questioning as long as possible. Longer, after he'd scanned the police

photos of little Darren McAvoy.

"Keep this as brief as possible." The doctor stood with Lou outside the

door. "She's been given a mild sedative, but her mind is clear. Maybe

too clear."

"I don't want to make this any harder on her than it already is."

What could, he wondered as the image of the young boy fixed itself in

his mind. "I need to question the girl as well. Is she up to it?"

"She's conscious. I don't know if she'll talk to you. She hasn't

spoken more than two words to anyone but her father."

With a nod, Lou stepped into the room. The woman was sitting up in bed.

Though her eyes were open, they didn't focus on him. She looked very

small and hardly old enough to have had a child, and to have lost one.

She wore a pale blue bed jacket, and the hands lying on the white sheets

were absolutely still.

Beside her Brian sat in a chair, his unshaven face an unhealthy

shade of gray. His eyes looked old, red and puffy from tears and lack

of sleep, clouded with griel When he looked up, Lou saw something else

in them. Fury.

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"The doctor told us you'd be coming." Brian didn't rise or gesture to a

chair. He simply continued to stare. "Do you know who did this?"

"Not yet. I'd like to talk with your wife."

"Bev." Brian laid a hand over hers, but there was no response. "This is

the policeman who's trying to find ... to find out what happened.

I'm sorry," he said, looking back at Lou. "I don't remember your name."

"Kesseiring. Lieutenant Kesselring."

"The lieutenant needs to ask you some questions." She made no move. She

barely breathed. "Bev, please."

Perhaps it was the despair in his voice that reached down deep to where

she had.tried to hide herself. Her hand moved restlessly in his. For a

moment she closed her eyes, held them closed, wishing with all her heart

that she was dead. Then she opened them again and looked straight at

Lou.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything you can tell me about that night."

"My son was dead," she said flatly. "What else matters?"

"Something you tell me could help me find who killed your son, Mrs.

McAvoy."

"Will that bring Darren back to me?"

"No."

"I don't feel anything anymore." She stared at him with huge, tired

eyes. "I don't feel my legs or my arms or my head. When I try to feel

it hurts. So it's best not to try, isn't it?"

"Maybe, for a while." He drew up a chair beside the bed. "But if you

could tell me what you remember from that night?"

She let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. Her monotone

description of the party was similar to her husband's, and to those of

the others Lou had interviewed. Familiar faces, strange faces, people

coming in, going out. Someone on the kitchen phone ordering pizza.