"You look tired, Tony."

His heavy eyelids drooped over his dark eyes more than usual. The bags under his eyes bulged like overpacked luggage. "Late-night phone call," he explained.

"Ah. Sorry."

"Coffee?" he asked.

"No thanks."

Tony went to a mahogany bureau with a mirrored bar. He had a coffeemaker plugged in on the bar, and he carefully poured from the pot into a black ceramic mug. He ripped open five sugar packets and emptied them into the mug and stirred.

"You want a little coffee with your sugar?" Serena asked.

"I like it sweet."

"Then why drink coffee? Have a Mountain Dew."

Tony sat down again and sipped his coffee. He reached inside his vest and withdrew a silver Cross pen, which he twirled between his fingers. "What do you want to talk about today?"

"Rape fantasies," Serena said.

Tony's face showed no surprise or disapproval. "That's a new topic for you."

"They're not mine."

"Oh?"

"I'm talking about Tanjy Powell."

He frowned. "I see."

"She's missing, you know."

"I know."

"I'd like to help Jonny figure out what happened to her."

Tony's face was pained. "I wish I could help you, but not this time."

"Why not?" Serena thought about it and then said, "Damn, is Tanjy a patient of yours, too?"

Tony sighed. "You know I can't say. But speaking hypothetically, if you were looking for a therapist in this city who specialized in mental issues related to sexual violence, who would you see?"

"I would see you, Tony, no one but you!" Serena gushed. She winked at him.

Tony said nothing at all, and his bearded face stared at her like a sleeping dog.

"As long as we're speaking hypothetically," she continued, "what can you tell me about a woman who fantasizes almost exclusively about rape?"

"That depends on the individual," he said.

"Let's say this woman is otherwise conservative and religious. Is that a contradiction?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Exactly." Serena smiled.

"No, that would be psychologically consistent," Tony said. "Rape fantasies are most common among women who are sexually repressed and have been taught that sex is wrong or a sin. They express themselves sexually through these fantasies because they don't have to feel guilty. The rape aspect removes their control. By being forced to have sex, they can enjoy it."

"That's pretty sick."

"Not really. Many professional women use these fantasies to adopt a submissive role when they have to be powerful and controlling in the rest of their lives. It can be a healthy way to relieve stress." He added, "Given your own background, of course, I understand why you would think this is abnormal."

"I can't believe men are turned on by that kind of woman."

Tony played with his pen and shook his head. "For some men, it's like the virgin and whore rolled into one. These women can be-not always, but can be-sexually explosive. They may also have a needy, vulnerable streak that appeals to some men. I don't need to tell you that men also entertain rape fantasies of their own."

"Okay, okay," Serena said, sighing. "I hear Eric came to see you on Wednesday night. What was that about?"

"Once again, I'd like to talk about it, but I can't."

"But?" Serena asked, sensing that he had more to say.

"But I'd like to get Maggie's permission to talk to the police about Eric's visit."

"Would that help her?"

"Hypothetically again, it might give them a very different idea of why Eric was killed and who killed him. And dispel this nonsense about Maggie killing him herself."

"Is Maggie reluctant to give permission for some reason?"

"Extremely reluctant."

"I'll talk to her," Serena said. "But she's stubborn, you know."

Tony finally smiled. They both knew Maggie.

"How do you feel about all this, Serena?" he asked after a pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Is it stirring up bad memories of your own past?"

Serena settled back into the sofa. She was paying for this hour; she might as well get some benefit out of it for herself. "Yeah. Jonny asked me if I ever had rape fantasies, like Tanjy, and I flew off the handle."

"What were you feeling?"

"I was pissed off. For women like Tanjy, rape is a game. For me, it was a daily ritual in Phoenix for more than a year. Blue Dog did what he wanted to me, because I was basically his slave, and mommie dearest sat there and watched, while she was as high as a kite."

"Does thinking about those experiences bring back feelings of fear? Helplessness?"

Serena thought about her midnight meeting with the blackmailer. "Sure it does."

"How have you dealt with that?"

"I tried the self-soothing technique you suggested. I literally reminded myself that those feelings came from the girl I was, not who I am today."

"Did that help?"

"It did. I was able to manage the fear."

"Good."

"I want to go back to my hypothetical fantasy girl for a minute," Serena said.

Tony was guarded. "Yes?"

"Could a woman like that be prone to violence? If she was in a sexual relationship, and her partner broke it off in a way that humiliated her, could she seek revenge?"

He rubbed his tired eyes. "You're asking me if it's possible Tanjy killed Eric?"

"I guess I am."

Tony pursed his lips and then shook his head. "I think it's unlikely Tanjy killed anyone. I'm sorry. I don't think that's what this is about."

"Do you know why she disappeared?"

"I have no idea. Truly, I don't. Obviously, I hope she's alive and well."

"So do I," Serena said. "Tanjy may be the only one who knows what really happened to Eric."

Sherry studied the fish house dubiously.

It was a wood-and-aluminum box not even as big as a pickup truck. She stood with her boyfriend, Josh, a hundred yards from shore in the midst of a city of dozens of similar shanties. They had walked across the lake, but plenty of people had driven cars and trucks and parked them nearby. She expected to feel the ice give under her feet, or hear the water beating at the surface to get free.

"You're sure this is safe?" she asked.

"There's probably eighteen inches of ice underneath our feet," Josh assured her.

Sherry looked out across Hell's Lake where it broadened into a wide open space beyond the trees. "Why do they have those flags way out there?"

"Well, the ice is thinner out that way," Josh said. "You can have hot spots on any lake. You know, places where the ice isn't safe. You might have underwater currents from a stream, or warm water runoff from somewhere, or simply spots where the ice has thawed and frozen a lot, and so it's got a lot of cracks in it."

"This thing's not going to sink, is it?"

"No way. Not here. I wouldn't drive my dad's Cadillac out where the flags are, but right here, we're fine. Promise."

Sherry rolled her eyes. "Let's get inside."

It was ungodly cold. She wore a white down coat with bubble sleeves, which she hated because it made her look like the Michelin tire man, but it was her only winter coat. She wore it half-zipped and sported a pink turtleneck underneath. She had a fleece band around her head, protecting her ears from the wind, but otherwise, her blond curls blew freely. She wore Guess jeans with her initials in gold spangles on the rear pocket and Uggs that kept her feet and ankles from freezing.

She hadn't adjusted to the Minnesota weather. She was a California girl, born and raised in San Jose, and she had been appalled when her dad took a job as CFO of an airplane manufacturer in Duluth. She was eighteen years old, a senior, and instead of graduating with her friends back home, she was stuck here in the icebox of the nation, trying to fit in among a crowd of teenage rednecks.