When she asked for breakfast, Graham brought it in.

Which way to go? Sometimes it was easier for them if you were impersonal. With Reba McClane, he didn't think so.

He told her who he was.

"Do you know him?" she asked the policewoman.

Graham passed the officer his credentials. She didn't need them.

"I know he's a federal officer, Miss McClane."

She told him everything, finally. All about her time with Francis Dolarhyde. Her throat was sore, and she stopped frequently to suck cracked ice.

He asked her the unpleasant questions and she took him through it, once waving him out the door while the policewoman held the basin to catch her breakfast.

She was pale and her face was scrubbed and shiny when he came back into the room.

He asked the last of it and closed his notebook.

"I won't put you through this again," he said, "but I'd like to come back by. Just to say hi and see how you're doing."

"How could you help it? – a charmer like me."

For the first time he saw tears and realized where it ate her.

"Would you excuse us for a minute, officer?" Graham said. He took Reba's hand.

"Look here. There was plenty wrong with Dolarhyde, but there's nothing wrong with you. You said he was kind and thoughtful to you. I believe it. That's what you brought out in him. At the end, he couldn't kill you and he couldn't watch you die. People who study this kind of thing say he was trying to stop. Why? Because you helped him. That probably saved some lives. You didn't draw a freak. You drew a man with a freak on his back. Nothing wrong with you, kid. If you let yourself believe there is, you're a sap. I'm coming back to see you in a day or so. I have to look at cops all the time, and I need relief – try to do something about your hair there.”

She shook her head and waved him toward the door. Maybe she grinned a little, he couldn’t be sure.

Graham called Molly from the St. Louis FBI office. Willy's grandfather answered the telephone.

"It's Will Graham, Mama," he said. "Hello, Mr. Graham."

Willy's grandparents always called him "Mr. Graham."

"Mama said he killed himself. She was looking at Donahue and they broke in with it. Damn lucky thing. Saved you fellows a lot of trouble catching him. Saves us taxpayers footing any more bills for this thing too. Was he really white?"

"Yes sir. Blond. Looked Scandinavian."

Willy's grandparents were Scandinavian.

"May I speak to Molly, please?"

"Are you going back down to Florida now?"

"Soon. Is Molly there?"

"Mama, he wants to speak to Molly. She's in the bathroom, Mr. Graham. My grandboy's eating breakfast again. Been out riding in that good air. You ought to see that little booger eat. I bet he's gained ten pounds. Here she is."

"Hello."

"Hi, hotshot."

"Good news, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"I was out in the garden. Mamamma came out and told me when she saw it on TV. When did you find out?"

"Late last night."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Mamamma was probably asleep."

"No, she was watching Johnny Carson. I can't tell you, Will. I'm so glad you didn't have to catch him."

"I'll be here a little longer."

"Four or five days?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe not that long. I want to see you, kid."

"I want to see you too, when you get through with everything you need to do."

"Today's Wednesday. By Friday I ought to-"

"Will, Mamamma has all Willy's uncles and aunts coming down from Seattle next week, and-"

"Fuck Mamamma. What is this 'Mamamma' anyway?"

"When Willy was real little, he couldn't say-"

"Come home with me."

"Will, I've waited for you. They never get to see Willy and a few more days-"

"Come yourself. Leave Willy there, and your ex-mother-in-law can stick him on a plane next week. Tell you what – let's stop in New Orleans. There's a place called-"

"I don't think so. I've been working – just part-time – at this western store in town, and I have to give them a little notice."

"What's wrong, Molly?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong… I got so sad, Will. You know I came up here after Willy's father died." She always said "Willy's father" as though it were an office. She never used his name. "And we were all together – I got myself together, I got calm. I've gotten myself together now, too, and I-"

"Small difference: I'm not dead."

"Don't be that way."

"What way? Don't be what way?"

"You're mad."

Graham closed his eyes for a moment.

"Hello."

"I'm not mad, Molly. You do what you want to. I'll call you when things wind up here."

"You could come up here."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? There's plenty of room. Mamamma would-"

"Molly, they don't like me and you know why. Every time they look at me, I remind them."

"That's not fair and it's not true either."

Graham was very tired.

"Okay. They're full of shit and they make me sick – try that one."

"Don't say that."

"They want the boy. Maybe they like you all right, probably they do, if they ever think about it. But they want the boy and they'll take you. They don't want me and I could care less. I want you. In Florida. Willy too, when he gets tired of his pony."

"You'll feel better when you get some sleep."

"I doubt it. Look, I'll call you when I know something here."

"Sure." She hung up.

"Ape shit," Graham said. "Ape shit."

Crawford stuck his head in the door. "Did I hear you say 'ape shit'?"

"You did."

"Well, cheer up. Aynesworth called in from the site. He has something for you. He said we ought to come on out, he's got some static from the locals."

Aynesworth was pouring ashes carefully into new paint cans when Graham and Crawford got to the black ruin where Dolarhyde's house had stood.

He was covered with soot and a large blister puffed under his ear. Special Agent Janowitz from Explosives was working down in the cellar.

A tall sack of a man fidgeted beside a dusty Oldsmobile in the drive. He intercepted Crawford and Graham as they crossed the yard.

"Are you Crawford?"

"That's right."

"I'm Robert L. Dulaney. I'm the coroner and this is my jurisdiction." He showed them his card. It said "Vote for Robert L. Dulaney."

Crawford waited.

"Your man here has some evidence that should have been turned over to me. He's kept me waiting for nearly an hour."

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Dulaney. He was following my instructions. Why don't you have a seat in your car and I'll clear this up.

Dulaney started after them.

Crawford turned around. "You'll excuse us, Mr. Dulaney. Have a seat in your car."

Section Chief Aynesworth was grinning, his teeth white in his sooty face. He had been sieving ashes all morning.

"As section chief, it gives me great pleasure-"

"To pull your prong, we all know that," Janowitz said, climbing from the black tangle of the cellar.

"Silence in the ranks, Indian Janowitz. Fetch the items of interest." He tossed Janowitz a set of car keys.

From the trunk of an FBI sedan Janowitz brought a long cardboard box. A shotgun, the stock burned off and barrels twisted by the heat, was wired to the bottom of the box. A smaller box contained a blackened automatic pistol.

"The pistol came out better," Aynesworth said. "Ballistics may be able to make a match with it. Come on, Janowitz, get to it."

Aynesworth took three plastic freezer bags from him.

"Front and center, Graham." For a moment the humor left Aynesworth's face. This was a hunter's ritual, like smearing Graham's forehead with blood.