With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, O’Connor nodded.

“Yes. And you said she could handle tougher assignments than the ones we were giving her, and let me see, now… what was it?” He faked concentration, then opened his eyes wide. “Oh yes! How could I have forgotten?”

“How indeed,” O’Connor murmured.

“Yes, this was one of my favorites-you said that ‘the next time Kelly stumbles onto something big’-that was a little insulting to her, wasn’t it, Conn? Stumbled? But you said that if she stumbled onto something big, we ought to let her run with it. Well, Conn, she has stumbled onto something huge.”

O’Connor leaned over and picked up the box.

“Put it down,” Wrigley said. When O’Connor hesitated, he said in a gentler tone, “If you don’t mind listening to me for a few more moments, put it down, please.”

O’Connor set it back on Wrigley’s desk.

“Despite all that lecturing, you want me to give you the story she’s working on now. Is that it, Conn?”

“You know how hard I’ve tried to find out what happened that night. How hard, all those years ago, I looked for some sign of that car. Prayed I’d find it. Two decades, Win.”

“Yes, I do. And if I doubted there was a God, this alone would restore my faith, Conn. Because not only has it been found but the green reporter I’ve kept hoping you’d take under your wing was right there when it was discovered.”

“Proof of the devil, more like.” He frowned. “I think I’ve just heard an echo, though. Have you been talking to Helen Swan?”

“So what if I have? She’s an old and dear friend of mine.”

“Look, it’s my own fault, I admit it, but-Kelly won’t have a thing to do with me.”

“I wonder if that’s true.”

“It’s true. She can’t stand me, and lately…”

“You can’t stand yourself.”

O’Connor looked away.

“I’ll give you a choice,” Wrigley said after a moment. “You go out to the site and ask for her permission to involve you in this one-or wait until she comes back and let me ask for you.”

“Win-”

“Take it or leave it, Conn.”

O’Connor stood. “I’ll be on my way to talk to her, then.”

Wrigley smiled. “Don’t forget your box.”

“I haven’t, Win. Not for a long time.”

She was talking to Lefebvre.

That alone was nearly enough to send him back to the car. It had taken him months to establish rapport with Lefebvre, who was an ace detective, but known as a loner in the department and not overly fond of the media. And Lefebvre was smiling at her. Jesus. She didn’t need his help.

Here he was, overly warm in his suit, his shoes and trousers covered with dirt from hiking in the long way, holding a cardboard box under one arm- looking like a peddler, and for what? To tell her that Jack had seen the car buried? Might as well leave her a note.

He was about to turn back when she saw him. Lefebvre saw him, too. Lefebvre’s smile quickly went to a frown.

He watched her face, could swear that for just a moment she looked dismayed-maybe even hurt? No, that couldn’t be. And then she was smiling and beckoning to him.

A brave sort of smile. Lefebvre, far from a fool, was looking between them now.

O’Connor thought about the box, about Jack, and put on one of his own brave smiles as he trudged forward in the soft dusty earth to where they stood.

“Phil,” Irene said, “you must already know the best reporter on the Express. O’Connor will be taking over from here. Thanks for everything.”

“Wait!” O’Connor and Lefebvre protested in unison. (Had she, some part of O’Connor’s mind wondered, really called Lefebvre Phil?)

“I’m not taking over a thing,” O’Connor said. “It’s your story. I’m just here to ask if I might be of help.”

Lefebvre was looking at the box. “Why are you carrying a box with the word ‘jerk’ written on it?”

“It doesn’t say ‘jerk,’” Irene said. “It says ‘Jack,’ right?”

“Yes, but I think you’re the first person to read it correctly.”

“All right,” Lefebvre said, “why are you carrying a box with the name ‘Jack’ written on it?”

“Because, Detective Lefebvre, on behalf of a fellow named Jack, I’ve been looking for that buried car for twenty years.”

B RIAN O’MALLEY LET US BORROW HIS OFFICE. THE CONSTRUCTION TRAILER was roomy, but the tension between O’Connor and Lefebvre seemed to shrink it.

O’Connor set his dusty cardboard box down next to me, but instead of sitting, he leaned against the dark paneling on one of the office walls. I was itching to open up the box and have a look through its contents.

Lefebvre relaxed a little when we agreed that anything he told us about the scene-anything I hadn’t seen myself-would, for the time being, be off the record.

“What did you see?” O’Connor asked me.

I described the remains. O’Connor’s face lost all color about halfway through my account. When I said the couple appeared to be in evening clothes of some sort, his attention suddenly sharpened. When I added that I thought I had seen a few diamonds on the floor of the trunk, he suddenly sat down on the other side of the box and buried his face in his hands.

I stopped talking and looked at Phil Lefebvre.

Lefebvre looked at me, then back to O’Connor.

“You know who they are,” Lefebvre said.

O’Connor nodded. Without raising his head, he said in a strained voice, “Lillian Vanderveer Linworth’s daughter, Katy. Katy Ducane and her husband, Todd. My God…”

“They drowned twenty years ago,” I said, baffled. “That’s what Kyle said, anyway.”

“Kyle?” Lefebvre asked.

“Kyle Yeager. He’s called Max Ducane now,” I said quickly, seeing O’Connor look up and afraid that we were going to end up arguing about Kyle.

“Ah, yes,” Lefebvre said. “The new multimillionaire. I’ve read the stories in the Express about the… missing heir. As I recall, the bodies of the Ducanes- the younger Ducanes-were never found, right?”

“Not until now,” O’Connor said, his voice still unsteady.

“You’re so sure?”

So O’Connor told us the story of the night Corrigan saw the car buried, of going through the murder scene at the Ducanes’ mansion with Detective Norton, and learning that Lillian had given Katy the Vanderveer diamonds that night. Of finding a body in a swamp, and another in the mountains. “Eventually Dan Norton admitted that even if the Ducanes drowned by accident-which I never believed-Jack’s beating was connected to the disappearance of the child and the murder of the maid.”

“You were bothered by something other than the timing?” Lefebvre asked.

“Yes, because we were able to connect Bo Jergenson, the giant, with Gus Ronden, whose body we found in the mountains. And when Norton and his men looked through Ronden’s house here in Las Piernas, they found blood on clothes in his laundry hamper that matched the blood type of Rose Hannon, the murdered maid. And he found the knife Ronden presumably used.”

“But since Ronden also ended up murdered,” Lefebvre said, “Norton wasn’t able to track down others who might have been involved?”

“We had some theories, we both followed every lead we could-to nothing but a dead end.”

“Norton is retired now,” Lefebvre said, “but I’ll get in touch with him about this.” He hesitated, then added, “I truly appreciate the help you’ve given us today. The remains may or may not be those of the Ducanes, but at least we will have a starting place to try a comparison of dental records and so on. That alone may save us a great many hours.”

I wondered if O’Connor was going to pressure him for a return favor, but O’Connor waited in silence, and I followed his lead.

Lefebvre smiled, almost in appreciation, I thought. Then he said, “I can tell you something more, but I must stress that it is not yet for publication- I would caution you against mentioning it to anyone, especially Mrs. Linworth.”