look at her, to see which way she was going, then started toward the trap. But she stopped. Wait! Was it this corridor? No, the next. Wait. Was it? She glanced into the murky shadows and couldnt see. Peter was getting closer. Which fucking corridor? Crazy Megan shouts. I dont know, I dont know, they all look alike… He was twenty feet away. Come on, snaps C.M. Get it together No choice. It better be this one. Megan ran to the end of the corridor. Yes! Shed been right. There was the trap. She crouched down and picked up the end of the rope. At the far end of the corridor Peter paused and glanced toward her. More muttering. Like an animal. She remembered the newspaper picture: his odd mouth, probing tongue, the crazy eves. The grin at his mothers funeral. Im so fucking scared. Youre gonna nail him, Crazy Megan says. In the darkness he didnt even seem to be walking. He just floated closer to her, growing larger and larger, filling the corridor. He stopped right before the trap. She couldnt see his eves or face in the shadow hut she knew he was leering at her. More muttering. He stepped closer. Now! She pulled the rope. The denim snapped neatly in half. The cinder blocks shifted slightly but stayed where they were. Oh, no. Oh, Christ, no! Thats it, Crazy Megan cries. Its over with. He moved forward another two steps. She swept the knife from her pocket, looked at his shadowy form. Im going to die. This is it. Im dead. Hell break my arm, take the knife away from me and fuck me till I die… Megans by herself now Crazy Megan has gone away, Crazy Megan is dead already. He stepped forward one more foot. The dim light from outside fell on his face. No… She was hallucinating. Megan gasped. Josh! Megan, he mumbled again. Joshua LeFevres face and neck were bloody messes, his hands, arms and legs too. Large patches of skin were missing from his arms and legs. He dropped to his knees. Just as the cinder blocks started to tumble toward him. He glanced hopelessly at the hundreds of pounds of concrete and didnt even try to get out of the way. No! Megan cried. She leapt forward and pushed him aside. The blocks just missed them both and crashed into the floor, firing splinters of stone through the air. Megan, he said, the name stuttering out from his torn throat. Blood sprayed her face as he spoke. Then he passed out. Tate Colliers Lexus skidded up to the pay phone on Route 29. He leapt out, looking around desperately. He saw no one. Hello? he called in a harsh whisper. Hello! He glanced at the old dineror what was left of it after an arson fire some years agoand piles of trash. Deserted. Then he heard a moan, followed by some violent retching. Tate ran into the bushes. There Konnie sat, bloody and drenched in sweat, vomit on his chin, eyes unfocused. Hed been crying. Jesus. What happened? Tate bent down, put his arm around the man. When Konnied called him twenty minutes ago hed said only to meet him here as soon as possible. Tate knew he was drunk, only half conscious, but had no other clue as to what was going on. Im going down, Tate. I fucked up bad. Oh, Christ. . Bett… now Konnie … What a day, Tate thought. What a day. Youre hurt. Im okay. But I mayve killed people, Tate. There was an accident. I left the scene. He gasped and retched for a minute. Theyre looking for me, my own peoplere looking for me. He coughed violently. Ill call an ambulance. No, Im turning myself in. But He rolled over on his side and retched for a few minutes. Then caught his breath and sat up. A squad car with flashing lights cruised past slowly. The searchlight came on but it missed the bushes where Tate crouched beside the detective. Listen to me, Konnie said. You have to get to the office. You need to look at the receipts. Receipts. For the tires. Go to the office, Tate. Genie shouldve made a copy of them. Im praying she did. Ask her for them. But move fast cause theyre going to impound my desk. Genie? Thats your assistant? You remember her. The list of receipts, okay? All right. Then look for whoever paid cash for the tires. Cash for the tires. All right. She ran warrants but thats not… thats not what I shoulda been looking for. Tate, you listening? Im listening. Good. Look for the receipts where the customers paid cash. Then run the tag numbers of their cars. If the registered owner doesnt match the name on the receipt thats our boy The one took your daughter. I got a look at He caught his breath. I got a look at him. You saw him? Oh, yeah. The prick suckered me good. Hes white, forties, dark hair. Six feet. About one seventy. Said he… Claimed he was Bureau. He suckered rue just like my daddy suckered people. Shit. God, Im sick. Okay, Konnie. Ill do it. But now Im getting you to the hospital. No, youre not. Youre not wasting another fucking minute. Youre going do what the hell I told you. And be there for my arraignment. I cant believe what I did. I cant believe it. His voice disappeared in a cascade of retching. Tate found his old commonwealths attorney ID badge at home and ran back to his car, hanging the beaded chain around his neck. The date was four years old but was in small type; he doubted anyone would notice. In twenty minutes he was walking into the police station. No one paid him any attention. He signed the log-in book and walked into Konnies office. A heavyset woman, red eyed and crying, looked up. Oh, Mr. Collier. Did you hear? Hes going to be all right, Genie. Thiss so terrible, she said, wiping her face. So terrible. I cant imagine hed take to drinking again. I dont know why I dont know whats going on. Im going to help him. But Ive got to do something first. Its very important. He said I should help you when he called. Oh, he sounded so drunk on the phone. I remember he used to call me up and say he wouldnt be coming in today because he had the flu. But it wasnt the flu. He sounded the way he was tonight. Just plain drunk. Tate rested his hand on the womans broad shoulder. Hes going to be all right. Well all help him. Did you make a copy of the receipts? I did, yes. He always tells me, Make a copy of everything I give you. Always, always, always make a copy. Thats Konnie. Here they are. He took the stack of receipts, owners of Mercedeses whod bought new Michelins. On four receipts the cash/check box was marked. He didnt recognize any of the names. Could you run these tag numbers through DMV and get me the names and addresses of the registered owners? Sure. She sniffed and waddled to her chair, sat heavily. Then she typed furiously. A moment later she motioned him over. The first three names matched those on the receipts. The fourth didnt. Oh my God, Tate muttered. What is it, Mr Collier? He didnt answer He stood, numb, staring at the name Aaron Matthews, Sully Fields Drive, Manassas, the letters glowing in jaundice yellow type on the black screen.

24

The Court: The prosecution may now present its summation, Mr. Collier? Mr. Collier: My friends… The task of the jury is a difficult and thankless one. Youre called on to sift through a haystack of evidence, looking for that single needle of truth. In many cases, that needle is elusive. Practically impossible to find. But in the case before you, the Commonwealth versus Peter Matthews, the needle is lying out in the open, evident for everyone to see. There is no question that the defendant killed Joan Keller He was seen walking with the victim, a sixteen-year-old girl, by Bull Run Marina. He was seen leading her into the woods. He was later seen running from the park five minutes before Joans body was found, strangled to death. The mud in which her cold corpse lay matched the mud found on the knees of the defendants jeans. When he was arrested, as you heard from the testimony, he blurted out to the officers, She had to die. And in the trailer where he lived, the police found hundreds of comic books and horror novels, depicting big, hulking men doing unspeakable things to helpless women victimsvictims just like Joan Keller The defense can see that shiny needle of truth as clearly as you and I can. Theres no doubt in their minds, either, that the defendant killed that poor girl. And so what do they do? They try to distract us. They raise doubts about Joans character They suggest that she had loose morals. That shed had sex with local boys… sometimes for money. Or for liquor or cigarettes. A sixteen-year-old girl! These are nothing more than vile attempts to distract you from finding the needle. Oh, they talk about accidental death. Just playing around, they say. The killer was a troubled young man, they say, but harmless. Well, Id say the facts of the case prove that he wasnt harmless at all, dont you think? Harmless men dont strangle innocent young women seventy pounds lighter than they are. Harmless men dont act out their sick and twisted fantasies on helpless youngsters like Joanie Sue Keller Ladies and gentlemen, dont let the defense hide that needle of truth from you. Dont let them cover it up. This case is simple, extremely simple. The defendant, through his premeditation, his calculation, his knowing, purposeful intent, has taken a life. The life of a young girl. Someones friend… someones sister… someones daughter There is no worse crime than that. And he must be held full y responsible for it. The great poet Dante said that the most righteous requests are answered in the silence of the deed. Im not asking for hollow words, ladies and gentlemen. No, Im asking for your courageous deedfinding this dangerous killer sane, finding him guilty and recommending to the court that he pay for young Joan Kellers life with his own. Thank you. Orator Tate Collier had done everything right in the closing statement. It was short, colloquial, filled with concrete imagery. Hed referred to Peter Matthews as the defendant and to the girl as Joandepersonalizing the criminal, humanizing the victim. The reference to the needlegetting the jury used to the thought of the needle used in lethal injectionswas a particularly good touch, hed thought. Hed even added the request for the death penalty because that was something they could bargain with in their mindstrading the boys life for a finding of sanity and a long prison sentence. And that was exactly what happened. He won, the boy was found sane and guilty. And was sentenced to life without parole. Which had been Tates goal all along. And a week later the young man whod beaten capital punishment was executed by a far more informal means than lethal injectiona dozen prison inmates, identities unknown, had used broomsticks and sharpened spoons to carry out the sentence. And it took them three hours to do so. Justice? After hed heard of Peters death, Tate had sat at his desk for a long moment, wondering why he felt so troubled at the news. Then he walked into the commonwealths attorneys file room and read through evidence in the case once again. They were the same files and documents hed read before the trial, of course. But he examined them now untainted by the passionate drive to convict the young man. He looked more carefully at the picture they painted of the boynot the defendant. But Peter Thomas Matthews, a seventeen-year-old boy, a resident of Fairfax, Virginia. Yes, Peter had a collection of eerie comics and Japanimation tapes. But many of them, Tate had learned in preparing for trial, were bestsellers in Japanwhere theyd taken on an artsy cult status and were reviewed seriously and collected by young people and adults alike. What was more, the boy also had a collection of serious science fiction and fantasy writers like Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, William Gibson, C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Jules Verne, Edgar Rice Burroughs. Peter had spent hours copying long, poetic passages from these books and had tried his hand at illustrating scenes from them. Hed also written sci-fi and fantasy short stories of his own, which werent bad for someone his age. Yes, some psychiatric evaluations called the boy dangerous. But others said he merely had a paranoid personality and was given to panic in stressful situations. He had no history of violence. In getting ready for the case, Tate had also learned about Joan Kellerthe victim. The girl had been sexually active since age twelve. Shed experimented with weird things, possibly erotic asphyxia. Shed seduced older men on several other occasions and would have been the complaining witness in at least one statutory rape case, except that shed refused to cooperate. Shed been treated for being a borderline personality and had been suspended twice for assaultsagainst both girls and boys at her school, including one involving a knife. Peter had abrasions on his face and neck when he was brought to the lockup. He claimed that Joan had struck him with a rock when she got tired of his awkward gropingafter shed taken his hand and slipped it into her panties. And the statement the boy had madeabout how Joan had to diewas disputed by a local fisherman near the scene of the arrest. He claimed the boy might have said, She never had to die… She shouldnt have hit me. But silver-tongued Tate Collier had managed to keep all of this damning evidence out of the trial or had shattered the credibility of the witnesses presenting it. Your Honor we will not try the victim in this case Your Honor a well written short story has no probative value in this case whatsoever Your Honor that fact is immaterial and has to be stricken please instruct the witness… The defense lawyers had come to him with a plea bargain request: criminally negligent homicide, suspended sentence, three years probation and two years mandatory counseling. But, no. Peter Matthews had laid his hands upon the neck of a sixteen-year-old girl and had pressed, pressed, pressed until she was lifeless. And so a plea bargain wouldnt do. The Court: The defendant will rise. You have heard the verdict of the jury and have been adjudged guilty of murder in the first degree. The jury has not recommended the death penalty and accordingly I hereby sentence you to life in prison. He went to prison and the last thing anyone remembered about Peter was his telling a guard he was going to play with his new friends. Wont that be way cool? Peter asked. Were going to play ball, a bunch of us. They want me to play ball. Awesome. Then he disappeared into the laundry room and was found, in several pieces, five hours later. Why, Tate had wondered back then as he sat alone in the musty file room, had he been so vehement about prosecuting the boy? Why? The question hed asked himself often in the past few years. The question he asked himself now. What would have been so bad if the defendant… if Peter had been put on probation and gone into a hospital for treatment? Wasnt that reasonable? Of course it was. But it hadnt been then, not to the Tate Collier of five years ago. Not to Tate Collier the whiz-kid commonwealths attorney, the man who spoke in tongues, the Judges grandson. Why? Because the thought of a killer depriving parents of their child was unbearable to him. That was the answer. That was all he thought. Someone stole away a girl just like Megan. And he had to die. To hell with justice. Tate had never seen Peters father, Aaron Matthews, at the trial or hadnt paid any attention to him if hed been there. The man was a therapist, Tate remembered from reading the boys history and evaluations. Lived alone. His wifea therapist as well, and reportedly more successful than her husbandhad committed suicide some years before. Aaron Matthews… Well, he could give the police a name and address now. Theyd find him. He only prayed Megan was still alive. Now, in Konnies office, he dialed Betts home phone. Her voice mail gave her cell phone number and he dialed that. She didnt answer. He left a message about what hed learned and told her that he was at the county police station. He started down the hall, striding the way hed walked when hed been a commonwealths attorney and cut up these offices as if he owned them, playing inquisitor to the young officers as he grilled them about their cases and the evidence theyd collected. He pushed through the door to the Homicide Division and was surprised to see three startled detectives stop in the tracks of their conversations. He smiled ruefully, remembering only then that he was a trespasser. One detective looked at another, an astonished gaze on his face. Im sorry to barge in, Tate began. Im Tate Collier. Its about my daughter. I dont know if you heard but shes disappeared and In less than twenty seconds he was facedown on a convenient desk, the handcuffs ratcheting onto his wrists with metallic efficiency, his Miranda rights floating down upon him from a gruff voice several feet above his head. What the hells going on? he barked. Youre under arrest, Mr. Collier. Do you understand these rights as Ive read them to you? For what? Whatre you arresting me for? Do you understand your rights? Yes, I understand my fucking rights. What for? For murder, Mr. Collier, The murder of Amy Walker. If youll come this way, please.

25

She cradled him, sobbing. Megan had eased Joshua LeFevre into the pale light from the outside lamp. He was even more badly injured than shed thought at firstterribly batteredriddled with slashes and bite marks, the wounds crusted with dirt and dried blood. One eye was swollen completely closed, Most of his dreads had been torn off his scalp, which was covered with mud and scabs. He could speak only in a ghostly, snapping wail. No, it hadnt been Peter Matthewss leering voice shed heard; it was Joshs. His throat was split open and his vocal cords had apparently been cut. When he breathed, air hissed in through both his mouth and the slash. The bleeding seemed to have stopped but she bound the denim rope around his throat anyway. She could think of nothing else to do. Thought it was you, he gasped. I couldnt see. My eyes, my eyes. I thought it was you. But you didnt answer. Megan lowered her head to his chest. I thought you were his son. I thought you were going to kill me. Oh, Josh, what happened? Was it the dogs? Outside? He nodded, shiveredfrom the pain, she guessed, as much as the cold. That… man? he struggled to ask. He kidn She nodded. Did you call the police? No, he gasped. I didnt know what was going on. I stopped him but he tricked me He coughed for a moment. Thought you… thought you were going with him. What happened? she asked tearfully. The stuttering explanation: hed followed her and Matthews here then the doctor had attacked him and left him for the dogs. But before they could finish him off a young deer had trotted past and they left Josh to pull her down. His beautiful voice, Megan thought, crying. Its gone. She had to look away from his face. Hed found a metal rod to use as a cane, he continued, and made his way into the hospital to find a phone. But there werent any. Then he learned that the doors didnt open outward, that the place was a prison. She gently touched a terrible wound on his face. Even if they managed to get him to a doctor soon would he survive? Hed lost so much blood. Were you… you werent his lover, were you? What? she blurted. He said you were. He said… He said you wanted to get rid of me. Oh, Josh, no. It was … whatever he said, it was a lie. Who is he? LeFevre rasped. We dont have time now. Can you walk? No. He breathed heavily and winced. Cant do anything. Ive about had it. She pulled him farther into the alcove, hid him from view. Wait here. Where… you going? Lie still, Josh. Be quiet. Ill get something to use for bandages, she said, rising. But he might be there. She showed him the glass knife. I hope he is. Ill tell you whatever you want to know. But for Gods sake send somebody after my daughter. Once more from the top, please, sir. Tate was still stunned from the news that Amy had been found naked and stabbed to death on Tates farm. Theres a man named Aaron Matthews. He drives a gray Mercedes. He lives on Sully Field, off Route twenty-nine near Manassas. Hes been following my daughter for the past couple weeks. Or months. I dont know. And Weve got our own agenda here, Collier, the young homicide detectivea dead ringer for the security guard at Megans high school said gruffly, his patience gone. You dont mind, we got a lotta ground to cover. Is Ted Beauridge around? No. One more time, sir. From the top. He was in an interrogation cubicle and he was perched on an uncomfortable metal chair. At least the cuffs were off. Matthews killed Amy. Megan had told her about being followed. He thought she might have some informationmaybe he just killed her to get me out of the picture. And I gave him her name, Tate thought. He was sure the man who called from the FBIspecial agent McCombwas Aaron Matthews, probing to get information to stop their search for the girl. He forced or tricked Megan into writing those notes and when they kept looking for her anyway, he turned on them. Howd you find out about the body? Tate asked. An anonymous call, right? The detectives looked at each other. They were slim and in perfect shape. Shoes polished, guns tucked neatly away. Law enforcement machines. It was Matthews who called. Dont you get it? Her mother said youd been stalking Amy. That Child Protective Services has been investigating you. What? Thats bullshit. Call them. On Saturday night, sir? Well call on Monday. We dont have until Monday. The cop continued lethargically, Mrs. Walker also said you tried to break into her house today. Amy was going to give us Megans book bag. I knocked on the door and tried to open it when no one answered. Uh-huh. There is no Child Protective Services investigation. Its him! Its Matthews. Hes trying to stop me from finding Megan. Cant you see? Not exactly, sir. No. Okay. When did this anonymous call come in? Within the last half hour? Believe me, Matthews killed Amy and dumped the body on my land. I saw somebody watching the house this morning. Did you report it? Well, no, I didnt. Why not? Tate remembered thinking, as he stood in the rain-swept field that morning, Hey, looks like the Dead Reb. But it wasnt. It was Aaron Matthews, waiting until I left the house then tossing the dog a bone, planting Megans letters, leaving fast. I just didnt. Look, he knows Im after himKonnie was running a check on the Mercedes. It turned out to be his. Thats not a coincidence. How do you account for the fact that this girl was murdered with a kitchen knife that had your fingerprints on it? Because it was probably from my kitchen. Talk to Konnie about this morning. He Detective Konstantinatis is in custody and hes also in no shape to talk to anybody. As Im sure you know. Beauridge, then. They were out to my house. Matthews broke in, planted some fake letters that Megan supposedly wrote and he mustve stolen the knife at the same time. Or stolen it tonight. Its an easy house to break into. The cause of death was shock due to blood loss after her throat was slashed and her chest and abdomen punctured thirty-two times. There was some mutilation too. Fuck of a way to kill someone, the other detective added. Tates face grew hot. Megans terrified eyes were the most prominent image in his thoughts. Weve checked out your house and found youd packed most of your girls stuff away. Her bedroom looked about as personal as a storeroom. She lives with her mother. No pictures of her, no clothes, nothing personal. The impression we got was youd been planning to say adios to Megan for some time. Thats making us wonder about this whole kidnapping story. There were some witnesses. Theres a teacher… Robert Eckhard. He saw But he stopped talking when he saw the expression on their faces. You a friend of Eckhard? I dont know him, Tate said cautiously. I just heard that hed seen the car that was following Megan. Have you ever talked to him? No. I just told youwhy? Robert Eckhard was arrested today on numerous counts of child pornography and endangering the welfare of minors. What? Could you describe your relationship with him? With Eekhard? There is no relationship… Jesus Christ. I dont know him! Please! Just send somebody out to check out this Matthews! A rhetorician never pleads. Tates talents were deserting him in droves. Think smarter, he raged at himself. He could talk his way out of this. He knew he could. There must be some way. What would his grandfather, the Judge, have done? All cats see in the dark. Midnight is a cat.. Officer, Tate said calmly, offering a casual smile, youve got nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing. I’m not going anywhere. If you check him out, if you send a couple officers out to his house then Ill tell you whatever you want to know. Anything. No hassle. We have a deal? One of the detectives sighed. He shrugged and stepped out the door. Therefore Midnight sees in the dark. Tate pictured Megan, bound and gagged, lying somewhere in a basement. Matthews standing over her. Undressing. It was a terrible image and, once thought, wouldnt go away. Have you ever had sexual relations with Amy Walker? He tamped down his anger. Ive never met her, he answered. Did you send your daughter off somewhere because she knew you were stalking Amy Walker? And did you fabricate a kidnapping charge? No, I didnt do that. Struggling now to stay calm, to stay helpful. Really struggling. He looked at the doorway through which the other cop had disappeared. Were they sending a hostage rescue team to Matthewss house? Or just patrol officers? Matthews could trick them. He could lull them into complacencyoh, yes, he had the gift too. Tate now understood. You cant negotiate with someone like Matthews. You need to act immediately. The silence of the deed. Did you kill Amy Walker? No, I did not. When was the last time you drove your daughters car? A month or so ago, I think. Is that how your fingerprints got on the door handle of her car? It would have to be. Could we run through the events just prior to her disappearance once more? Prior? Say, for the week before. Tate glanced out the door, squinted. Looked again. The second detective came back into the cubicle. Tate asked, Did you send a team to his house? I should have told you to send hostage rescue. Not regular officers. And dont listen to him. Whatever he says, Megans there, in the house. Tell whoevers on their way not to listen to him. He wasnt home. What? Tate asked. He didnt understand. The officers couldnt have gotten there so quickly. I called him. He wasnt home. You called him? Tates heart stuttered. Relax, sir, I didnt tell him anything. Just asked him to give us a call about some parking tickets. The slick young cop seemed proud of his cleverness. Jesus Christ, you dont have to tell him anything. Are you crazy? Sir, we dont have to pay any attention to your story at all, you know. Were doing you a favor. Tate sat back, glanced into the hail again. After a moment he looked back at the officers again. Closed his eyes and sighed. You win. Okay, you win. Hows that, sir? Ill waive my rights and tell you everything I can think of. No confession but a full statement about my daughter and Amy Walker But I want some coffee and Ive got to use the john. They looked at each other and nodded. Im coming with you, the first detective muttered. Tate laughed. I was a commonwealths attorney for ten years. Im not going to escape. Im coming with you. Tate gave a disgusted sigh and walked into the scuffed halls, which resembled a suburban grade school, He ambled to the mens room and pushed inside. The detective was directly behind him. He stood at the urinal for an inordinately long time. When hed finished and washed his hands he stepped to the door and pushed it open, bumping into the woman who was juggling three large law books and several pads of foolscap, which tumbled to the floor. Sorry, Tate said, bending down to pick up the books. Bett McCall glanced at him, said, No problem. And slipped the pistol out of her purse and into his hand. Tate didnt even pause to thinkhe simply spun around, shoved the Smith & Wesson into the belly of the shocked detective and pushed him back into the mens room as Bett calmly retrieved the books. In one minute Tate had gagged and cuffed the furious cop and relieved him of his gun. He tossed it in the wastebasket. The cuffs too tight? he asked. The detective stared angrily. Are they too tight? A nod. Tate snapped, Good. And stepped out into the corridor as a faint rumble arose in the john, like a low-Richter earthquake. The detective was trying to pull down the stall. When hed looked into the hallway from the interrogation room he couldnt believe that hed seen her standing there, motioning with her head down the hall. How did you get in here? he asked as they walked briskly toward the exit. Told them I was a lawyer. You cite a case or two? I could have. She smiled. I memorized the names of a couple on your desk. I was going to tell the desk sergeant I had to see my client because these new cases had just been put down. Its handed down, Tate corrected. Oh. Glad he didnt ask. I dont know if we can get out that way. I came in under my own steam but the desk officer might know Ive been arrested. He looked back down the corridor. Five minutes, tops, till they come looking. She rearranged the books she was carrying so the cover showed. A school hornbook, Williston on Contracts. He laughed. Thatll fool em. Then asked, You got my message? She nodded. I called Konnie and his assistant told me youd been arrested. I couldnt decide whether to get a lawyer or the gun. I figured we didnt have time to wait for public defenders. My cars outside. The old Bett McCall might have meditated for days, hoping for guidance. The new one went right for the Smith & Wesson. They paused just before they turned the corner beside the guard station. He took a breath. Ready? I guess. Lets go. Tate started forward, Bett at his side. The guard glanced at them but out they strolled without a hitch, signing the time departed line in the logbook scrupulouslyone a phony prosecutor and one a phony defense lawyer and both of them now felons. Aaron Matthews was driving, seventy, then eighty miles an hour. Anger had given way to sorrow. To the same piercing hollowness hed felt in the months after Peter had died in prison. Sorrow at plans gone wrong, terribly wrong. Matthews had been at his rental house, off Route 29, waiting to see if hed finally stopped Tate Collier. He believed he had. Hed given up on the subtlety, given up on the words, given up on the delicious art of persuasion. Stiff with anger, hed dragged the Walker girl, screaming, from the trunk of his car. Said nothing, convinced her of nothinghed just slashed and slashed and slashed… All of his anger flowing from him as hot and sudden as the blood from her body. Hed called from a pay phone to report seeing a body then had sped home. There the phone had rung. He hadnt answered but listened to the message as the officer left it. Some bullshit about traffic tickets. Give us a call when you get home. Thank you. It meant, of course, that they knew about him. Or suspected, at least. How had it happened? Why hadnt they just tossed Collier into the lockup and ignored him? Maybe he had actually convinced them that he was innocent and that Matthews had kidnapped the girl. The fucking silver-tongued devil! An angry, sorrowful mood exploded within Matthews like napalm. It was only a matter of time now before they found Blue Ridge Facility. They knew his name, theyd find out his connection there, and theyd find Megan. He stared out the window for a moment. Then closed his eyes. In a perfect world, moods dont burn you like torches, juries work pure justice and revenge befalls sinners in exact proportion to their crimes. In a perfect world Matthews would have kept Megan McCall as his child forever, a replacement for Peter. And Tate Collier would have lived in despair all his life, never knowing where she wasknowing only that shed fled from him, propelled by undiluted hate. But there was no chance for such symmetry now. All his hopes had unraveled. And there was only one answer left. To kill the girl and leave. Flee to the West Coast, New England, maybe overseas. Hed lost his son, Tate Collier would lose his daughter. A kind of cure, a kind of justice, a kind of revenge… He spent a few minutes preparing some things in his house then hurried to his car. He sped out onto the highway, toward the distant humps of mountains, a sensuous dark line above which no stars became stars and the moon showed as a faint, white crescent of frown. Cleaning the deep wounds was the hardest part. Shed found a cheap sewing kit in the bedroom and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the medicine cabinet. He took the stitches bravely (even though she cringed every time the needle pierced his skin). But when Megan poured a capful of alcohol on the wounds he shivered frantically at the pain. Oh, Im sorry No, no, came his garbled voice, Keep at it, Ms. Beautiful.. Her eyes teared when she heard the nickname hed used the night he picked her up. Even if you get out, youll never get past em. The dogs. Hes got four or five of the big flickers. Youre sure you cant walk? I dont think so, he gurgled. No. Okay, you stay here. I saw a door going to the basement. I think I can break it open. Im going to see if theres a door or window down there. Maybe itll lead outside. He nodded, breathed, I love… and passed out. She stacked the cinder blocks around him so that if Matthews glanced this way he wouldnt see the young man. She listened for a moment to his low, uneven breathing. Then, knife in one hand, she started down the corridor. Megan was almost to the intersection of the corridors when she heard the creak of a door opening. Then it slammed. Aaron Matthews had returned.

26

They drove in silence through destitute parts of Prince William County. They passed tilled fields, where the taproots of corn were reaching silently down into the dark, red-tinted earth. Barns long ago abandoned. Decaying tract bungalows, where postwar dreams had withered fasttiny cubes of vinyland aluminum-sided homes. Shacks and cars on blocks. Through Manassas, where the fearsome Rebel yell was first heard, then through the outlying farms and past the Confederate Cemetery It was him, Tate, Bett said, breaking a long silence. Who? A man came to see me. He said he was her therapist but he wasnt. It was Matthews? He called himself Peters. His sons name was Peter, Tate mused. That must be why he picked it. Glanced at her. What happened? She shook her head. He seduced me. Nothing really happened but it was enough…Oh, Tate, he looked right into my soul. He knew what I wanted to hear. He said exactly the right things. You can talk your way into somebodys heart and get them to do whatever you want. Judge or jury, youre got that skill. Words, Tate. Words. You cant see them but theyre the most dangerous weapons on earth, Remember that. Be careful, son. She continued, Hed called Brad. I think he pretended he was a cop and told him to get to my house. We were together on the couch… I was drunk… Oh, Tate. Tate put his hand on her knee, squeezed lightly There was nothing you couldve done, Bett. Hes too good. Somehow, hes done all of this. Dr. Hanson, Konnie… probably Eckhard too, the teacher. Just to get even with me. They drove on in silence. Then Tate realized something. You got here too quickly What ? You couldnt have been in Baltimore when you got my message. No, I got as far as Takoma Park and turned back. Why? A long pause. Because I decided it had to stop. Instinctively she flipped the mirror down and examined her face. Poked at a wrinkle or two. I was running after Brad and I should have been going after Megan. She continued, I realized something, Tate. How mad Ive been at her. At Megan? Because of what we heard at the Coffee Shop? Oh, Lord, no. Thats my fault, not hers. She took a deep breath, flipped the mirror back up. No, Tate. Ive been mad at her for years. And I shouldntve been. It wasnt her fault. She was born at the wrong time and the wrong place. Yes, she sure was. I neglected her and didnt do the things I should have… I dated, I left her alone. I did the basics, sure. But kids know. They know where your heart is. Here I was, running after Joe or Dave or Brad and leaving my daughter. Time for that to stop. Im just praying its not too late. Well find her. The roads were deserted here and the air aromatic with smoke from wood cooking fires, common in this poor part of the county; The Volvo streaked through a stop sign. Tate skidded into a turn and then headed down a bad road. Were in trouble, arent we? she asked. We sure are. They dont put out all-points bulletins anymore. But if they did wed be the main attraction in one. They dont know my car, Bett pointed out. He laughed. Oh, that took all of thirty seconds for em to track down. Look, there. Thats his place. Matthewss small bungalow was visible through a stand of trees some distance away. A rusting heating-oil tank sat in the side yard and the stands of uncut grass were outnumbered by patches of red mud. The house was only two miles away from Tates farm. A convenient staging point for a breakin and kidnapping, he noted. What are we going to do? Bett asked. Tate didnt answer her. Instead he took the gun out of his pocket. Were going to get our daughter, he said. Thirty yards, twenty, fifteen. Tate paused and listened. Silence from inside Matthewss house. He smelled the scent of wood smoke and pictured the kidnapper sitting beside the fireplace with Megan bound and gagged at his feet. The shabby house chilled his heart. Hed seen places like it often. Too often, When he was a commonwealths attorney hed always unlike most big-city prosecutorsvisited the crime scenes himself. This was what detectives dubbed a section-sixty cottage, referring to the Virginia Penal Code provision for murder. Shotgun killings, domestics, love gone cruel then violent… There were common elements among such houses: they were small, filthy, silent, brimming with unspoken hate. The Mercedes wasnt in the drive so it was possible that Matthews hadnt heard the message from the police. Maybe Megan was here now, lying in the bedroom or the basement. Maybe this would be the end of it. But he moved as silently as he could, taking no chances. He glanced through the window. The living room was empty, lit only by the glow of embers in the fireplace. He listened for a long moment. Nothing. The windows were locked but he tested the handle on the door and found it was open. He pushed inside, thinking only as he did so: Why a fire on a warm night? Oh, no! He lunged for the doorknob but it was too late; the door knocked over the large pail of gasoline. God! Instinctively Tate grabbed for the bucket as the pink wave of gas flowed onto the floor and into the fireplace. What? Bett cried. The gas ignited and with a whoosh a huge ball of flame exploded through the living room. Megan! Tate cried, turning away from the flames and falling onto the porch. His sleeve was on fire. He slapped out the flames. Shes in there? Shes in there? Bett shouted in panic and ran to the window. Scrabbling away from the flowing gasoline, Tate grabbed Bett and pulled her back. He covered his face with his hand, felt the searing heat take the hairs off the back of his fingers. Megan! Bett cried. She broke the window in with her elbow. She peered inside for a moment but then leapt back as a plume of flame burst through the window at her. If she hadnt leapt aside the fire would have consumed her face and hair. Tate ran around the back of the cottage, broke in the window in one of the bedrooms, which was already filling with dense smoke. No sign of the girl. He ran to the other bedroomthe cottage had only twoand saw that she wasnt there either. The flames were already burning through the bedroom door, which, with a sudden burst, exploded inward. In the light from the fire Tate could see that this wasnt a bedroom but an office. There were stacks of newspaper clippings, magazines, books and folders. Maps, charts and diagrams. Sirens sounded in the distance. Bett came up behind him. There was a burn on her arm but she was otherwise okay. Tate, I cant find her! she screamed. I dont think shes here. Shes not in either of these rooms and theres no basement. Where is she? The answers in there, he shouted. He only set the trap so nobody could find any clues to where hes got her. He picked up several bricks and shattered the glass-and-wooden grid in the window. Oh, brother, he muttered. And climbed inside, feeling the unnerving pain as a shard of glass sliced through his palm. The heat inside was astonishing, smoke and embers and flecks of burning paper swirling around him, and he realized that the flames werent the worst problemthe heated air and lack of oxygen were going to knock him out in minutes. He raced to the desk and grabbed all the papers and notebooks he could, ran to the window and flung them outside, crying to Bett, Get it all away from the house. He went back for more. He got two more armfuls before the heat grew too much. He dove out the window and rolled to the ground heavily as the ceiling collapsed and a swell of flame puffed out the window. He lay, exhausted, gasping, on the ground. Dizzy and hurt. Wondering why on earth Bett was doing a funny little dance around his arm. Then he understood. The file folder he held had been burning and she was stamping out the flames. The sirens were getting closer. Great, he muttered. Now theyre gonna add arson to our rap sheets. Bett helped him up and they gathered all the notebooks and files hed flung into the backyard. They ran to the car. Tate started it and skidded out of the drive, passing the first of the fluorescent green fire trucks that were speeding toward the house. They turned north and drove for ten minutes until Tate figured there was no chance of being spotted. He parked near a quarry in Manassas. A grim, eerie place that looked like it should have been a serial killers stalking ground though to Tates knowledge thered never been any crime committed here worse than pot smoking and drinking beer and sloe gin from open containers. Tate and Bett pored over the singed files and papers, looking for some due as to where Matthews might have taken Megan. The files were mostly articles, psychiatric diagnostic reports, medical evaluations. He also found surveillance photos of Megan. Dozens of them. And of Tates house and Betts. Matthews had been planning this for months; some of the pictures had been taken during the winter. In one notebook Megans daily routine was described in obsessive detail. More patient notes. More articles. More diaries. With shaking hands Tate and Bett read through them all but there was no clue as to any other buildings, apartments or houses where he might have taken the girl. Theres nothing, Bell barked in frustration. Weve looked at everything. Tears on her face. Tate gazed at the mess of scorched papers and files on their laps. His eye fell on a patient diagnostic report. Then another. He flipped through them quickly. Then read the name and address of the hospital where the patients had been evaluated. He snatched up his cell phone and, eyes on one of the reports, made a call to directory assistance for Calvert, Virginia. He asked for the number for the Blue Ridge Mental Health Facility. Please be out of order, he whispered. Why on earth? Bell asked. Please. Were sorry, the electronic voice reported, there is no listing for that name. Do you have another request? He clicked the phone off. Thats where she is. An old mental hospital in the Shenandoahs. He tapped the reports. Matthews was a shrink. Id guess he was on the staff there a few years ago. Its probably closed and thats where hes taken her. You sure? No. But its all weve got. Go, Tate. He pulled onto the highway and steered toward the interstate. Thinking with frustration that theyd have to drive the entire way right on the speed limit. They could hardly afford to be stopped now. Glass knife in front of her, Megan walked through the hallways. There was silence, then the shuffling of footsteps. More silence. I hate the quiet worse than his footsteps. Im with you there, Crazy Megan shares. Then the steps again but from a different place, as if the intruder were a ghost materializing at will. Five minutes passed. Another noise nearby, behind her. A sharp inhalation of breath. Megan gasped and turned quickly Aaron Matthews was twenty feet away. His eyes widened in surprise. She stumbled backward and fell over a table, went down hard. Grunted in pain as the edge of the table dug into her kidney Despite the pain, though, she leapt to her feet, lifting the knife threateningly. She assumed hed charge at her But he didnt. He merely frowned and said, Oh, my God, Megan. are you all right? Crouching, eyes fiery, breath hard, gripping the cloth handle of her wicked knife. Staring at his dark eyes, his large shoulders and long arms. Why wasnt he coming at her? She glanced behind her Wait, he said with a heart-tugging plea in his voice. Please, dont run, Please. She hesitated. He sighed. Oh, I know youre upset, Megan, honey. I know youre scared… You hate me and you have every right to. But please. Just listen to me. He held his hands up. I dont have a knife or gun or anything. Please, will you listen? His eyes were so sincere, radiating sympathy, and his voice so imploring… Please. Megan kept her tight grip on the knife. But she straightened up. Go ahead, she whispered. Im listening. Good, he said. And offered her a smile.

27

I didnt know youd gotten out of your room, Aaron Matthews said. Cell, she corrected bluntly. Cell, he conceded, watching her eyes carefully. But I shouldve guessed. He laughed. Youre the independent sort. Nobody was going to lock you away. Its one of the things I love about you. Matthews noted how she fixed her gaze on his eyes. How her pale lashes stuttered when hed said the word love. How had she done it? he wondered. Hed been over the cell so carefullyand the lock was still on the door. Had she gotten through the ceiling? The wall? And she was wearing some of his clothes. So shed found his living area. What else did she know? However it had happened, Matthews was surprised. It showed more mettle than hed expected from the spoiled little whiner. Are you all right? Just tell me that. He looked her up and down. No answer. He continued, Im sorry about your clothes. When you passed out from the medicine I gave you… well, you had an accident. Im sorry. I didnt think it would happen. Im washing your clothes in the laundry room here. Theyre drying now. They should be reads soon. I didnt touch you. I swear. He glanced at the knife in her hand. A long shard. He thought at first that there was something about the glass itself that was particularly unnerving, the sharp, green edge of the triangle. But then he decided that, no, it was her face that scared him. She was preparedno, eagerto use the weapon. And so much in control… shed be a hard one to crack. Harder than in Hansons office, where her defenses were down and her self-esteem bubbling near empty. He eased forward. Oh, Megan, Im so sorry. The point of the knife tilted toward him and Matthews froze. He said in his best therapists tone, I didnt want it to happen this way. He fell silent. And to fill the intolerable gap of silence she asked, What way? This… He lifted his arms to the hallways. If thered been anything else I could have done, I would have. I promise you. What do you mean? He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes. You dont really know me. But I know you. Ive known you for a long time. She shook her head, frowning, confused. The tip of the knife was pointed lower. My names Aaron Matthews.. Shedve learned his real name, of coursefrom looking through the desk in his rooms here. But tell someone the truthno matter how much youve lied to them in the pastand you nudge them closer toward you, if ever so slightly. He continued right awayMatthews had a spell to weave and spells work best when cast quickly. I worked with your father on a case last year. He hired me as an expert witness. To evaluate a suspect. We were talking before the trial. Just making conversation. And I asked about children, if he had any, and he said… Matthews paused and his face grew somber. He continued, Im sorry honey, but he said no, he didnt. Megans beautiful light eyes widened. Shocked for a moment. Then they grew deeply sad, as they had in Hansons office. A child betrayed, a child alone. What are the bears whispering to you? But Id heard somebody mention his daughter and I asked him about you. He looked embarrassed and said that, well, yes, he did have a daughter. But she lived with her mother. He said you were technically his child but that was all. I told him about my son, Peter. See, he had some problems at birth. Serious mental problems. Another flicker of lash. So she knew about him too. He said, looking down, But Ive always felt that, despite all that, I loved my boy and wanted him to be with me. I mentioned that to your father. But he didnt say anything. I asked him how often he saw you… He said virtually never. I asked him about you and he didnt seem to know much at all. And then Matthews stopped abruptly, like a man finding himself in a minefield. What? Nothing. No, tell me, she said with faint desperation in her voice. He said some things about you. Please. The knife was pointed straight down. Her face was no longer fierce. I want to know. He said being more involved with you would be… awkward. No, he didnt, she whispered. He didnt say that at all, did he? Im not sure Matthews stammered, putting a vulnerable look on his face. She muttered, He said being involved with a child would be inconvenient. Right? Yes, Matthews conceded, sighing. Im so sorry, Megan. But thats what he said. And when I heard it, all I could think of was how I hoped you had a good relationship with your mother. I hoped someone cared. I felt so bad for you. A faint laugh then her face went still. My mother. Yeah, right. He cocked his head, offering her another sympathetic glance. And continued, Well, I went to see her. When you were in school one day. You did? Matthews eased a few inches closer He decided that anger wouldnt work with Megan, unlike with her boyfriend, Josh. The madder she got, the more dangerous shed be, No, the way to get inside her defenses was to tap into her sorrow and loneliness. I lied, Megan. Ill admit it. I told Bett I was a counselor with your school and I wanted to know how you were doing. I was shocked to find that she didnt have much time for you either. She told me she was engaged, trying to make that relationship work, was totally absorbed with Brad, didnt have much time for, . . well, she said, for baby-sitting. She said that? Megan gasped. In fairness she said you were very mature and didnt need a lot of hand-holding. How would she know? Megan muttered. Matthews swayed toward her but the coldness returned to her eyes and she asked, But why the fuck did you kidnap me? Because I wanted to give you a second chance, Megan. Kidnapping me? What kind of chance is that? He looked down and rocked back and forth on his feet, moving a good six inches closer to her. Oh, Megan, yes, I kidnapped you. But Id never hurt you. That was the last thing on my mind. If shed seen the room, shed probably also seen the kitchen. He said, I can prove it. Ill show you the kitchen. Its filled with food that you like. I found out what you liked and I bought a lot of it. She nodded. Her defenses slipped a bit more. You were the one following me for the past couple weeks. Thats right. I followed you. And I talked to people about you too. Teachers, students. And the more I learned about you, the more I couldnt understand your parents. Youre creative, youre funny, youre pretty, you have a sense of humor, you were artistic… You were everything a teenage girl ought to be. Why didnt they want you? Your parents, I mean? Her lip began to tremble. She wiped tears. It was so unfair, he whispered. I wanted to give you the love that they never did. Parental love, Im speaking oh I hope you know that… I think youre beautiful but I dont desire you physically. He nodded toward her padded cell. I could have done that when you were unconscious if Id wanted to. Her eyes told him that she understood it. That shed checked her body for tenderness, for moisture. But the eyes hardened again. She asked, But theres more, isnt there? Theres another side to it. He smiled. Oh, youre smart, Megan. Youre very smart. Yes, theres another side. I wanted another chance too. I told you about my son. The problems I mentioned? They were pretty serious. My wife… she drank and had a Valium habit when she was pregnant. I tried to get her to stop but she wouldnt, My son had permanent brain damage… Oh, I wanted a normal child. Someone I could spend time with. Have fun with. Someone I could spoil. He remembered something Bett had told him earlier that evening. I wanted someone to play games with, to spend Christmas and Easter with, Thanksgiving. To make oatmeal and pancakes for. To hang out with on Sunday in sweats and sneakers and read the paper and rake leaves. From somewhere, he summoned a tear. You wanted me to be your daughter, Megan said softly. Yes! But there was no way you wouldve agreed on your own. Or even listened to me. You wouldve thought I was some kind of crank and called the police. So I did what I had to. I waited until I had a chanceDr. Hansons mother getting sickand I arranged with him to see you. That part was true? Oh, yes. Of course its true. Were friends, Hanson and me. He smiled indulgently. Though I think Im a better therapist than he is. I get right to the core of the problem. Yeah, you sure as hell do. She offered a faint smile in return. You didnt like those letters, I know. But I had to make you see how angry you were with your parents. I had to make you see the truth. Thats why you made me write them? Yes. What did you do with them? Did you send them? He frowned. The letters? No, I threw them out. Writing them was for you, Megan. I thought maybe, here, we could get to know each other for a while. Id hoped youd stay for a few weeks, a month. If it worked out, fine. We could move to San Francisco, you could start college there in the fall. Hed moved another few feet closer to her. He was slumped, diminished, looking mournfully at the floor. Matthews had decided how shed die: Hed strangle her. Her eyes would grow wide and hed stare at them, drink them in as she died. Pull the glass knife from her hand and get a grip on her neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the tip of her protruding tongue stopped quivering. And squeeze some more after that. It was the way Peter had killed the slut whod tried to seduce him. Maybe it was the way Peter himself had died. The body was so mutilated the prison doctor hadnt been able to be certain of the cause of death. Tears flooded the eyes of the inconvenient child. Oh, Megan, Im sorry. Im so sorry. I just thought that you deserved so much more than you had. She was shivering with the sobs. A father who wanted to be rid of you. What a terrible thing… He wanted to get you out of his life and get back to those ridiculous young women he chased after. And your mother… a dear woman but a child herself, really. I thought about all sorts of thingshow I could adopt you, get you into a foster home. . You really thought that? she asked, wiping her face. Her attention was wavering from the glass blade. Her hand was in the shadows at her side. The hallway was dim and he couldnt tell whether the knife was pointed downward or at him. Yes, I sure did. I talked to a lawyer about adoption. He said I wouldnt have a chance, not with your natural parents around, however neglectful they were. His voice was soft, lulling. Megan wiped her face again. I just wanted to be loved. And they didnt love you, did they? They didnt give you any love at all. Oh, I wouldve done things so differently… and thats why I took this chance. Im risking life in prison just to see if something might work out between us. I just wanted you to have a home. He too was crying now. I just wanted a family! Thats all Ive ever wanted boo. She was sobbing uncontrollably now, hand over her face. Yes! Thats it. A home. I never had a home. I wanted a father so badly. Matthews stepped closer, reached out a tentative hand and touched her cheek, wiped away a tear. He could almost feel her under his hands, peeing and thrashing as she died. Hed leave her body out for the dogs. So that Collier would have to live with the terrible memory of what the crime scene photos revealed. I wish I could have done it differently, he said. I mean, this place is so disgusting, Megan. But I didnt have any choice. For both our sakes. I just He reached out his other hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Rubbed her back. I just wanted a home… only a home. She struggled to breathe. I know you did. His right hand moved down her face to her neck. His left slipped down her arm until he gripped the glass knife she held. He gently pulled it out of her hand. Got you! he thought. But then he glanced down, frowning. It wasnt a knife at all. In his hand was a plastic Bic pen. But hed seen the blade… He looked into her face. Saw the leering smile. Nice try, Megan whispered. And with her left hand she jammed the glass blade deep into his side. Once, then again. And again. A flash of terrible pain shot through him and Matthews howled. He twisted hard away from her and the blade snapped on a rib, leaving a long glass splinter inside him. Now Megan screamedan insane wailand as the doctor groped for his wound she slammed her open palm into his face. A huge pop as his nose broke and blood spurted. He went down on his knees. She kicked him near the knife wound and his vision went black from the astonishing pain. She came forward but he swam back to consciousness quickly and now it was his fist that connected hardslamming into her jaw, sending her backward into the wall. By the time he was on his feet she was disappearing down the dark corridor. He touched the wound. The pain was bad. But it was nothing compared with the feeling of shock that raged through him. Shes the one who fooled me! Suckered me in nice and close, got my defenses down. My God, the whole time I thought I was playing her but she led me right into the trap… Her fathers daughter, Matthews thought in fury and disgust. He dropped to his knees and began working the fragments of glass out of his wound, actually savoring the pain; he wanted to remember it. He wanted to feel what Megan was about to experience.

28

The basement… She plunged into the dim corridors of the hospital, looking for the basement door shed seen earlier. Her jaw ached and the back of her head toofrom where shed slammed it into the wall after he hit her. For just a moment shed thought about leaping on him againseeing him lying there, blood filling his shirt, blood dripping from his nose. Hed looked half dead. But she wasnt sure that he was hurt as badly as he seemed. He might have been faking. If he lied with words, hed lie with actions. So she ranto find the basement door. She heard Matthewss unearthly screamit seemed to shake the wallsand then footsteps. Making slow circles through the corridors, she finally found the door, the one leading to the basement. She grabbed a cinder block and smashed it down on the hasp and lock, which snapped off easily. Megan flung the door open, looked down into the musty place. For a moment she was paralyzed. No choice, girl, Crazy Megan the tour guide shouts. Move, move, move. But Josh, she protested silently, I cant leave him. Hey, if you die, he dies. Go! She clomped down the stairs and found herself in a dimly lit warren of corridors. Trotting slowly from room to room, she took care to avoid the standing water so she wouldnt leave footprints he could follow. Please, a door, a window… Oh, please. She heard the creak of footsteps from the ceiling above her as Matthews made his way to the door shed just broken open. She found a door leading outside. It was locked. And the windows too were sealed. Another door. Nailed shut. Goddamn him! C.M. blurts. Whyd he padlock the fucking door upstairs if we cant get out this way? Megan didnt bother to answer. She couldnt figure it out either. She returned to a room near the base of the stairs and glanced again at one of the windows. The bars on these were wider than the ones on the main floor but she doubted that she could get through. Fucking hips. Dont start! Megan muttered silently and started to turn away. Then she paused, looked back. Thinking: Okay, maybe I cant get through the bars. But I can make him think I did. She smashed the glass and pushed an overturned plastic bucket beneath it so that it looked like shed climbed out. Then she ran back into the warren of dark storerooms to find someplace to hide. Most of the cardboard boxes piled in the rooms were too small to conceal her. And she didnt have the strength to pull herself up into the pipes that ran along the ceiling. His steps were approaching the door upstairs. Then he started down. Megan ran into a cluttered storeroom, the farthest one from the stairs. It was filled with cartons, small ones like the others. But over to the side of the room, in the shadows, was a long metal box. It was almost too obvious a choice to hide in but this room was nowhere near the window where shed faked her escape. And it was pitch dark in here. Matthews might not even see the box if he bothered to look. Could she get it open? And was it empty? But Megan stopped asking questions. Matthews was now in the basement. A shuffle of footsteps, a moaning wheeze from the pain of the wounds, words muttered to himself. Now! Crazy Megan prods her. Go, girl! Megan unlatched the trunk. It took all her strength to lift the thick lid. And it took all her willpower not to scream as she looked inside and saw the blue-white flesh, the limp hair, the closed eyes, a dark, shriveled penis, the long yellow fingernails… Cuts and gouges covered the young mans entire torso, which was further mutilated by the large Y incision from the autopsy. An ear and an arm had been crudely stitched back onto his body. It was Matthewss son, Peter. She recognized the eerie face from the newspaper clipping. Oh, God… My God… Tate, Bett… Somebody! The footsteps were closer now. They sounded only thirty or forty feet away. Go on, Crazy Megan urges. Do it. I cant do it, Megan thought. No way in hell. Get inside, C.M. chokes. You have to. Either you fight him with your fists, she told herself, or you hide in here, Thosere your choices. A moments pause. The doctor was now right outside the doorway, it seemed. Then Megan closed her eyes as if that would lessen the horrorand climbed into the box, lying down on the corpse, on her back, shivering fiercely. She let the lid down. The air reeked of sweet formaldehyde, pickled fleshshe recalled the scent from biology class, hating to be in school at the time but now praying that she could somehow be transported back to that time and place. And beneath her, terrible cold. Nothings colder than cold flesh. Then she heard, faintly, a moan very near. Aaron Matthews was in the room. Crossing a gap in the Shenandoahs, Tate glanced out the window of Betts car at the darkened bungalows and ramshackle farmhouses, abandoned barns, the black pits that opened into the network of caverns that laced the earth beneath the Shenandoahs and the Blue Ridge. They sped past walls of ominous forestthe stark pines, the scrub oak, the sedge, the young kudzu and Virginia creeper. Tate imagined dozens of eyes peering at them and he thought of the Dead Reb once again. Ten minutes later, well into the Blue Ridge, Tate pulled Betts Volvo into an all-night gas station. The elderly attendant glanced at them cautiously when he asked about the mental hospital. That old place? Phew The man cast a dark look westward. Where is it? You get back on the interstate and go one more exit. . Wed rather stick to back roads, if we can. The state troopers would be looking for him on the highway, a fact Tate didnt share. The man cocked his head, shrugged. Well, that road there. Route one seventeen? Take it west ten, twelve miles till you see a Buy-Rite gas station. Then go left on Palmer and just keep going. Well see the hospital? Oh, youll see it. Cant miss it. But Id wait till sunup. You dont wanna go there this time of night, no sir. But you asked for directions, not opinions. Tate handed him a twenty and they sped off down the road. Theyd driven several miles when a no-nonsense siren burst to life a quarter mile behind them. It was a county trooper. The light bar flashed explosively in Tates rearview mirror. He accelerated hard. You think he knows its us? Bett asked. If he doesnt he will when he calls in your tags. Tates foot wavered. What do I do? Drive like hell, Bett muttered. Try to lose him. He did. For about two miles it looked as if theyd get away. The Swedes make a good car but it was no match for the souped-up engine of the pursuing Plymouth. Cant make it, he told her. He eased up on the gas. Ill talk to him. Maybe hell at least send a car to the hospital. No, Bett said. Pull over. What? Tate asked, jockeying the skidding car onto the gravel shoulder and braking. Bett ripped her purse open and dug inside. She paused, took a deep breath, then sat upright, staring in the rearview mirror at herself, stroking her cheek as Tate had seen her do so often. Whats she up to? he wondered. Bett! he cried as she lifted the nail file to her face and dragged it hard across her skin. Blood poured from a gash deep in her cheek. Oh, Bett wheezed. It hurts. Tate stared at the blood, running more black than red down her neck and falling onto her chest in delicate paisleys. Get out of the car! reverberated the metallic voice through the rectangular mouth of the PA speaker atop the car. The young trooper stood beside the open door of his squad car. His blue-black pistol, dwarfed by the lawmans huge hand, was aimed at Tates head. Get out of that vehicle! Keep your hands up. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Betts door opened so fast Tate thought that another deputy had snuck up behind them unseen and pulled her out. But, no, she was moving on her own. She screamed shrilly as she rolled onto the grassy shoulder of the road. The leather strap of her purse was wound around her wrists as if she were tied up. Without the use of her hands she fell hard and dust mixed with the blood covering her face. Help me! she cried. He kidnapped me! Dont move. Nobody move! the trooper called, swinging the muzzle toward Bett. Tate sat perfectly still, hands on the wheel. Bett scrabbled toward the cop. Hes got a knife! she cried. Help me, please. He cut me. Im bleeding. Help me! She put the harrowing wail of a frightened child into her voice as she stumbled forward. He was going to rape me! Get me away from him! Oh, please… Oh. . The trooper gave in to his instincts. Over here, miss. Youll be all right. Hes that fella from Prince William, isnt he? The one killed that girl? Wheres the knife? In his belt. He picked me up at a rest stop, she cried. He kidnapped me! Put your hands up! the trooper called over the microphone. And I mean now! Tate! did. What happened? the cop asked Bett, who was stumbling closer. Cut me… I need a doctor… The words were lost in the sobbing. You in the car. Leave your right hand up and with your left reach out the window and open the door. Dont lower that right hand. Tate didnt move. Im not telling you again! I have a Put it down! came Betts raw scream from inches behind his head. Tates pistol was resting at the cops. throat. Oh, shit. Do it! Ive got him covered, lady. You do anything to me and hes gone. Ill shoot him. I swear… But he said this out of shame, not resolve, and when Bett screamed, Were after my daughter and Ill kill you right now if I have to, the cops disgusted grunt was followed by the sound of his large pistol hitting the dirt. Bett stepped away from the man, who towered over her. He went limp as he saw the ferocity in her face, maybe wondering just how close to death hed come. He sagged against the car. All right, Bett muttered. Lie down on the ground. There. On your stomach. Tate was out of the car and jogging toward them. Therere other troopers coming, lady. Theyll be here in minutes. All the more reason to move! He eased down. Bett handed the cops pistol to Tate. Cuff him and lets go, she said. But Tate put his hand on her shoulder. No. Youre staying. No, Tate, Bett said, holding a wad of Kleenexes up to her bloody chin. I want to come. What could he say to her? That there wasnt anything she could do and Tate needed to focus on saving Meganif she could be saved? That it was important for her to stay here and tell the police exactly what had happened, send them out to the hospital? They were both surefire arguments. But Tate answered instead from his heart and told her the truth. Simply: I dont want to risk losing you. She looked at the dark blood on the Kleenex and up at Tate once more. She nodded. Now, listen to me, he said gravely. When they get here, just set the gun down and put your hands up. Theyll be nervous and looking to shoot. Do exactly what they say. You hear me? She nodded, He touched her cheek, wiping away some blood. A sexy woman with a scarwont be a man in the countyll keep his hands off you. Youll get her, wont you, Tate? Ill get her. He kissed her forehead and ran to the car. He floored the accelerator, splattering the squad car with gravel and dirt. As he drove over a crest in the road, the tach nosing into the red crescent of the warning zone, he caught a glimpse of Bett in the rearview mirror, crouching beside the prone trooper, undoubtedly apologizing earnestly. Still, the pistol that was gripped in both her hands was pointed steadily at his face. She couldnt take it anymore. Crazy Megan was gone, dead and sleeping with the fishes. The depleted air suffocated her. The smellsthe rot and the sweet scent from embalmed skinwrapped themselves around her throat and squeezed. Which was bad enough. But then the panic started to sizzle through her body like electricity. The claustrophobia. No, no, no, she said, or maybe she just thought it. No, no… Let me out, let me out, let me out. Suddenly she wasnt even worried that Matthews was outside the casket, waiting for her. It didnt matter; she couldnt stay inside a moment longer. Megan pushed against the lid of the coffin. It didnt move. She tried again, with all her strength. Nothing. Ah, she gasped. Oh please, God, no.. Hed locked her in! She pounded on the lid then heard a wild laugh outside. Words she couldnt distinguish. More laughter. More words, louder: … two having fun together… likes you… Peter likes you. Let me out, let me out! Her voice rose to a wild keening, her whole body shivered in violent spasms. You fucker you fuck let me outoutoutout! With both her fists Megan pounded on the lid until they bled, banged it with her head, feeling with horror Peters cold face against her neck, his cold penis against her thigh. From outside Aaron Matthews beat on the lid too, responding to her pounding. Then more laughter. And finally more tapping, like a drummer, keeping perfect time with the rhythm of her raw screams. No subtlety, no nuance… Tate Collier came to the end of Palmer Road and saw the mental hospital in front of him. He aimed Betts car directly toward the gate, got his speed up to about forty and bounded over logs and potholes in the neglected surface. He saw the infamous gray Mercedes parked in the staff-only carport. He saw a faint light in one of the windows. He had no plan other than the obvious and as he skidded around a fallen pine and straightened for the final assault on the gate he pressed the accelerator down harder, sealing his resolve. He pressed his hands into the steering wheel, pinning himself into the seat. The car plowed through the chain link. The air bag popped with an astonishingly loud bang. Hed forgotten about it and hadnt closed his eyes. He was momentarily blinded and lost control of the car. When he could see again he found the vehicle skidding sideways, narrowly missing the Mercedes. The Volvo crashed obliquely into the cinder blocks, stunning him. Tate leapt out of the car and ran to the first door he could find. Gripping his pistol hard, he flung all his weight against the double panels. He was expecting them to be locked. But the doors swung open with virtually no resistance and he stumbled headfirst into a large, dim lobby. He saw shadows, shapes of furniture, angles of walls, unlit lamps, dust motes circling in the air. He saw faint shafts of predawn blue light bleeding in through the windows. But he never saw the bat or tire iron or whatever it was that hummed through the air behind him and caught him with a glancing blow just above the ear. IV THE SILENCE OF THE DEED

29

A hand stroked his hair. Lying on his side, on a cold floor, Tate slowly opened his eyes, which stung fiercely from his own sweat. He tried to focus on the face before him. He believed momentarily that the soft fingers were Betts; shed been the first person in his thoughts as he came to consciousness. But he found that the blue eyes he gazed into were Megans. Hey, honey, he wheezed. Dad. Her face was pale, her hair pasted to her head with sweat, her hands bloody. They were in the lobby of the decrepit hospital. His hands were bound behind him with scratchy rope. His vision was blurry. He got up and nearly fainted from the pain that roared in his temple. Aaron Matthews was sitting on a chair nearby watching them both like the helpless prisoners that they were. What astonishing black eyes he has, Tate thought. Like dark lasers. They turned to you as if you were the only person in the universe. Why, patients would tell him anything. He understood why Bett had been powerless to resist him earlier that night when hed come to her house. Konnie too. And Megan. Then he saw that Matthews was hurt. A large patch of blood covered the side of his shirt and he was sweating. His nose too was bloody. Tate glanced at Megan. She gave a weak smile and nodded, answering his tacit question if she was responsible for the wound. He lowered his head to the girls shoulder. A moment later Tate looked up. Youve lost those five pounds you wanted to, he said to her. Youre lean and mean. It was ten, she joked. Matthews finally said, Well, Tate Collier. Well. Such a smooth, baritone voice, Tate reflected. But not phony or slick. So natural, so comforting. Patients would cling to every word he uttered. I was just doing my job, Tate finally said to him. Peters trial, I mean. The evidence was there. The jury believed it. Megan frowned and Tate explained about the trial and the boys murder in prison. The girl scowled, said to Matthews, I knew youd never worked with him on cases. Those were just more lies. Matthews didnt even notice her. He crossed his arms. You probably dont know it, Collier, but I used to watch you in court. After Pete died Id go to your trials. Id sit in the back of the gallery for hours and hours. You know what struck me? You reminded me of myself in therapy sessions. Talking to the patients. Leading them where they didnt want to go. You did exactly the same with the witnesses and the juries. Tate said nothing. Matthews smiled briefly. And I learned some things about the law. Mens rea. The state of a killers mindhe has to intend the death in order to be guilty of murder. Well, that was you, all right, at Petes trial. You murdered Pete. You intended him to die. My job was to prosecute cases as best I could. If Matthews pounced, that was true then why did you quit prosecuting? Why did you turn tail and run? Because I regretted what happened to your son, Tate answered. Matthews lowered his sweaty, stubbly face. You looked at my boy and said, Youre dead. You stood up in court and felt the power flowing through you. And you liked it. Tate looked around the room. You did all this? And you went after all the othersKonnie and Hanson and Eckhard? Bett, too. Mom? Megan whispered. No, shes okay, Tate reassured her. I had to stop you, Matthews said. You kept coming. You wouldnt listen to reason. You wouldnt do what you were supposed to. This is where you were committed, right? Him? Megan asked. I thought hed worked here. I thought so too, Tate said, but then I remembered testimony at Peters trial. No. He was a therapist but he was the one committed here. Nodding at Matthews. Not Peter. Tate recalled the trial: Mr. Bogan: Now, Dr Rothstein, could you give an opinion of the source and nature of Peters difficulties? Dr. Rothstein: Yes sir. Peter displays socialization problems. He is more comfortable with inanimate creationsstories and books and cartoons and the likethan with people. He also suffers from what I call affect deficit. The reason, from reviewing his medical records, appears to be that his father would lock him in his room for long periods of timeweeks, even monthsand the only contact the boy would have with anyone was with his father, Aaron. He wouldnt even let the boys mother see him, Peter withdrew into his books and television. Apparently the only time the boy spent with his mother and others was when his fat her was committed in mental hospitals for bipolar depression and delusional behavior Matthews said, I was here, lets see, on six intakes. Must have been four years altogether. I was like a jailhouse lawyer, Collier. As soon as the patients heard I was a therapist they started coming to me. So you were Patient Matthews,  Megan said, eyes widening. In the reports about the deaths here. Thats my Megan, Matthews said. She said to Tate, They closed this place because of a bunch of suicides. I thought it was Peter whod killed them. But it was you? Tate asked Matthews. The DSM-III diagnosis was that I was sociopathicwell, its called an antisocial/criminal personality now. How delicate. I knew the hospital examiners in Richmond were looking for an excuse to close down places like this. So I simply helped them out. The place was too understaffed and too incompetent to keep patients from killing themselves. So they shut it down. But it was really just a game to you, right? Megan asked in disgust. Seeing how many patients you could talk into suicide. Matthews shrugged. He continued. I got transferred to a halfway house and one bright, sunny May morning, I walked out the front door. Moved to Prince William County, right behind your farm. And started planning how to destroy you. Matthews winced and pressed his side. The wound didnt seem that severe. Tate recalled something else from the trial and asked, What about your wife? Matthews said nothing but his eyes responded. Tate understood. She was your first victim, wasnt she? Did you talk her into killing herself? Or maybe just slip some drugs into her wine during dinner? She was vulnerable, Matthews responded. Insecure. Most therapists are. Tate asked, What was she trying to do? Take Peter away from you? Yes, she was. She wanted to place him in a hospital full-time. She shouldnt have meddled. I understood Peter. No one else did. But you made Peter the way he was, Megan blurted. You cut him off from the world. She was right. Tate recalled the defenses expert witness, Dr. Rothstein, testifying that if you arrest development by isolating a child before the age of eight, socialand communicationsskills will never develop. Youve basically destroyed the child forever. Tate remembered too how hed handled the expert witnesss testimony at Peter Matthewss murder trial. The Court: The Commonwealth may cross-examine. Mr. Collier: Dr Rothstein, thank you for that trip down memory lane about the defendants sad history. But let me ask you: psychologically, is the defendant capable of premeditated murder? Dr. Rothstein: Peter Matthews is a troubled Mr. Collier: Your Honor? The Court: Please answer the question, sir Dr. Rothstein: I Mr. Collier: Is the defendant capable of premeditated murder? Dr. Rothstein: Yes, but Mr. Collier: No further questions. All he needed was me! Matthews now raged. He didnt need anyone else in his life. Wed spend hours togetherwhen my wife wasnt trying to sneak him out the door. Did you love him that much? Tate asked. You dont have a clue, do you? Why, you know what we did? Peter and I? We talked. About everything. About snakes, about stars, about floods, about explorers, about airplanes, about the mind. . Delusional ramblings, Tate imagined. Poor Peter, baffled and lonely, undoubtedly could do nothing but listen. Yet… with a sorrowful twist deep within him Tate realized that this was something Megan and he didnt do. They didnt talk at all. They never had. And now we wont ever, he realized. Weve lost that chance forever. Their captor fell silent, looking into a corner of the hospital lobby, lost in a memory or thought or some confused delusion, Finally Tate said, So, Aaron. Tell me what you want. Tell me exactly. He closed his eyes, fighting the incredible pain in his head. After a moment Matthews said, I want justice. Pure and simple. Im going to kill your daughter and youre going to watch. Youll live with that sight for the rest of your life. So its come to this. Tate sighed and thought, as he had so often on the way to the jury box or the podium in a debate, All right, time to get to work I dont know how you can have justice, Aaron, Tate said to him. I just dont know. In all my years practicing law Matthewss face writhed in disgust. Oh, stop right there. What? Tate asked innocently. I hear it, the psychiatrist said. The glib tongue, the smooth words. You have the orators gift… sure. We know that. But so do I. Im immune to you. I wont try to talk you into a single thing, Aaron. You dont seem to be the sort It wont work! Not with me. The advocates tricks. The therapists tricks. Personalize the discourse. Aaron this and Aaron that. Try to get me to think of you as a specific human being, Tate. But that wont work, Tate. See, its Tate Collier the human being I despise. Undeterred, Tate continued, Was he your only child? Peter? Why even try? Matthews rolled his eyes. All I want is to get out of this and save our lives. Is that a surprise? A perfect example of a rhetorical question. Well, no, its not a surprise. But theres nothing you can say thats going to make any difference. Im trying to save your life too, Aaron. They know about you. The police. You heard the message from the detective, I assume? On your answering machine? They may figure it out eventually but since youre here by yourself, an escapee, I think I have a bit of time. What does he mean? Megan asked. Escapee? He saw no reason to tell her now that her friend Amy was dead. He shook his head and continued, Lets talk, Aaron. Im a wealthy man. Youre going to have to leave the country. Ill give you some money if you let us go. Leading with your weakest argument. Doesnt that mean youve just lost the debate? Thats what you say on your American Forensics Association tape. The faint smile never wavered from Tates face. You saw my house, the land, he continued. You know Ive got resources. A splinter of disdain in Matthewss eyes. How much do you want? Youre using a rhetorical fallacy Appealing to a false needfor diversion. Matthews smiled. I do it all the time. Soften up the patient, get the defenses down. Then, bang, a kick in the head. Come on, I didnt do this for ransom. Thats obvious. Whatever your motive was, Aaron, the circumstancesve changed. They know about you now. But youve got a chance to get out of the country. I can get you a half million in cash. Just like that. More by hocking the house. Matthews said nothing but paced slowly, staring at Megan, who gazed back defiantly. Tate knew, of course, that money wasnt the issue at all; neither was helping Matthews escape. His immediate purpose was simply to make the man indecisive, wear down his resistance. Matthews was right this was a diversion. And even though the man knew it Tate believed the technique was working. I cant make you a rich man but I can make you comfortable. Pointless, Matthews said, shaking his head as if he were disappointed. Aaron, you cant change things, Tate continued. You cant make it the way it was. You cant bring Peter back. So will you just let us go? Specific request within the opponents power to grant, Matthews recited, requiring only an affirmative or negative response. Your skills are still in top form, Collier. My answer, however, is neg-a-tive. You tell me youre after justice. Tate shrugged. But I wonder if its not really something else. A flicker in the doctors eyes. Have you really thought about why youre doing this? Tate asked. Of course. Why? I Tate said quickly, Its to take the pain away, isnt it? Matthewss lips moved as he carried on a conversation with himself, or his dead wife, or his dead son. Or perhaps no one at all. What a man hears, he may doubt. What a man sees… Tate leaned toward him, ignoring the agony in his head. He whispered urgently, Think about it, Aaron. Think. This is very important. What if you get it wrong? What if killing Megan makes the pain worse? Nice try, Matthews cried. Setting up straw men. Or what if it has no effect at all? What if this is your one chance to make the pain go away and it doesnt work? Did you ever consider that? Youre trying to distract me! You lost someone you loved. You lie on your back for hours, paralyzed with the pain. You wake up at two AM. and think youre going mad. Right? Matthews fell silent. Tate saw hed touched a nerve. I know all about that. It happened to me. Tate leaned forward and, without feigning, matched the agony he saw in Matthewss face with pain of his own. Ive been there. l lost someone I loved more than life itself. I lost my wife. I can see it in your face. These arent tricks, Aaron. I do know what Im talking about. Thats all you wantthe pain to go away. Youre not a lust killer, Aaron. Youre not an expediency killer. Youre not a hired killer. You only kill when theres a reason. And that reason is to make the pain go away! And to Tates astonishment he heard a womans voice beside him. A smooth contralto. Megan, gazing into Matthewss eyes, was saying, Even those patients you killed here, Aaron… You didnt want to kill them. I was wrong. It wasnt a game at all. You just wanted to help them stop hurting. Excellent, Tate thought, proud of her. The pain, the lawyer took over. Thats what this is all about. You just want it to go away. Matthewss eyes were uncertain, even wild. How we hate the confusing and the unknown, and how we flock to those who offer us answers simple as a childs drawing. Ill tell you, Aaron, that Ive lived with your sons death every day since the Department of Correction called and told me what happened. I feel that pain too. I know what youre going through. I Suddenly Matthews leapt forward and grabbed Tates shirt, began slugging him madly, knocking him to the floor. Megan cried out and stepped toward them but the madman shoved her to the floor again. He screamed at Tate, You know? You know, do you? You have no fucking idea! All the days, the weeks and weeks that I havent been able to do anything but lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the trial. You know what I see? I dont see Peters face. I see your back. You, standing in the courtroom with your back to my son. You sent him to die but you didnt even look at him! The jury were the only people in that room, werent they? No. Tate reflected, they were the only people in the universe. He said to Matthews, Im sorry for you. I dont want your fucking pity. Another wave of fury crossed his face and he lifted Tate in his powerful hands and shoved him to the floor again, rolled him on his back. He took a knife from his pocket, opened it with a click and bent down over Tate. No! Megan cried. Matthews slipped the blade past Tates lips into his mouth. Tate tasted metal and felt the chill of the sharp point against his tongue. He didnt move a muscle. Then Matthewss eyes crinkled with what seemed to be humor. His lips moved and he seemed to be speaking to himself He withdrew the blade. No, Collier, no. Not you. I dont want you. But why not? Tate whispered quickly Why not? Tell me! Because youre going to live your life without your daughter. Just like Im going to live mine without my son. And thatll take the pain away? Yes! The lawyer nodded. Then you have to let her go. He struggled to keep the triumph from his voiceas he always did in court or at the debate podium. Then you have to let her go and kill me. Its the only answer for you. Daddy, Megan whimpered. Tate believed it was the first time hed heard her say the word in ten years. Only answer? Matthews asked uncertainly. Tate had known that eventually it would come to this. But what a time, what a place for it to happen. All cats see in the dark. Therefore Midnight can see in the dark. He leaned his head against the girls cheek. Oh, honey. . Megan asked. What is it? What? Unless Midnight is blind. Tate began to speak. His voice cracked. He started again. Aaron, what you want makes perfect sense. Except that… It was Megans eyes he gazed into, not their captors, as he said, Except that Im not her father.

30

Matthews seemed to gaze down at his captives but he was backlit by dawn light in the picture window and Tate couldnt see where his eyes were turned. Megan, pale in the same oblique light, clasped her injured face. A pink sheen of blood was on her cheeks and hands. She was frowning. Matthews laughed but Tate could see that his quick mind was considering facts and drawing tentative conclusions. Im disappointed, Collier. Thats obvious and simpleminded. Youre lying. When you were stalking Megan and me how often did you see us together? Tate asked. That doesnt mean anything. You followed us for how long? A splinter of doubt, like a faint cloud obscuring the sun momentarily Tate had seen this in the eyes of a thousand witnesses. Matthews answered, Six months. How many weekends was she with me? That doesnt How many? Two, I think You broke into my house to plant those letters. How many pictures of her did you see? Dad.. How many? Tate asked firmly, ignoring the girl. Matthews finally said, None. What did her bedroom look like? Another hesitation. Then: A storeroom. How much affection did you ever see between us? Did I seem like a father? Ive got dark, curly hair and eyes. Beth auburn. And Megans blond, for Gods sake. Does she even look like me? Look at the eyes. Look! He did. He said uncertainly, I still dont believe you. No, Daddy! No! You went to see my wife, Tate continued to Matthews, squeezing Megans leg to silence her. The doctor nodded. Well, youre a therapist. What did you see in Betts face when you were talking to her? What was there when she was telling you about us and about Megan? Matthews reflected. I saw… guilt. Thats right, Tate said. Guilt. Matthews looked from one of his captives to the other. Seventeen years ago, Tate began slowly, speaking to Megan, finally revealing the truth theyd kept from her for all these years, I was prosecuting cases, making a name for myself. The Washington Post called me the hottest young prosecutor in the commonwealth. Id take on every assignment that came into the office. I was working eighty hours a week. I got home to your mother on weekends at best. Id go for three or four days in a row and hardly even call. I was trying to be my grandfather The lawyer-farmer-patriarch. Id be a local celebrity. Wed have a huge family, an old manse. Sunday dinners, reunions, holidays… the whole nine yards. He took a deep breath, That was when your aunt Susan had her first bad heart attack. She was in the hospital for a month and mostly bedridden after that. What are you saying? Megan whispered. Susan was married. Her husband, you remember him. Uncle Harris. You were right in your letter, Megan. Your mother did spend a lot of time caring for her sister Harris and your mother both did. No Megan said abruptly. I dont believe it. Theyd go to the hospital together, Harris and Bett. Theyd have lunch, dinner Co shopping. Sometimes Bett cooked him meals in his studio. Helped him clean. Your aunt felt better knowing he was being looked after And it was okay with me. I was free to handle my cases. She told you all this? Megan asked. Mom? His face was a blank mask as he said slowly, No. Harris did, The day of his funeral. Tate had been upstairs on that eerily warm November night years ago. The funeral reception, at the Collier farm, was over. Standing at a bedroom window, Tate had looked out over the yard. Felt the hot air, filled with leaf dust. Smelled cedar from the closet. Hed just checked on three-year-old Megan, asleep in her room, and hed come here to open windows to air out the upstairs bedrooms; several relatives would be spending the night. Hed looked down at the backyard, gazing at Bett in her long black dress. She hiked up the hem and climbed onto the new picnic table to unhook the Japanese lanterns. Tate had tried to open the window but it was stuck. He took off his jacket to get a better grip and heard the crinkle of paper in the pocket. At the funeral service one of Harriss attorneys had given him an envelope, hand-addressed to him from Harris, marked Personal, apparently written just before the man had shot himself. Hed forgotten about it. He opened the envelope and read the brief letter inside. Tate had nodded to himself, folded the note slowly and walked downstairs, then outside. He remembered hearing a Loretta Lynn song playing on the stereo. He remembered hearing the rustling of the hot wind over the brown grass and sedge, stirring pumpkin vines and the refuse of the corn harvest. He remembered watching the arc of Betts narrow arm as she reached for an orange lantern. She glanced down at him. I have something to tell you, hed said. What? shed whispered. Then, seeing the look in his eyes, Bett had asked desperately: What, what? Shed climbed down from the bench. Tate came up close, and instead of putting his arm around his wifes shoulders, as a husband might do late at night in a house of death, he handed her the letter. She read it. Oh my. Oh. Bett didnt deny anything that was contained in the note: Harriss declaration of intense love for her, the affair, his fathering Megan, Betts refusal to marry him and her threat to take the girl away from him forever if Harris told Betts sister of the infidelity. At the end the words had degenerated into mad rambling and his chillingly lucid acknowledgment that the pain was simply too much. Neither of them cried that night as Tate had packed a suitcase and left. They never spent another night under the same roof. Despite the presence of a madman now, holding a knife, hovering a few feet from them, Tates concentration was wholly on the girl. To his surprise her face blossomed not with horror or shock or anger but with sympathy. She touched his leg. And youre the one that got hurt so bad. Im sorry, Daddy. Im sorry. Tate looked at Matthews. He said, So thats why your argument doesnt work, Aaron. Taking her away from me wont do what you want. Matthews didnt speak. His eyes were turned out the window, gazing into the blue dawn. Tate said, You know the classic reasons given for punishing crimes, Aaron? To condition away bad behaviordoesnt work. A deterrent useless. To rehabilitatethats a joke. To protect societywell, only if we execute the bad guys or keep them locked up forever. No, you know the real reason why we punish? Were ashamed to admit it. But, oh, how we love it. Good old biblical retribution. Bloody revenge is the only honest motive for punishment. Why? Because its purpose is to take away the victims pain. Thats what you want, Aaron, but theres only one way youll have that. By killing me. Its not perfect but itll have to do. Megan was sobbing. Matthews leaned his head against the window. The sun was up now and flashed on and off as strips of liver-colored clouds moved quickly east. He seemed diminished and changed. As if he were beyond disappointment or sorrow. Let her go, Tate whispered. It doesnt even make sense to kill her because shes a witness. They know about you anyway. Matthews crouched beside Megan. Put the back of his hand against her cheek, lifted it away and looked at the glistening streak left by her tears on his skin. He kissed her hair. All right. I agree. Megan started to protest. But Tate knew that hed won. Nothing she could say or do at this point would change his decision. Ill call the dogs to the run. Ill be back in five minutes.

31

Is it true? she asked, tears glistening on her cheeks. Oh, yes, honey, its true. You never said anything. Your mother and I decided not to. Until after Susan died. You know how close Bett is to your aunt. She wanted her never to find out about the affairit wouldve been too hard for her. The doctors only gave her a year or two to live, We were going to wait to tell you until shed passed away. But… Megan whispered. He smiled wanly Thats right. Shes still alive. Why didnt you tell me last year, or two years ago? I was old enough not to say anything to Aunt Susan. Tate examined the wounds on her palms. Pressed his hands against them. He couldnt speak at first. Finally he said, The moment passed. All these years, she whispered, I thought I mustve done something. She lowered her head to his shoulder. What a terrible thing I must have been for you. What a reminder. Honey, I wish I could tell you different. But I cant. You were half the person I loved most in the world and half the person I most hated. One time I said something to Mom, she said, weeping softly. Id been with you for the weekend and Mom asked how it went. I said Id had an okay time but what could you expect? You were just an adequate father. I thought she was going to whip me. She freaked out totally. She said you were the best man shed ever met and I was never, ever supposed to say that again. Tate smiled. An adequate father for an inconvenient daughter. Why didnt you ever try it again, the two of you? He echoed, The moment passed. How much you must love her. Tate laughed sourly to himself at the irony. The child who drove husband and wife apart had now brought them back togetherif only for one day. How scarce love is, he thought. How rarely does it all come together: the pledge, the assurance, the need, the circumstance, the hungry desire to share minutes with someone else. And the dear desperation too. Its miraculous when love actually works. He looked her over and decided that the two of them, his ex-wife and her daughter, would be finenow that the truth had been dumped between them. A long time coming but better than never. Oh, yes, theyd do fine. Gritty footsteps approached. Now, listen to me, he said urgently. When he lets you out find a phone and call Ted Beauridge at Fairfax County Police. Tell him your mothers probably in jail in Luray or Front Royal What? No time to explain. But shes there. Tell him to get cops out here. She told them you were here but they might notve believed her. The girl looked at him with eyes that reminded him of her mothers. Not the violet shade, of coursethose were Betts and Betts alone but the unique mix of the ethereal and the earthy Matthews appeared in the doorway. They turned to look at the gaunt man standing before them, his muscular hand pressed to his bloody belly. Okay, get going, Tate said to her. Run like hell. Go on, Matthews said, and reached forward to take her arm. She spun away from him and hugged Tate hard. He felt her arms around his back. Felt her face against her ear, heard her speaking to him, a torrent of fervid words flowing out, coming from a source other than the heart and mind of a seventeen-year-old high school junior. Megan he began. But she took his face in both her hands and said, Shhh, Daddy. Remember, bears cant talk. Matthews grabbed her again and pulled her away. Took her to the door. He unlocked it and shoved her outside. The door closed with a snap behind her. Through a dirty, barred window Tate saw her sprint down the driveway and disappear through the gate. So, Collier said, glancing up at Matthews. So, he echoed. Outside? the lawyer asked, looking around at the gloomy place. Would that be all right? Id rather. Matthews hesitated for a moment. But then decided, why not? Yes. Thats all right. He unlocked the door again and they stepped into the parking area and walked around into the grounds behind the asylum, past the wild rottweilers in their runs. Matthews was thinking back to the times hed been committed here. He recalled how beautiful these lawns and gardens had been then. Well, why wouldnt they be? Give five hundred crazy people grounds to tend and, brother, youve got a showplace. Hed sat for hours and hours and hours talking to other patients andin his imaginationto his dead Peter. Sometimes the boy responded, sometimes not. The dawn sun was still below the horizon but the sky was bright as they walked side by side through the tall grass and goldenrod and milkweed while dragonflies zipped from their path. Grasshoppers bounced against their legs, leaving dots of brown spit on their clothing. The dogs were in a frenzy behind them, sniffing the ground and bounding at the wire fence of their run, trying to escape and go after the intruder who walked beside their master. Look at this place, Matthews said conversationally. He waved his arm. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the strange things people would say. The delusional ones, the paranoid ones, the depressed ones. The ones who were simply nutsyou know, Collier, the mind isnt an exact science, whatever the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual says. Some people are just plain crazy and thats all you can ever say about them. But I always listened to them. Why, people give themselves away like free samples at a grocery store. Hand themselves to you on platters. And what do they use? Words. Arent words the most astonishing thing? Collier said, You bet they are. There wasnt much time, Matthews reflected. He supposed he had an hour or two until the police arrived. At best it would take Megan two hours to get to the nearest phone. Enough time to finish here, bury Peter, and get to Dulles for a flight to Los Angeles. Or maybe he should just drive west. Hide in the hills of West Virginia. He took a deep breath. Stop here. They were beside a shallow ditch. It would make a fine grave for Collier. And hed decided that hed kill the lawyer with a single shot to his head. No pain, no torment. And he wouldnt let the dogs have the body Out of respect for a worthy adversary. Then the lawyer stunned him by closing his eyes and whispering, Our Father, who art in heaven He slowly completed the Lords Prayer. Matthews laughed then asked, You believe in God? Collier nodded. Why does that surprise you? When Id see you in court it seemed that only the judge and jury were your gods. No, no, I believe He exists. That Hes merciful and Hes just. Just? Matthews asked skeptically. Well, Hes the reason I dont send people to death row anymore.. Do you? Believe in God? Im not sure, Matthews said. You know I always wanted the chance to prove the existence of God in a debate. How would you do that? Matthews asked, truly curious. Resolved: God exists. Isnt that how debates start? Collier looked up at the purple sky You know Voltaire? Not really No. Id make his argument. He said there had to be a God because he couldnt imagine a watch without a watchmaker. Matthews nodded. Yes, I can see that. Thats good. Thats compelling. But, of course, then you run into all of the counterarguments. The con side. Such as? Incompatible religious sects, interpretations of holy scriptures proven wrong later, no empirical proof of miracles, the Crusades, ethical and secular self-interest, terrorism… Thats an uphill battle, all right. No answer for that? Oh, sure. Ive got an answer. Matthews was suddenly fascinated. After Peters death hed prayed every night for six months. He believed that the boy bad answered some of those communiqués. It gave him clues, but not proof, that Peters soul floated nearby. What is it, whats the answer? he asked hungrily. That a watch, Collier answered slowly, no matter how well made, can never comprehend its watchmaker. When we claim to understand God, everything breaks down. If God exists then by definition Hes knowable and soulsyours, mine, Megans, Petersare beyond our understanding. When we create human institutions to represent God theyre inherently wrong so He has to exist apart from our flawed visions of Him. Yes, it makes sense. How simple, how perfect. Youve thought about questions like this, havent you? Because of Peter? Yes. Eyes on Matthewss, Collier said, You miss him so much, dont you? Yes, I do. Matthews stared down at the ground. For all he knew hed stood on this very spot two or three years ago, studying slugs or dung beetles or ants, hour upon hour, wondering how, in their wordless world, they communicated their passions and fears. You can get help, Aaron. Its not too late. Youll be in jail but you can still be content. You can find a doctor to help you, somebody whos as good as you were. Oh, I dont think so. Its too late for that. One thing I learnedyou cant talk somebody out of his nature. Your character is your fate, Collier said. Matthews laughed. Heraclitus. Hed learned the aphorism from one of Colliers closing statements. He lifted the gun toward the lawyer. Then Colliers eyes flickered slightly. You wont turn yourself in? Collier asked. No. Im sorry, the lawyer said. Matthews frowned. What do you mean? Im so sorry. A snap of brush behind him. Matthews spun around. There stood Megan, holding the gun Collier had brought with him. Matthews had left it in the lobby of the hospital and had forgotten about it. The girl was ten feet away and was pointing the black muzzle at Matthewss chest. Matthews laughed to himself. Oh, yes… He understood. Remembered her whispering to Tate before shed walked out of the asylum. Theyd planned this together. Collier would stall himwith his talk of theologyand Megan would pretend to run but would return for the gun. He remembered Collier protesting as theyd hugged. But shed had her way. Maybe she wasnt his blood kin but at the moment she was her fathers daughter. He glanced at her eyes. Drop the gun, she ordered. But he didnt. He wondered, would she go through with it? She was only seventeen and, yes, she had anger in her heartenough to attack him with a knifebut not enough to kill, he believed. Character is fate… He saw compassion, fear and weakness in her eyes. He could stop her, he decided. He could get her to lower the gun long enough to shoot her. Megan, listen to me, he began in a soft voice, gazing into her blue eyes, which were so unlike Colliers. I know what youre thinking. I know what youve been through. But The first bullet tugged at his side, near the knife wound, and he felt a rib snap. He was swinging his gun toward her when another shot struck his shoulder and arm. Collier dropped to his knees, clear of the line of fire. Megan stepped closer. Peter Matthews whispered, struggling to hold on to his pistol. She pushed through the grass until she was only a few feet away. Matthews squeezed the grip of the pistol. Then he looked up into her eyes. Always the eyes… Her gun fired again. And for an instant his vision was filled with a thousand suns. And in his ears was a chorus of noisevoices, perhaps. Peters among them, perhaps. And then there was blackness and silence.

32

The beach at San Cristo del Sol in Belize is one of the finest in Latin America. Even now, in May, the air is torrid but the steady breezes soothe the hordes of tourists during their endless trips from the air-conditioned bars and seafood joints to the pools to the beach and back again. Windsurfing, paragliding, water-skiing and racing Jet Skis keep the surface of the turquoise water perpetually turbulent, and within the bay itself hundreds of snorkiers and resort-course scuba divers engage in their elegantly awkward amphibious ballets. The town is also a well-known staging area for those who wish to see Mayan ruins; there are two beautifully preserved cities within five kilometers of the main drag in San Cristo. The Caribe Inn is the most luxurious of all the hotels in town, a Spanish colonial hacienda that has four stars from Mobil, and accolades from a number of other sources, proudly displayed behind the registration desk at which Tate Collier now stood, hoping fervently that the clerk spoke English. The man did, it turned out, and Tate explained that he had reservations, proffering passports and his American Express card. Thats a party of… ? the clerk queried. Party of two, Ah, the desk clerk responded. Tate filled out the registration card with ungainly strokes. So, you are from Virginia, the clerk said. Near Washington? Si, Tate responded self-consciously, ready for his pronunciation to throw the conversation off kilter if not insult the clerk personally. I have been there several times. I like the Smithsonian especially Si, Tate tried again, forgetting even the words that conveyed some meaningless pleasantrywords hed practiced on the flight. For a man whod made his way in the world by speaking, Tates command of foreign languages was abysmal. He watched the clerk glance down at the reservation form with a momentarily perplexed frown on his dark, handsome face. Tate knew why. The clerk had taken a good look at the attractive woman whod entered the hotel on Tates arm a moment before, and though surely, in this line of work, the clerk had seen just about everything, he couldnt for the life of him figure out why these two would want separate rooms. A man is, after all, a man… And an age difference of twenty years… well, thats nothing. Megan came out of the lobby phone booth and walked to the desk just as the clerk was showing Tate a diagram of the available rooms. Tate pointed to two, first a smaller inside room, then a corner unit with a view of the beach. Ill take this one. My daughterll have the corner room. No, Dad, you take the nice one. Ah, this is your daughter? the clerk said, his curiosity satisfied. Of course, I should have known. Im sorry? Tate asked him. I mean, the resemblance. The young lady takes after you. The mans suspicions crept back when he saw the two guests exchange fast glances and struggle to suppress laughter. Tate thought about pulling out drivers licenses and proving the relationship but then decided: its none of this guys business. Besides, mystery has an appeal that documented fact will always lack. They settled on the rooms and after Tates card was imprinted they followed the bellhop through a veranda. Josh said his new physical therapist is great, Megan told him. Glad to hear it. But the way he put it was he said shes great. Think shes old and fat? Well be back in six days. You can find out for yourself. When do you say de nada again? After somebody thanks you. It means, Its nothing. They say gracias and then I say de nada. Tate repeated the words several times as if he were a walking Berlitz tape. Then I called Bett, Megan continued. Shes glad we got in okay. She said to take lots of pictures. Ill call her later. “She, urn, was going over to Brads tonight. But she said it in a funny way. Like there was something going on. Is anything going on? I dont have a clue. Megan shrugged. She said she talked to Konnie and hes coming to your office on Tuesday at nine to talk about the case. The previous week Tate had made his first appearance in a criminal court in nearly five yearsKonnies arraignment. Hed answered the judges simple query with simpler words. My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor. He had a novel defense planned. It was called induced intoxication, and although hed promised Megan that they would be spending the week doing nothing but seeing the sights and partying hed hidden three law books in his suitcase and suspected the last day of the trip would find him with at least a rough draft of his opening statement to the juryif not a set of deposition questions or two. He knew that as soon as Megan met a handsome young windsurferprobably at the cocktail party that nighthe would have at least a few hours free on most of the evenings. He and Megan arrived at their rooms. Gracias de nada, Tate said, and slipped the confused bellhop an outrageously generous tip. A half hour later theyd showered and were in khaki shorts, T-shirts and wicker hats. Every inch los turistas. They walked down to the lobby and asked about how they might bicycle to the nearest Mayan ruin. The clerk arranged for the bike rental and gave them directions. It was just past the afternoon siesta and most of the guests were headed for the white sand beach. But Tate and Megan snagged two battered bicycles from the rack in front of the inn and started away from town. Which way? she called. He pointed and they mounted up. Despite the opposing foot traffic and the astonishing heat, they cycled fast along the cracked asphalt path straight into the dense, fragrant jungle, standing on the pedals, hollering and laughing, racing each other, as if every moment counted, as if they had many, many hours of missed exploration to make up for.

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