"It's hard," Kendall said from the backseat. "He's rusty."

"He's not as rusty as you think, young lady," Deena said. "Now hush."

Justin accepted her words with a pleased raise of his eyebrows, then he said, "Okay, from what I've read, yes, he sounds like the absolute poster boy for guilt."

"So he killed her."

"Probably."

"Not definitely?"

"When you're working homicide there are two separate and distinct points of view you constantly have to juggle. The first is that people who commit crimes really do incredibly stupid things. It's why we catch them. Every single time you think, 'Well, this guy isn't really going to leave a shirt with the victim's blood lying around in his laundry for us to find' or 'He can't possibly have buried the gun someplace as obvious as his front yard,' and almost every time he does. Most killers either panic or just plain screw up. I'll tell you the most amazing thing criminals do: They can't resist playing around with their own names. If someone's on the run and he checks into a hotel? Well, if his name's Paul Davis, when he checks in he'll use one of three variations. He'll keep the same first name and a different last name, usually the same initial, though. He'll use Paul Dillon or something like that. Or else he'll use a different first name but keep both initials. Phil Dillon. Or else he'll come up with some kind of rhyming scheme or pun. Saul Mavis. I swear. You find ninety percent of the people you're looking for that way. Some of them want to get caught, some of them don't know how to avoid it. But then there's the flip side. Sometimes things are too easy, they fit too perfectly. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. But occasionally it's something that someone else wants you to think think is a cigar." is a cigar."

"So you're weaseling out of your answer, is that right?"

"My answer is the guy's a politician. So the odds are he's total sc.u.m and did what everybody thinks he did. But there's also a chance that he's just the unluckiest guy in the world, in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Like us?"

"There you go. A perfect example."

"Am I unlucky too, Mom?" Kendall asked.

"G.o.d, you have big ears," Justin said.

"The biggest," Deena said. "And no, Dumbo," she told her daughter, "you're the luckiest child on the planet because you've got me as your mom."

"I agree," Justin chimed in.

"Yuck," Kendall said. "Yuck and double yuck."

"I guess I have to agree with that, too," Justin said.

Gary Jenkins watched as AD Rollins came into the police station, stopped just long enough to look over at him, a thin smirk lingering on his lips, then kept walking into Chief Jimmy Leggett's office. Gary's stomach clenched when, just a few minutes later, he heard Leggett call him into the office. He stood quickly, cracked his knuckles, and walked to the back of the police station. When he stepped through the office door, Agent Rollins was seated, his legs stretched out casually before him.

"Sit down, Gary," the chief said and indicated which chair the young officer should sit in. Leggett remained standing.

When Gary settled into the seat, Rollins spoke. There was no urgency or anger in his voice. His words sounded as casual as his posture. "Let me get right to the point, Officer Jenkins," he said. "I've been tracking the calls that have been coming in and out of this office. And I know you've received several calls from Justin Westwood."

Gary had a little difficulty swallowing the saliva in his throat, but he forced it to go down and decided he was better off keeping quiet than saying anything.

"As a result of those calls, I got a tap on your office line. I also tapped your home phone, so I know you've called and spoken to Westwood."

Gary decided he was definitely better off keeping quiet.

"Would you like to hear a tape of your conversation at 6:03 this morning, Officer Jenkins? Or do you remember the substance?"

Unfortunately, it was time to speak. "I remember, sir."

"Westwood asked you to get him some information, is that right?"

"Yes sir."

"Phone records."

"Yes sir."

"Are you going to keep yessing me to death, Officer, or are you going to explain to me what happened?"

"You know what happened, sir, if you listened to the conversation."

"I want to hear your explanation."

"Westwood called me early this morning. Woke me up. He asked me to get him a list of the incoming and outgoing calls for a woman named Helen Roag."

"And why would he do that?"

"Because I got him similar information before."

"What info?"

"When this all started to happen. Before you even got here. I got him phone records for a business in Connecticut called Growth Industries."

Rollins nodded, as if that settled something in his mind. Then he said, "Did you get him the records for Helen Roag?"

"No sir."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a criminal, and I didn't think it would be right."

"Are you bulls.h.i.tting me, son?"

"No sir. I told him I'd do it because I didn't want to upset him. But I had no intention of getting him any more records."

"Why didn't you report this to me or to Chief Leggett?"

Gary hesitated. "Because Westwood's a friend of mine, sir."

"Is that right? Chief Leggett says you never got along with him. Isn't that what you said, Chief?"

"That's right," Jimmy Leggett said. "He and Brian, they never got along with Jay."

"That is right, sir," Gary said to Rollins. "But that was before I knew all the stuff about Westwood and his wife and daughter. I never would have picked on him the way I did if I'd known what had happened. When I heard, it made me feel sorry for him."

"What happened in the past is totally irrelevant," Rollins said. "Justin Westwood's a murderer."

"I don't believe that," Gary said. "He may have done some stupid stuff, but I don't think he really killed anybody."

"I don't care what you believe. I'm telling you what I know. And what your chief now knows."

Gary looked over at Leggett, who took a long time before nodding. "Agent Rollins has told me things," Leggett said to the young police officer. "Things I doubt he's going tell you."

"And you believe Westwood killed that guy in Connecticut?"

Leggett looked over at Rollins. It was Rollins who answered. "It's worse than that, son. We think Westwood is involved in Maura Greer's murder. And we think he probably killed your friend Brian."

"I was there before he was."

"But he's the one who told you to go there. How else would he know that Brian was dead?"

Gary didn't say anything for quite a while. Then he whispered, "That son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Are you sure you haven't sent him the phone records he asked for?" Rollins said now.

"I haven't even requested them," Gary said. "If you don't believe me, you can check your taps. I have my cell phone here too, sir. You can check every recent call I've made on that. The last call was a callback to that son of a b.i.t.c.h. Right after he called me early this morning. It's the motel where he was staying. Maybe he's still there and the number'll help you track him down. If you heard that first conversation, you'll remember that he said it was a bad connection. He thought it was from my end so he asked if I had a different phone to call him back. That's why I used the cell."

"What was said during that second conversation?"

"It only lasted a few seconds. He made sure I had copied down exactly what he wanted to know, then he told me that he'd get back in touch with me and tell me where and how to send it."

"But you've done nothing?"

"I haven't gotten him what he wanted and I wasn't going to. And I'm sure as h.e.l.l not going to do it now. That lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He let me feel sorry for him."

Rollins stared at Gary, held his gaze for several long seconds. "I believe you," the FBI agent said. "Thank you." As Gary turned to leave, Rollins said, "We're going to leave the tap on your home phone, son. In case Westwood calls again. If you hear from him in any way, I want you to let me or your chief know instantly. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Gary turned to Leggett. "Jimmy, do you mind if I take a quick walk? I'd like to get some air. I'm pretty angry about the way that c.o.c.ksucker tried to use me. I'd really like to walk it off."

"Go ahead," Leggett said.

"Are you sure about Brian?" Gary asked sadly.

"We're fairly sure," Leggett said. And added, "I'm sorry about all this."

"I'll be back in a little bit," Gary told him, and walked, stiff and angry, out of the police station.

Gary walked at a fast pace, heading straight for the photo store at the end of Main Street by the bay. When he stepped into the store, the owner, an overweight, slow-moving woman named Jayne, waved her large hand in a familiar greeting.

"Jayne," he said, "did that fax I asked to be sent here arrive yet?"

"Not yet," she told him. "When it does, just put it in an envelope and hold it. Don't call me, okay? Don't call the station and don't call me at home. I'll come by and pick it up."

"Sounds mysterious," she said, "but you're the customer so you must always be right."

"Can I make a call?" Gary asked. "It's to a cell phone. I don't think it counts as long distance but if it does, just keep track of the bill and I'll pay you back."

She didn't say a word, just handed him the phone and went into the back storeroom. Gary dialed. The phone on the other end rang twice before someone answered.

"Yup?" Justin Westwood said into the receiver of his cell phone.

"You were right," Gary told him. "They tapped my phones. And you were right about the other stuff, too. I guess you're not paranoid after all."

"What else am I supposed to have done?"

"They said you killed Brian."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised."

"Well, this'll surprise you. They're tying you to the Maura Greer thing."

"What?"

"I swear."

"Why? I mean, I never even met her!"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're gonna have you working with the politician, what's-his-name. ..."

"Manwaring."

"Yeah. That's the one."

"When Rollins was doing his spiel, did you handle it the way I told you?"

"Yeah. He totally bought the stuff about the phone records."

"I'm sure he's checking it out now to see if you lied. No other problems?"

"Uh-uh. I even improvised a little."

"What'd you do?"

"I called you a c.o.c.ksucker."

"Great. Sounds like an Oscar winner. Where are you calling from?"

"Don't worry. The photo store. It's safe."

"You get the stuff I want?"

"Not yet. What the h.e.l.l do you think I am, a magician? My brother's working on it."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah. You said you wanted a hacker. He's fifteen years old-he can hack his way into anything."

"Your little brother is my hacker? Gary, we're going up against the FBI here."