"Then, if you wanna know how it ends, poor Matty pulls you over for speeding, probably, knowing the kind of a guy he was, he's worried about you, going fast on a rainy night." Duffy flinched, his fresh grief evident. "You're afraid he's gonna search your car, or you think he might want to talk about Barbara Saunders, so you shoot him, too."

"That's crazy!" Nat exploded. She had to fight back. "If I had shot Trooper Shorney, why wouldn't I have driven away? Why would I have run into a field?" Next to Nat, Brooke was putting his pen and legal pad away.

"To get rid of the gun. Like David says, you're smart, too smart to drive around with a gun that would incriminate you."

"But look at me, I'm so muddy, I'm a mess," Nat countered vainly. Brooke took his topcoat from the chair, placed it carefully over his arm, and reached for Nat.

Duffy continued, louder, "If you just threw it out of the car, it Wouldn't go far enough. You fell. You're no country girl. We didn't send the ballistics tests yet, but it was a.22 that killed Matty and injured Barbara Saunders. My bet is that it's the same gun, and if we find it in that field, we'll know whose it is. Yours."

Nat felt blood drain from her face. Brooke hoisted her to her feet. She couldn't believe this was happening. Duffy seemed convinced she should be charged. He had developed a reasonable theory, composed of undisputed circumstantial evidence, which also happened to be completely, horribly, wrong.

The trooper rose to his feet, still talking. "You were driving pretty damn fast when we caught you. A motorist called us when she drove by and saw Matty's body. She had to go to a house to call, she didn't have a cell. If we hadn't gotten that call when we did, you'd be home right now."

"Ed, cool it." Mundy rose, too, his dark eyes troubled.

Brooke held up a stiff hand. "If you are not charging my client, that's the end of this interview. I'm taking my client home. I believe I gave you both my card. Please call me directly if you have further questions."

But Nat had an idea. "Do you have a lie detector here? Can I take it?"

"We do have one," Mundy said, but Brooke cut him off.

"No, that's enough for one night. If she and I decide that it's in her best interest to take a polygraph, then we'll return when she has had a good night's sleep and a shower."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Mundy.

"When will she get her car back?" Brooke asked.

Nat forced herself to think practically. "And my purse?"

"The purse is evidence. The car's been impounded, and we'll get it back to you when we can."

"You're keeping my car? My wallet? My cell?"

"And your clothes," Duffy added, gesturing at her clothes. "Well need them for evidence."

"But what do I wear out of here?" Nat said.

Brooke put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "My daughter's a swimmer at school, and my trunk is usually full of her stuff. I'm sure there're some clothes in there."

Nat looked from Duffy to Mundy and felt a terrifying chill. She was crossing a line, from person to person of interest. It wasn't much farther to suspect. She thought of what she'd learned and written about the history of justice. That it was more often the history of injustice. Men had justified human slavery, mass internment, and even capital punishment of the innocent, all in the name of the law. No one knew better than a legal scholar that justice was man-made, and because it was human, it erred. Cops made mistakes, as did judges, juries, and even the Supreme Court. Duffy was making a mistake, and taking Mundy with him.

And ultimately, Nat.

Nat felt almost numb as she was administered a gunshot residue test by a forensic technician, then changed into a red-and-black sweatsuit that Brooke got for her, which read, Germantown Academy. She handed over her clothes and watched as they were carefully placed in plastic evidence bags and labeled, then she was escorted out to the barracks' waiting room. Brooke rose from a plastic chair across from the vending machines and crossed to her with a smile.

"Much better!" he said. "Clean clothes, and they fit perfectly."

"Thanks, Dad."

"That's my girl." Brooke leaned closer, so the troopers watching on the other side of the bulletproof glass couldn't hear. "There's lots of press outside, waiting in the parking lot. We have no comment, understand? Are we on the same page this time?"

"Yes."

"Good. Here, wear this." Brooke slid his topcoat off of his arm and placed it over her shoulders. "Thanks," Nat said, touched.

He chucked her under the chin. "Keep this up. Head high. You have to look like a law professor, not a common criminal. The pictures they take will be seen by your jury pool."

"Jury pool?" Nat practically wailed, then caught herself. She had to get her act together. She pushed her wet hair back, twisted it into a knot, and tucked it in the collar of the coat.

"Here. Wipe your face, too." Brooke slid a monogrammed handkerchief from his tux pocket, and Nat gave her cheeks a quick swipe, then handed it back.

"Thanks. Ready for my close-up," she said. Brooke smiled grimly as he slipped an arm around her and they walked to the door and opened it together into the cold rain. A barrage of camera flashes exploded from a throng of reporters that surged toward them, shouting questions.

"Professor Greco! Look over here!”

“Professor Greco, is it true you were at the Saunders's house tonight?”

“Professor Greco! Did you know Trooper Shorney prior to the stop tonight?”

“Can you confirm that the murder weapon was found in your car? We saw it being impounded!”

“Come on, give us a statement, Ms. Greco! Are you a suspect?"

"We have no comment!" Brooke raised a warning hand as he powered Nat through the parking lot, and Nat lowered her head, but it wasn't against the rain. She felt unaccountably ashamed as they hurried along. She wanted to answer their questions but she couldn't. She wanted to explain everything but she wouldn't. She had to let their charges go without contradiction, and she knew her silence would be held against her. She had never understood the presumption of innocence until now.

When the world was about to decide her guilt.

Nat sat in the passenger seat of Brooke's Mercedes coupe, his coat wrapped around her like a cashmere cocoon. They drove silently through the dark suburbs, and she tried to process what had happened. It felt unreal. Trooper Shorney, shot dead. She wondered if he had a family. She thought about Barb's condition, too, but it wasn't appropriate to call local hospitals about her, or her sister or mother tomorrow. Could they really believe she had had something to do with Barb's shooting? The thought sickened her.

Brooke asked, "Do you mind if I put on the news?"

Yes. "No."

Brooke switched on the radio, and KYW came on. The lead story was the Sixers game, the thunderstorm, then breaking news. The announcer said, "Natalie Greco, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, is being questioned by the Pennsylvania State Police in connection with the shooting death of Trooper Matthew Shorney, during a routine traffic stop. Police officials are saying that Greco is a person of interest in connection with the slaying, and in addition, with the attempted murder of Barbara Saunders of Pocopson. whom Greco had visited before the traffic stop."

Nat's mouth went dry. She'd never heard her own name on the radio, much less in a police report, in the same sentence as "shooting death" or "attempted murder." She tuned out the next report, looking out of the car window at the lights of the split-levels, refracted crazily in the droplets. She shuddered at the shame shed brought on the law school. She thought of Vice Dean McConnell, then of her students. Would they believe she had had something to do with the shooting, too? Would she still have a job after this? What about tenure? Her life was spinning apart, unraveling like a rope under tension.