He asked, "Did you think she was going to shoot him?"

Sara felt a lump in her throat, because she had not let herself consider this question up until now. Jenny's back had been to Sara. Only Jeffrey, Lena, and Brad had a clear view of the scene.

"Sara?"

The way Jeffrey was looking at her, Sara knew that now was not the time for equivocation.

"Yes," she answered, making her voice firm. "It was a clean shot, Jeffrey. You had to take it."

Jeffrey walked away from her. He turned and leaned his back against the wall, asking, "Mark is probably the father, right?" He rested his head against the wall. "The boy she was going to shoot?"

Sara put her hands in her pockets, made her feet stay flat on the ground so that she would not walk over to him. She said, "It would make sense."

"His parents won't let us interview him until tomorrow. Did you know that?"

She shook her head slowly side to side. Mark wasn't under suspicion for anything. It wasn't as if Jeffrey could arrest the kid for having a gun pointed at his chest.

"They say he's been through enough." Jeffrey let his head drop down. "What would make her do something like that? What has she been through that would make her think…?" His voice trailed off as he looked back up at Sara. "She was one of yours, right?"

"They moved here about three years ago." Sara paused, trying to shift gears. She knew that it would help Jeffrey more to talk this through like any other case rather than to dwell on the horror of his involvement. At this moment in time, it was irrelevant that this wasn't what she needed.

He asked, "Where from?"

"I think they were from up North somewhere. Her mother moved down here after what sounded like a nasty divorce."

"How do you know this?"

"Parents tell me things." She paused. "I didn't know Jenny was pregnant. I don't think she's been in for at least six months, maybe more." Sara put her hand to her chest. "She was such a sweet kid. I never would have imagined that she'd do something like this."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Tessa's not sure she can I.D. anybody from the restroom. Brad's gonna take over one of the yearbooks from the school, see if anybody looks familiar. I want you to look, too."

"Of course."

"It was so packed," he said, obviously meaning the skating rink. "People left before giving statements. I don't know if we'll be able to track everyone down."

"Did you get anything?"

He shook his head no. "You're sure only two people went into the bathroom? Jenny and one other?"

"That's all I saw," Sara answered, though after tonight she did not know how she could ever be sure of anything again. "I didn't see her. I suppose if she was in my practice I would have recognized her. I guess." Sara stopped, trying to remember, but nothing new popped into her head. "She was tall, maybe wearing a baseball cap."

He looked up at this. "You remember the color?"

"It was dark, Jeffrey," Sara answered, knowing she was letting him down. She understood now why so many witnesses willingly gave false testimony. She felt stupid and useless for not knowing who the other girl was. Her mind tried to compensate for this by throwing out random bits of information that could or could not be real memories.

Sara said, "I'm not even sure if it was a baseball cap, now that I'm thinking about it. I wasn't paying attention." She tried to smile. "I was looking for you."

He did not smile back. Instead, he said, "I talked to her mother."

"What did you say?"

His flippant tone was back. " 'I shot your daughter, Mrs. Weaver. Sorry about that.'"

Sara chewed her bottom lip. In a larger county, Jeffrey would not have been in charge of notification; he would be off the job pending an investigation. Of course, Grant County was far from large. All the responsibility rested squarely on his shoulders.

"She didn't want the autopsy," he said. "I had to explain to her that she didn't really have a choice. She said it was…" He paused. "She said it was killing her twice."

Sara felt guilt settle into the pit of her stomach.

"She called me a baby killer," he said. "I'm a baby killer now."

Sara shook her head no. "You didn't have a choice," she said, knowing this was true. She had made love to this man, shared her life with him. There was no way he had misjudged.

Sara said, "You followed procedure."

He gave a derisive laugh.

"Jeff-"

"You think she would have done it?" he asked again. "I don't think she would have, Sara. I'm thinking back on it, and maybe she would have walked away. Maybe she would have-"

"Look at this," Sara interrupted, indicating the table. "She killed her own child, Jeffrey. Do you think she wouldn't have killed the father, too?"

"We'll never know, will we?"

Silence came like a thick cloud. The morgue was in the basement of the hospital, a tiled room with an institutional feel. The compressor on the freezer was the only noise, and it turned off with a loud click that echoed against the walls.

"Was the baby alive?" Jeffrey asked. "When she was born, was she alive?"

"She wouldn't have survived long without medical help," Sara said, not answering his question. For some reason, she wanted to protect Jenny.

"Was the baby alive?" he repeated.

"She was very small," she said. "I don't think she would have…"

Jeffrey walked back to the table. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he stared at the baby. "I want…" he began. "I want to go home. I want you to go home with me."

"Okay," she answered, hearing his words but not sure she understood what he wanted.

He said, "I want to make love to you."

Sara's eyes must have registered her shock.

"I want to-" He stopped himself midsentence.

Sara stared at him, a sinking feeling in her chest. "You want to make a baby."

The look in his eyes told her this had been the last thing on his mind. Sara felt a flush of humiliation. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she could not speak.

He shook his head, "That's not what I was going to say."

Sara turned away from him, her cheeks burning. She could not think of words to cover what she had already said.

He said, "I know you can't-"

"Forget about it."

"It's just that I-"

She was mad at herself, not Jeffrey, but when she spoke to him, her tone was sharp. "I said forget about it."

Jeffrey waited a few beats, obviously looking for the right thing to say. When he finally spoke, his tone was plaintive and sad. "I want to go back about five hours, okay?" He waited for her to turn around. "I want to be back in that stupid fucking skating rink with you, and when my pager goes off, I want to throw it in the fucking trash."

Sara stared at him, not trusting herself to speak.

"That's what I want, Sara," he repeated. "I wasn't thinking about the other. What you said-"

She stopped him, holding up her hand. There were footsteps on the stairs, two sets of them. Sara walked into her office, drying her eyes as she went. She tugged a Kleenex out of the box on her desk and blew her nose, then counted to a slow five, bracing herself, swallowing back the humiliation she felt.

When she turned around, detective Lena Adams and Brad Stephens were in the morgue, standing by Jeffrey, who by his look had managed to mask his emotions much as Sara had. All three of them had their hands clasped behind their backs the way cops do when they're at a scene so they won't accidentally contaminate anything. In that moment, Sara hated them all, even Brad Stephens, who was as harmless as a fly.

"Hey, Dr. Linton," Brad said, taking off his hat as she walked into the room. His face was paler than usual and there were tears in his eyes.

"Will you…?" Sara began, then had to stop. She cleared her throat. "Will you please go upstairs and get some sheets for me?" she asked. "Bed sheets. About four of them." Sara did not need the sheets, but Brad had been one of her patients. She still felt the need to protect him.