“You ask her about the Project,” he said softly. “You see what she says.”

“What is the ‘Project’?”

He shook his head.

“Ask her, then come back to me. Maybe y’ought to talk to her ex-husband too, while you’re about it.”

I didn’t even know that Rebecca Clay had been married. I was only aware that she hadn’t married the father of her child. Some investigator I was.

“Why would I do that?”

“A husband and wife, they share things. Secret things. You talk to him, and it could be you’ll spare me the trouble of talking to him myself. I’ll be around. You won’t have to come looking for me, because I’ll find you. You got two days to make her tell me what she knows, then I lose my patience with y’all.”

I gestured at his wounded hand.

“It seems to me like you lost your patience once already.”

He looked at the bandaged limb and stretched the fingers, as if testing the pain in the wounds.

“That was a mistake,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to strike out like that. I’m being sorely tested by her, but I don’t mean to do her harm.”

Maybe he believed that was true, but I didn’t. There was a rage inside Merrick. It pulsed redly, animating his eyes and keeping every muscle and sinew in his body taut with barely suppressed emotion. Merrick might not mean to hurt a woman, might not set out to do it, but the blood on his hand said all that needed to be said about his capacity to control his impulses.

“I lost my temper, is all,” he continued. “I need her to tell me what she knows. It’s important to me.” He drew on his cigarette again. “And since we’re getting all friendly here, you didn’t give me your name.”

“It’s Parker.”

“What are you, a private cop?”

“You want to see my license?”

“No, a piece of paper won’t tell me nothing that I don’t already know. I don’t want trouble from you, sir. I’ve come here with business to conduct, business of a personal nature. Maybe you can make that little lady see reason so I can conclude it and be on my way. I hope so, I surely do, because if you can’t, then you’re no good to either of us. You’ll just be in my path, and I might have to do something about that.”

He still had not looked at me again. His eyes were fixed on a small photograph that hung from the rearview mirror. It was a picture of a girl with dark hair, perhaps Jenna Clay’s age or a little older, the image encased in plastic to protect it. A cheap crucifix dangled beside it.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Nice-looking kid. How old is she?”

He didn’t reply, but I had clearly struck a nerve. This time, though, there was no anger, just a kind of disengagement.

“If you told me something of why you’re here, then maybe I could help you,” I persisted.

“Like I told you, sir, my business is personal.”

“Then I guess we’ve nothing left to discuss,” I said. “But you need to stay away from my client.” The warning sounded hollow and unnecessary. Somehow, the balance had shifted.

“I won’t trouble her no more, least of all, not until you talk to me again.” He reached down for the ignition key, no longer intimidated by the gun, if he had ever really been in the first place. “But here’s two warnings for you in return. The first is that when you start asking about the Project, you’d best keep a keen eye in your head because the others are going to hear about it, and they won’t like it that people are looking into it. They won’t like it one little bit.”

“What others?”

The engine sputtered into life.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

“And the second warning?”

He raised his left hand and clenched it into a fist, so that the tattoo stood out starkly against the white of his knuckle.

“Don’t interfere. You do, and I’ll leave you for dead. Mark me now, boy.”

He pulled away from the curb, the exhaust pumping thick blue smoke into the clear fall air. Before it was entirely engulfed by fumes, I caught a glimpse of his license plate.

Merrick. Now, I thought, we’ll see what we can find out about you in the next two days.

I walked back to the bookstore. Rebecca Clay was seated in a corner, flicking through an old magazine.

“Did you find him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She flinched. “What happened?”

“We talked, and he went away. For now.”

“What does that mean, ‘for now’? I hired you to get rid of him, to make him leave me alone permanently. Are you saying he’s going to come back?”

Her voice was steadily rising, but there was a tremor beneath it. I walked her from the store.

“Ms. Clay,” I said, “I told you that a warning might not be enough. This man has agreed to stay away from you until I make some inquiries. I don’t know enough about him to trust him entirely, so I’d suggest that, for the moment, we continue to take every precaution. I have people whom I can call, so there will always be someone watching over you while I try to find out more about him, if that will make you rest any easier.”

“Fine. I think I’ll send Jenna away for a while, though, until this is all over.”

“That’s a good idea. Does the name ‘ Merrick ’ mean anything to you, Ms. Clay?”

We had reached her car.

“No, I don’t believe so,” she said.

“That’s our friend’s name, or that’s what he told me. He had a photograph of a little girl in his car. It might have been his daughter. I was wondering if she was one of your father’s patients, assuming she shared his surname.”

“My father didn’t discuss his patients with me. I mean, not by name. If she was referred to him by the state, then there might be a record of her somewhere, I guess, but you’ll have trouble getting anyone to confirm it. It would be breach of confidentiality.”

“What about your father’s patient records?”

“My father’s files were placed with the court after his disappearance. I remember that there was an attempt to get a court order authorizing some of his colleagues to examine them, but it failed. Access can only be obtained through an in camera review, and they’re rare. The judges have been reluctant to grant them, in order to protect the privacy of the patients.”

It seemed time to broach the subject of her father and the accusations made against him.

“This is a difficult question for me to ask, Ms. Clay,” I began.

She waited. She knew what was coming, but she wanted to hear me say it aloud.

“Do you believe that your father abused the children in his care?”

“No,” she said firmly. “My father didn’t abuse any of those children.”

“Do you think he enabled others to do so, perhaps by feeding them information about the identities and whereabouts of vulnerable patients?”

“My father was devoted to his work. When they stopped sending children to him for evaluation, it was because it was felt that he was no longer sufficiently objective. His inclination was to believe the children from the outset, and that was what got him into trouble. He knew what adults were capable of doing.”

“Did your father have many close friends?”

Her brow furrowed.

“A few. There were some professional colleagues too, although most didn’t stay in touch after he disappeared. They wanted to put as much distance as possible between my father and themselves. I didn’t blame them.”

“I’d like you to make a list: business associates; college buddies; people from the old neighborhood; anyone with whom he maintained regular contact.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I get home.”

“By the way, you didn’t tell me that you were once married.”

She looked surprised. “How did you find out?”

“ Merrick told me.”

“Jesus. It didn’t seem important to tell you. It didn’t last long. I don’t see him anymore.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jerry. Jerry Legere.”

“And he isn’t Jenna’s father?”

“No.”

“Where would I find him?”