"Well," Benjamin said, "Hugh and I went way back. Our families knew each other, and we grew up in the same neighborhood in Atlanta." He paused. "I've had a lifelong interest in literature, so I guess you could also say I'm an admirer of Hugh's work as well as an old friend."

"So you were a frequent visitor at Hugh's home, a familiar figure to Aidan?" I asked.

Another beat of silence. "Not really. Hugh and I were quite close in younger years, but he lived up north as an adult, and I inherited the farm and went home to work it. We really didn't see each other as adults." He antic.i.p.ated my follow-up question. "Largely, I think Hugh thought of me to take in Aidan, and I agreed to do it, because I have a sizable farm and no one to help with it. Hugh was struggling to raise five children on his own; I had none. It seemed like an imbalance easily fixed. Hugh also sent money for Aidan's needs: school clothes and so on."

"Did Hugh pay for room and board?" I asked.

"No, I thought in light of the help Aidan would be to me, that wasn't necessary." He cleared his throat. "I should point out that the ch.o.r.es I asked of Aidan weren't excessive. I was careful to give him time for his homework and such socializing as he wanted to do, which wasn't much."

"Right," I said. "On Hugh's end, do you know what motivated him to send Aidan away?"

"He was raising five children on his own," said Benjamin. "I think it was terribly difficult for him. You know, Deputy Fredericks didn't get into such personal detail during our talks."

"We all have different ways of approaching the job," I said, beginning to sketch on the pad on my desk. "Aidan ran away before," I said. "Tell me about that."

Benjamin cleared his throat. "That happened early on," he said. "I think it's not an uncommon reaction for children who've just been sent to live someplace new. They run away, because they don't think two or more steps ahead. They simply think that if they can physically reach their old home, everything will be fine. The idea seems to be, 'If I can get home, they'll keep me.' Aidan seemed to feel the same."

"But he was sent back?"

"Yes."

"Did Aidan try to run away again?" I asked. "Before this last time?"

"No," Benjamin said. "No, after he came back from Minnesota, he settled in here. Our relationship wasn't close, but it was cordial. If you've called hoping to find out about some fight or a watershed event that caused Aidan to run away, there simply wasn't one."

My sketch had turned into a winding highway. After Pete Benjamin and I hung up, I added a gesture of a walking figure in the distance, at the roadside, but beyond that I didn't know what to add. A city skyline ahead? An ocean and sunset? A prison?

From the official data banks I had access to, I'd learned that Aidan Hennessy had never been arrested, not even on a curfew violation or another of the "youth status offenses" that carry no penalty but would have identified him as a runaway and dumped him into the juvenile-services system.

That meant one of a couple of things. One, Aidan Hennessy was the rare runaway who was working and keeping himself alive without breaking the law at all. Two, he was keeping himself fed through the usual street crimes that runaways fall into, but was smart and lucky and hadn't yet been arrested. Three, he was living off a woman.

Four, he was dead. For Marlinchen's sake, that was a prospect I didn't want to consider.

Before I left that day, I went to see Prewitt. It had taken a while, but I'd finally realized what it meant when Van Noord had told me I should keep my cell or pager on, so people knew where I was. that day, I went to see Prewitt. It had taken a while, but I'd finally realized what it meant when Van Noord had told me I should keep my cell or pager on, so people knew where I was.

He was in conversation with a Fish and Wildlife officer when I came around, but he'd seen me standing outside his doorway.

"Come in, Detective Pribek," Prewitt said, as the Fish and Wildlife man exited. "I didn't expect to see you today. What's on your mind."

"I wanted to apologize for the other day, when I had my phone off the hook," I said, moving to stand just inside the doorway. "I had an ear infection; you know that, right?"

"Of course," he said. "You're better today, I hope."

"Yes, I am," I said. Then, uncomfortably, I went on. "Lieutenant, when you sent Detective Van Noord by my house, was that about Gray Diaz?"

I was hoping he would be puzzled, and say, No, of course not. No, of course not.

"Yes," he said.

So much for hopes.

"I didn't check your personnel records, but you're known for never taking sick leave," Prewitt said. "Then Gray Diaz comes in to talk to you about your involvement in the death of Royce Stewart, and you come out looking ashen, tell Van Noord you're sick, and leave. The next day you can't be reached." He let the words sink in. "It didn't look very good; you can see that, can't you?"

"You really thought I'd left town?" I said.

"I simply wanted your whereabouts confirmed," he said mildly. "Bear in mind, Pribek, you have not been charged with anything, and until you are charged or indicted, your status here will remain unaffected. n.o.body's suggested any kind of leave for you."

"I know that," I said.

"What I'm suggesting is that if n.o.body around here is talking about Gray Diaz's investigation, maybe you shouldn't be the first to bring it up," he said.

"I haven't," I said.

"On the contrary, you just walked into my office and mentioned it. I didn't come to you," he said. "About my decision to send Van Noord to your house: I was mildly troubled by a state of affairs, I acted on it, I satisfied my curiosity. That was the end of it, as far as I was concerned."

"I didn't mean to question your judgment, but I need to say one thing. I am not going to sneak out of town in the middle of the night," I said. "No, what I'm really trying to say is something else." I swallowed. "I did not kill Royce Stewart."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that," Prewitt said blandly. "Is there anything else?"

"No," I said. I had a little tremor in my chest from how bluntly I'd just spoken.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

At the door, I paused and turned back. "There is one other thing," I said. "That unlicensed physician you asked me to look into? I've checked with my informants, and I haven't been able to track it to a source." My voice was very casual. "I really don't think there's anything to it."

Last year, after his accident in Blue Earth, my husband had been missing for seven days. I'd exhausted my professional knowledge of missing-persons work in looking for him. I'd traveled and spoken to his family. Furthermore, as his wife, I'd had full access to Shiloh's accounts, his papers, his home. None of it had made any difference. It was as if he'd simply been erased. after his accident in Blue Earth, my husband had been missing for seven days. I'd exhausted my professional knowledge of missing-persons work in looking for him. I'd traveled and spoken to his family. Furthermore, as his wife, I'd had full access to Shiloh's accounts, his papers, his home. None of it had made any difference. It was as if he'd simply been erased.

With Aidan Hennessy, I was in the opposite situation. He should have been easy as h.e.l.l to find. Aidan was an underage runaway, not a fugitive. The longer he spent on the road, the more likely it should have been that he'd be arrested for vagrancy or petty theft. He simply shouldn't have been this hard to find.

Yet I'd spent three days working the various law-enforcement databases I had access to, and none of it was helping. Deputy Fredericks had e-mailed me Aidan's last school-yearbook photo, but that didn't count as an advance. Unless Aidan Hennessy fell into a drainage ca.n.a.l someplace near where I just happened to be, I didn't think I was going to find him.

It was that frustration that drove me backward, on my next day off, to the elementary school where all the Hennessy children had received their early education, and which Donal still attended.

Marlinchen had mentioned her fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Hansen, in a brief phone conversation we'd had earlier that morning. Hansen had taught both Marlinchen and Aidan, although not in the same year, because Aidan had been held back to repeat the fourth grade. By my calculations, that made her the last teacher in Minnesota to be familiar with Aidan Hennessy, and the one most likely to remember him.

The school didn't look impressive, given the relative wealth of the neighborhood it was in. It was an a.s.sortment of one-story redbrick buildings. Children swarmed around the play structures in the yard; it was their lunch recess.

On her lunch break, Mrs. Hansen was grading papers in her cla.s.sroom. I stepped inside and immediately felt like a giantess as I walked up through the low desks toward the larger one where Mrs. Hansen sat. She was full-breasted for a woman otherwise slightly built- I gauged her at about five-one- and wore gla.s.ses on a gold chain over her off-white sh.e.l.l sweater. Her blond hair was shoulder-length, cut in a flattering way close around the face. Only by looking closely could you see she was nearing 50.

"Can I help you?" Hansen said.

"I hope so," I said. "My name is Sarah Pribek. I'm a detective, and I wanted to talk to you about a runaway I'm looking for." I laid Marlinchen's old photo of Aidan on her desk.

Hansen took the photo and raised her eyebrows, then furrowed them in a slightly exaggerated show of scrutiny. "Oh, my goodness, yes," she said. "Aidan Hennessy. His little brother Donal might have been one of my students last year, but he went to Ms. Campbell instead." She frowned. "Aidan had a sister, too. I taught her the year before. They were..." Then she broke off.

"They were supposed to advance to your cla.s.s together," I finished for her. "They're twins, but he was held back a year. You're not revealing anything the family didn't share with me."

She nodded affirmation. "That's correct. What was the girl's name, again? Something unusual."

"Marlinchen," I said.

"He and his sister would be in high school now, correct?"

"She is," I said. "He's been a runaway for six months."

"Oh, my," Hansen said. "That's too bad." She exaggerated her facial expressions, like adults who deal with the young often do, but the feeling underneath seemed genuine.

"You liked him?"

"Yes, I did," she said. "A sweet boy. Not a lot of self-confidence. Didn't raise his hand or volunteer answers." Then she seemed to realign herself behind the desk, as for a formal Q and A with me. "I don't know how much I can help you. He was my student some time ago. Five years."

There was no place for me to sit. In nearly every other situation, a person with a desk has a chair on the other side for visitors. Not so with schoolteachers. I leaned back against the nearest student desk and immediately thought better of it as it began to slide away from my weight.

"He's been living out of state for those five years," I told her. "You're the last teacher in this district who would have taught him. I'm just curious about what you remember."

Hansen frowned apologetically. "Not very much," she said. "Aidan stands out in my memory mostly because of that missing finger. I used to see it whenever he was writing at his desk, and it always gave me a little bit of a turn."

"You must remember something more," I encouraged her. "You said you liked him."

Hansen played with the gla.s.ses on her chain. "Sometimes you get a"- she waffled a hand in the air-"a feeling from students. Aidan seemed old beyond his years, but that might have been because he was older than his cla.s.smates, at least when I had him. And taller." She paused, thinking. "But he seemed ill at ease sometimes, uncomfortable around adults."

"Do you know why?" I asked.

"He wasn't the ablest of students; often that erodes children's self-esteem, particularly in front of grown-ups, who kids see as authority figures who judge them on cla.s.sroom achievements." She paused. "Aidan seemed more at ease on the playground. He was athletic and confident."

"Did he get into fights?" I asked.

Hansen smiled. "Yes, he did. Aidan was very protective of his sister and two younger brothers. Particularly the one who was bookish."

"Liam," I said.

"Yes, Liam. He was a mark for bullies. Aidan crossed paths with some of them." She paused. "I should say that Aidan probably fought on his own behalf, too; he wasn't a saint. But he wasn't... I don't remember him as hostile. I find it impossible to like the bullies, and I liked Aidan."

I nodded. "Were there behavior problems beyond fighting?"

She considered. "He didn't always do his homework."

"He'd forget?" I asked.

Hansen shook her head. "I think he just couldn't grasp some of the material," she said. "As I said, he wasn't the best of students."

"Neither was I," I said, smiling wryly. "Thanks for your time."

After work, I drove out to the Hennessy house. Marlinchen was out front when I arrived, standing astride a bicycle. She waved when she heard me approach. I drove out to the Hennessy house. Marlinchen was out front when I arrived, standing astride a bicycle. She waved when she heard me approach.

I wasn't a connoisseur of bicycles, but hers was lovely: a frame painted in a metallic-tangerine color, narrow tires for speed, and drop handlebars mounted upside down, so that they curved back like ram's horns. The effect was ruined only by a pair of bulging saddlebags, one on each side of the front wheel, making the bike look like a racing Thoroughbred pressed into packhorse duty.

"Hi," Marlinchen said. "I just got back from the store." The color in her cheeks was high but healthy, and there was a sheen of sweat on her face.

"You know," I told her, "the way you have those handlebars mounted may look s.e.xy, but you're not going to feel so good when the end of one of them is embedded in your kidney after an accident."

Marlinchen made a little face at me. "Don't be such a cop," she said. "Did you know that a lot of bike messengers don't even have brakes on their rides anymore?"

My first thought was, Cool. Cool. But I kept my disapproving look in place, saying instead, "That's their problem. If I were you, I'd go to wherever you get this bike worked on and have the handlebars turned back around." But I kept my disapproving look in place, saying instead, "That's their problem. If I were you, I'd go to wherever you get this bike worked on and have the handlebars turned back around."

"I work on it myself," she said, sitting on her heels to unload one of the saddlebags. "Taking it to the shop is expensive, and Dad's useless with tools." She set a white plastic grocery bag on the ground, then crossed to the other saddlebag.

"So you took the handlebars off, disconnected and reconnected the brakes, and everything?"

A flicker of sadness crossed her face. "Aidan and I did the handlebars together," she said. "Just before he left." She picked up the grocery bags.

"That's why I'm here," I said. "I wanted to bring you up to date on Aidan. There's not much new," I added hastily, "but I'd like to talk about some things."

I followed her inside and to the kitchen, where she set the groceries on the counter. "Want to go on the back porch?" Marlinchen asked. "It's nice out."

It was a pleasantly crisp day, with recent rains having cleared all the humidity out of the air. Somewhere a power mower droned, and dandelion and cottonwood fluff rode the breezes.

"I have something for you," I said, and took out the photo of Aidan I'd printed from my e-mail, handing it across the wooden picnic table.

"Oh, my G.o.d," Marlinchen said. She took the piece of paper from me by the edges, as though it might break. "You were right. He does look different."

In the photo, Aidan's face had gained some adult length of bone and thinned a bit; the main difference between this Aidan and the 11-year-old was that this one had hair pulled back, out of sight, suggesting length.

"Where did you get this?" she said.

"It wasn't great detective work," I told her. "It's a yearbook photo, that's all."

But I wanted to have a picture of her brother before her while we talked. It would remind her what this whole thing was about.

"I haven't learned much," I said. "I've talked to Deputy Fredericks and Pete Benjamin, and done what I can, but I've been kind of hobbled."

"Because of the distance involved and the jurisdictional lines," Marlinchen said.

"Partly," I agreed, "but there are other problems, closer to home."

"Like what?"

"The question I keep coming back to," I said, "is why Aidan was sent away in the first place."

Marlinchen shifted her weight. "It was an arrangement of convenience," she said. "Dad just had his hands too full."

"So you've said," I told her. "So has Colm. And Liam. You're all in agreement on this. Perfectly Perfectly in agreement, as if you'd discussed it in advance." in agreement, as if you'd discussed it in advance."