"I don't have anything."

Andrews laughed. He thought that was great fun to hear me say that. "You've just come back from Hawaii by way of California and Costa Rica, my friend. You've got something."

More evidence that I had been followed. Or somebody had talked. And I had a pretty good idea who it was. I already had seen Roland Andrews's ability to plant women in my life. I finished off my water. "Who you thinking of putting up?"

"You've got two other buddies. I want to ask you about them."

I pressed my back against the refrigerator and let my feet slide out in front of me. "Who?"

"Jimmy Sh.e.l.ley, Alphonse Carbona. I need to know which one's better."

My chest ached. Everything about me ached. "Jimmy's a screwup, like Buzzy. Al, well, I don't see him as being political material."

"Jimmy kept his mouth shut about seeing Buzzy and Marion together, didn't he?"

"Al keeps his mouth shut about everything."

"Still, Jimmy, having seen what he did, never made jokes about it in front of you, did he? Never told anyone else, as far as you know?"

"You're right. What's your slogan going to be? 'He Won't Tell'?"

"You like Alphonse better, huh? As a candidate, I mean."

"Al's married, got a nice wife. Does a good job in court. Talks to juries fine. Just doesn't say much in social situations. Far as I know, he's never been in trouble."

"I see." But it was not clear he did. He seemed to have his heart set on Jimmy.

I shrugged, not really caring. "What do the Macs say?"

"The Macs will do what I tell them. As long as it doesn't interfere with their agenda."

"Which involves building a casino for the Indians in Mashpee."

Roland's head came up rather quickly. "Smart boy," he said. "Who told you that?"

I didn't answer.

"Seriously," he said, "who was it let his mouth flap?"

I said, "McCoppin," for no other reason than he was the one who had turned away from me when I went into Muggsy's that time I was trying to talk to the chief. And that reminded me of something else.

"What's in this for Cello DiMasi?"

"Who says there's anything in it for him?"

"Well, he's a friend of the Macs. If they're plotting to overthrow the D.A., he's got to be aware of it-yet the thing they're going to have the candidate say, that Mitch White protected the Gregorys, couldn't the exact same charge be leveled against the chief?"

"Let me tell you what I've learned about the chief. Except for the fact he's not a native, Cello DiMasi is your quintessential local guy. That's who he identifies with, the blue-collar people who've been here all their lives and all their parents' lives and who took him in when he was a kid playing ball in the summer. Like them, like the people who work on the summer residents' septic tanks and sell them lobsters, he'll do whatever the job requires, then go home and smirk about it with his buddies. But first he does the job that the powers that be want him to do. And if they don't want him going after something, he won't do it."

"But," I insisted, not sure if I was getting an answer, "if Mitch is thrown out, doesn't Cello have to go, too?"

"If we put up a candidate against the sitting D.A. and our candidate wins, the chief will no doubt keep his position by telling everyone Mitch White held him back. Made him put a clown like Iacupucci on the case."

"You said 'if.' "

"What?"

"You said, 'If we put up a candidate.' "

"Well, we may not need to, depending on what it is you've come up with."

"I told you, I haven't come up with anything."

Andrews's chin lifted. He dropped his eyes, wanting mine to follow them, wanting me to look at the floor. To remember I could be there again.

I said, "The whole reason they've promoted me, moved me upstairs next to them, is so they can monitor me, stifle whatever it is I might learn."

"Which is why we probably will need a candidate."

When I didn't speak, he added, "And that's why we want you to feel comfortable with whoever we put up to run against Mitch."

And then I understood. "Because when Mitch doesn't use what I give him, you want me to give it to his opponent, is that it?"

Roland Andrews clapped his hands in reward of my perspicacity.

"And the moment I give it to his opponent, Mitch'll fire my a.s.s."

"I think you'll find that's not going to happen, Georgie."

"Why not? He'd know I was working against him."

"Oh, he'll head you off if he can. But if you turn around and give information to us, I can virtually guarantee you he won't do anything about it. He doesn't want any more spotlight on his relationship with the Gregorys than he absolutely has to have, and he knows that if he fights back the next step is for us to make this personal."

"Personal in what way?"

Andrews laughed. It was not the kind of laugh most human beings use to express mirth. It was more like a puff of air escaping from his lungs. "Ever seen his kid?"

I was not sure I had heard right.

"Look at the kid next time you're wondering how a simple staff attorney on the Senate Judiciary Committee got to be district attorney in the Senator's home district. And if that picture doesn't do it for you, I'll show you a few of Stephanie White when she used to dance at the Gaslight Club in Washington, D.C., where the Senator has been known to take a lunch or two over the years."

IT WAS ALL SET. I WAS TO DO WHAT JOSH DAVID POWELL HAD WANTED me to do all along. I was to do what I had wanted to do ever since I hadn't done it. Absolution from Mr. Powell, redemption for me. Sort of.

We would expose Peter, the Saint of San Francisco, because he deserved to be exposed, because no matter how many lives he was saving now, he had to pay the price for the one he had ruined a dozen years ago, the one he had taken three years after that. He deserved it. He deserved to be punished. Mr. Powell was ent.i.tled to closure. I was ent.i.tled to closure. I would get it, I would move on, leaving heads bobbing in my wake. Peter's. The Senator's. Mitch's.

I thought I might leave Barbara's, too, until she appeared in my office ten days after she had abruptly disappeared. She had her hair brushed long again, the way she'd had it the day she had come to my house. She was more tanned than she was when I had seen her last, but not so tanned as to indicate she had been lying on a beach somewhere.

"Got a minute?" she asked.

I rose to my feet. "Of course."

She came in and shut the door behind her. She was wearing a pale blue blouse over a black silk sleeveless top. You could see through the blouse and I had the feeling she had just put it on for propriety, because she was coming to the workplace and wearing a sleeveless top would not be appropriate, not even a silk one. Her pants were white and clung to her legs and purposely did not reach her ankles. The pants had little zippers at the bottoms. Then there was bare skin. Then black woven sandals that matched her belt. I watched as she walked to a chair in front of my desk.

"May I?" she said, putting her hand on the back of the chair.

I nodded and she sat. She arranged herself gracefully, one leg over the other, and then inclined slightly forward. "We didn't part on such good terms. I'm wondering if you're still mad at me."

I took my own chair. It wasn't as big as Mitch's, but it was leather and it swiveled. "I wasn't mad at you, Barbara."

"Suspicious, then. You doubted me."

I admitted as much by flexing my fingers. Then I shrank into my chair, put my elbows on the arms, and clasped my hands in front of my stomach. I was acting like Mitch did sometimes. I wished I wasn't.

"I was hurt by the things you said. By what you were thinking. That night, the next day, I wanted to come see you, try to make you understand how wrong you were about me. Then I had to ask myself why you should believe me. And so I decided to prove myself to you."

"I heard you went on leave."

"They wouldn't give me a vacation. Not on short notice. So I just said I had a family emergency and I had to go out."

"But you didn't. Have a family emergency, I mean."

She shrugged. "My daughter, Molly, is on a tour of Canada with her soccer team, and my parents, for once, agreed to take Malcolm. So, no, I didn't."

She might as well have thrown boiling water on me. "Malcolm is your son?"

"Whose son did you think he was?"

"I didn't think."

"Why do you suppose I had to take the job I did? Why do you suppose I have to spend so much time dealing with kid problems?"

I probably stammered. If I didn't, I might as well have. Barbara tilted her head and held my eyes while she talked. "I used up a lot of favors this time, George. I told my parents I was going to San Francisco to have it out with Tyler once and for all. To tell him I wanted a divorce. It was the one thing I could say that would get them to help me."

I nodded, because it was what she wanted.

"I got on a plane and flew out there. I found that guy Billy, the one you said knew me. It wasn't hard. He was living on my husband's boat. And"-she hesitated before she brought up an old wound-"of course, I had those explicit directions I had given to you."

I nodded again. It was a conciliatory nod this time.

"I didn't know him, George. In fact, I think, when he found out who I was, I rather scared him."

I could see that happening. I couldn't imagine Billy ran into many women like her at Smitty's bar.

"It took me all of about twenty minutes to get the truth out of him."

The truth. I felt a tingle go up my spine. It made me bristle. She was going to tell me the truth. Something I didn't know. Something I hadn't been able to find out on my own.

"Did you have to buy him a couple of beers?" I asked. I was only partially joking. I was still chagrined by my misreading of the Malcolm situation. And I was uncomfortable because of the intensity with which she was looking at me.

"Sushi," she said. "Over a hundred bucks' worth. We went to a place on Caledonia Street with outdoor tables. Found out later it had a Michelin star. My mistake, I let him order whatever he wanted. By the end of his first tiger roll he had told me that Peter Martin had known you were coming all along."

All along? Since I had questioned Howard in Hawaii? Or since Barbara had suggested it? But all I asked her was, "How?"

"I don't think Billy was in a position to know that, but I can pretty much tell you from everything else I've learned that someone you talked to earlier was in touch with Peter."

She waited while I counted off the possibilities in my mind: Cory, McFetridge, Patty, Howard. Her.

"Only thing was," she said, "n.o.body knew when you might be coming, and Peter was sailing in the Trans.p.a.c, and when I called Tyler to tell him about you, well, I guess Ty saw it as a way to get on the boat. To get into the race itself."

"And you know this because ...?"

"I just know Ty, that's all. He would have done anything to get in a race like that."

"Including lie to you?"

"Oh, like he's never done that before."

Barbara smiled at her own failings, inviting me to smile with her. Barbara Belbonnet. It was hard to see her as a victim.

"Don't ask," she said.

"You want me to believe you."

"What I want is for you to understand what happened." Her voice had suddenly grown taut. Just like that. As though I, somehow, was making things more difficult than they had to be.

I gestured, indicating she should go ahead, that I wasn't going to interfere anymore.

"When I told Ty you were coming, he must have gone to Peter and claimed he was the one you were coming to see."

"Had you told Ty that I wanted to talk to Peter about Heidi Telford's death?"

"Yes, probably. Yes, I did. Yes, and I'm sorry." Barbara Belbonnet wasn't looking so intense anymore. Her eyes were wavering, blurring, and suddenly she was in tears.

It was so unexpected I did not know what to do. For a moment, I fought the urge to get up, go around the desk, take her in my arms. Tell her I was sorry. For everything. I could not hold off beyond a moment.

"No," she said, sticking her hand out, making me stop, sending me back into my chair. "I want to tell you why." The one hand stayed up. The other went to the back of her head so that her elbow was aimed at me and her face was hidden. "I wanted to help you. I wanted to do something for you, George, something only I could do. When Ty asked why I wanted him to set up a meeting between you and Peter I should have made something up, but I didn't. He knew about Heidi. Everyone on the Cape knew about her, and I thought ... I thought ... I don't know what I thought. I thought it would help you get what you want. That's what I'm sorry about, George."

"So Peter got him out of there. Took him on the boat."

The hand stayed behind her head, the elbow stayed pointed. Her hair seemed to be going out in every direction. "Billy told me that when Ty asked him to boat-sit he also told him you would be looking for him. And he said when you got there he was to call a certain number, find out what to do next."