"Point taken." Kimberly hesitated. It was silly to say what she was going to say next. But then, she felt that she must. Day One, she thought. My sister is gone, my mother is dead, and I am learning to question everything. Her gaze went to the window, now robbed of the light of day. Outside, a car backfired, sounding like a gunshot on the crowded streets.

"Dr. Andrews," she said quietly. "If anything should happen, can you tell my father something for me? Tell him the last person I saw this evening was a newly hired instructor at my gun club. Tell him I met a man named Doug James."

William Zane's Office,Virginia

"I want a name."

"Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of AA; we don't give out that kind of information."

"Fine. Screw the name; it's probably just an alias anyway. I want a description."

"And one more time, anonymity is the spiritual foundation of AA. We don't give out that kind of information."

"Mr. Zane, this is a homicide investigation. You give me information now, quietly, or to the police later as part of an official investigation that will be reported to the press. Now, do you want to provide one man's description as a private exchange between you and me, or do you want word to get out that some psychopathic killer is using AA meetings to select his victims?"

William Zane, president of Mandy's AA chapter, finally hesitated. He was a big guy. Six one, two hundred and forty pounds. He wore a suit that screamed investment banker and carried himself in a way that suggested he was accustomed to people doing exactly what he said. Rainie figured he had at least three ex-wives and one helluva cocaine habit somewhere in his past. In theory, he was clean now and did an impeccable job of running the AA meetings. Someday, she'd be sure to send him a Hallmark card congratulating him on being such a nicely reformed human being. At the moment, however, she simply wanted the name and description of Amanda's "friend" at the AA meetings.

It was six P.M. Thursday, nearly twelve hours until departure to the relative safety of Portland, and for no good reason, Rainie was increasingly worried about Kimberly. In other words, she didn't feel like dicking around.

William Zane sighed. He'd agreed to see Rainie upon hearing that Amanda Quincys car accident had been reopened as a murder investigation. Now, he clearly regretted that decision. He got up from his chair in his posh office, moved his impressively clad bulk to the door and shut it firmly.

"You have to understand what you're asking," he said. "The key to AA's effectiveness is its simple operating principle – we provide confidential support to anyone willing to stop drinking. We aren't beholden to the courts, or to the police, or to anyone. We're an equal-opportunity support organization. And for a lot of people, we're the only lifeline they've got."

"Amanda doesn't need a lifeline anymore."

"You're not asking about Amanda. You're asking about current members."

It was Rainie's turn to sigh. "Here's the kicker, Mr. Zane. I'm a member of AA. I confess that I wouldn't have walked into my first meeting if it hadn't been anonymous and I wouldn't have continued to attend meetings after I became a police officer if it hadn't been anonymous. So as a matter of fact, I see your point. But this man murdered Amanda Quincy. He set up a scenario that sent her face crashing into a windshield at thirty-five miles per hour. And then there's what he did to her mother. Would you like to see the crime-scene photos?"

"No, no, no, no." Mr. Zane shook his lily-white hands emphatically and managed to go another shade of pale. To the image of the three ex-wives, Rainie added the picture of him pacing outside the delivery room with a box of Cuban cigars. She wondered if he ever did manage to change a diaper.

"I'm looking for a killer, Mr. Zane," she pressed. "You want to be a lifeline, be a lifeline for the other women who are doomed to die unless you help me stop this guy. Be a lifeline for the future victims. Because at this moment, you're the only chance of finding this guy that I've got."

"Perhaps," Mr. Zane said finally. "Off the record. Way off the record – "

"Deal. Sit, Mr. Zane; let's talk."

Mr. Zane sat behind his big desk. She got out her notebook.

"Do you remember Amanda Quincy?" Rainie asked.

"Yes, she joined our meetings nearly a year and a half ago."

"Did she have a sponsor?"

"She had a sponsor. I don't see the need to give out his name unless absolutely necessary."

"Yeah, and here's a photo of what happens to the human skull when it hits the rim of a windshield – "

"Larry Tanz," Mr. Zane said. "Nice guy."

"How did Amanda know Larry Tanz?"

"He owned the restaurant where she worked. Larry's been an AA member for ten years and has sponsored a fair amount of his staff in that time." Mr. Zane slid her a look. "It's amazing how many bartenders are drunks. And then there're the cooks…"

Rainie rolled her eyes, then jotted down a quick note. Larry Tanz, manager where Mandy used to work, which meant by definition, manager where Mary Olsen used to work. Interesting.

"Did Mandy and Mr. Tanz seem to have any other kind of relationship? You know, beyond the sponsor-sponsee kind of thing?"

"Our chapter suggests that people wait at least a year before dating," Mr. Zane said promptly. "As I'm sure you know, quitting cold turkey is very hard. You don't want to risk the additional stress of having a serious relationship end – it might send even the strongest person back to the bottle. We don't recommend dating until the initiate celebrates his or her one-year anniversary."

"Sounds romantic. So was Mandy fucking Larry or what?"

Mr. Zane said stiffly, "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"One, Larry is a good guy. And two, while he felt sad and disappointed by Amanda's accident – perhaps even guilty – I wouldn't call him crushed. Her death was tragic, but certainly not deeply personal for him."

"How nice for Larry. What about someone else? Someone she might have befriended at the meetings?"

"She befriended lots of people – "

"New members who may have joined around the time she did who seemed like particularly close friends."

Mr. Zane hesitated. Rainie stared at him. He picked up a laser-etched paperweight, a souvenir from some exotic vacation. She stared harder.

"Well, there was one guy…"

"Name."

"Ben. Ben Zikka."

"Description."

"I don't know. Older. Late forties or early fifties, I would say. Not tall, five ten, maybe. Thinning brown hair. Soft around the middle. Not good taste in suits – definitely off the rack." Mr. Zane ran a hand down his own tailored jacket with authority. "I think he said he was a police officer or something like that. I could believe he'd eaten a lot of doughnuts."

Rainie scowled, then began chewing on her lower lip. This wasn't what she'd expected. "Older, kind of frumpy-looking guy? You're sure he was with Mandy?"

"Fairly sure. They started leaving the meetings together. At one point, I noticed they now came in the same car."

"And we're talking about the same Amanda Quincy, right? Twenty-three, slender, blond hair, big blue eyes? If the star quarterback hadn't dated her in high school, it wasn't from lack of trying."

"She was pretty," Mr. Zane said with more enthusiasm.

Rainie was getting a headache. "You're sure Zikka and Amanda were an item?"

"I don't know. You asked about new members she'd befriended. He was the new member she'd befriended. To tell you the truth, however, he only came the first few months. Then he stopped coming. She showed up a few more times, but each time was farther apart. Larry Tanz was going to call her about it, when she had the accident."