"How about Dan?" Jenna asked. "Did you see his face?"

"Pardon?"

"When you got there, did you see what they did to his face?"

"You mean the bruises? Yeah, I saw them."

"They kicked the crap out of him."

"Who?"

"Dan tried so hard to escape. Wherever he went, the neighbors found out and hounded him. There were phone calls and threats and graffiti and, yes, beatings. It was horrible. He would move and someone would always find him."

"Who beat him this time?" Wendy asked.

Jenna raised her eyes, met Wendy's. "His life was a living hell."

"Are you trying to put that on me?"

"You think you're blameless?"

"I never wanted him beaten."

"No, you just wanted him put in jail."

"Are you expecting me to apologize for that?"

"You're a reporter, Wendy. You don't get to be judge and jury. But once you aired that story, well, you think it mattered that the judge dismissed the charges? Did you think Dan would just be able to go back to his life-to any life?"

"I just reported what happened."

"That's crap, and you know it. You created this story. You set him up."

"Dan Mercer started flirting with an underage girl…" Wendy stopped. No point in rehashing this. The two of them had been here before. This woman, naive as she might be, was in mourning. Let her do it in peace.

"Are we done?" Wendy asked.

"He didn't do it."

Wendy did not bother with a reply.

"I lived with him for four years. I was married to the man."

"And divorced him."

"So?"

Wendy shrugged. "Why?"

"Half the marriages in this country end in divorce."

"Why did yours?"

Jenna shook her head. "What? You think it's because I learned he was a pedophile?"

"Did you?"

"He's the godfather of my daughter. He babysits my kids. They call him Uncle Dan."

"Right. All very special. So why did you two get divorced?"

"It was mutual."

"Uh-huh. Did you fall out of love with him?"

Jenna took her time, mulling that one over. "Not really."

"So? Look, I know that you don't want to admit this, but maybe you sensed something was wrong with him."

"Not like that."

"Like how then?"

"There was a part of Dan I couldn't quite reach. And before you say the obvious, no, it wasn't that he was a sexual deviant. Dan had a tough childhood. He was an orphan, bounced around from foster home to foster home…"

Her voice trailed off. Wendy again skipped the obvious. Orphan. Foster homes. Abuse maybe. Scratch a pedophile's past, you always find something like this in the mix. She waited.

"I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong."

"Why? Because you knew the man so well?"

"Yes. But not just that."

"What then?"

"It was always like… I don't know how to put this. Something happened to him in college. You know he went to Princeton, right?"

"Right."

"Poor orphan, worked hard, managed to go to a big-time Ivy League school."

"Yeah, so?"

Jenna stopped, met her eye.

"What?"

"You owe him."

Wendy said nothing.

"Whatever you think," Jenna said, "whatever may or may not be the truth here, one thing is certain."

"And that is?"

"You got him killed."

Silence.

"Maybe you did more than that. His attorney embarrassed you in court. Dan was going to go free. That must have upset you."

"Don't go there, Jenna."

"Why not? You were angry. You feel the courts got it wrong. You meet with Dan and suddenly, by shocking coincidence, there's Ed Grayson. You have to be involved-an accomplice at the very least. Or maybe you're being set up."

She stopped. Wendy waited. Then: "You're not going to say, 'Just like Dan,' are you?"

Jenna shrugged. "Hell of a coincidence."

"I think it's time for you to leave, Jenna."

"I think you're probably right."

The two women walked to the door. Jenna said, "I have one more question."

"Go ahead."

"Dan told you where he was, right? I mean, that's how you ended up at the trailer park?"

"Right."

"Did you tell Ed Grayson about it?"

"No."

"So how did he end up there-at the exact same time?"

Wendy hesitated before answering. "I don't know. I guess he followed me."

"How would he have known to do that?"

Wendy had no answer. She remembered checking her rearview mirrors too, on those quiet roads. There had been no other cars.

How had Ed Grayson found Dan Mercer?

"See? The most logical answer is, you helped him."

"I didn't."

"Right. And it would suck," Jenna said, "if no one believed you."

She turned and walked away. Her question stayed in the air. Wendy watched her drive off. She started to turn around and head back inside when something made her pull up.

Her car tire. Low on air. Wasn't that what Ed Grayson said?

She ran out to the driveway. The tire was fine. She ducked down and felt alongside the back bumper. Fingerprints, she realized. In her haste, she had forgotten about them. She pulled her hand away, bent down on her haunches, took a look.

Nothing.

No choice really. She lay flat on her back like a classic grease monkey. She had installed motion-sensor lighting in the driveway. It provided enough illumination. She wiggled on the tar surface under the car. Not far. Just a little. And that was when she saw it. It was small, not much bigger than a book of matches. It was held on by a magnet, the same kind of thing people use to keep a spare set of keys hidden. But that's not what this was. It explained a lot.

Ed Grayson had not bent down to check her back tire. He had bent down to stick a magnetic GPS device under her bumper.

"DOES YOUR CLIENT WISH to make a statement?"

Sitting in the interrogation room at the Sussex County Police headquarters with Ed Grayson, an enormous sheriff named Mickey Walker, and a young cop named Tom Stanton, attorney Hester Crimstein replied, "Don't take this the wrong way, but, man, this is fun."

"I'm glad you're amused."

"I am. Really. This arrest is laughable."

"Your client isn't under arrest," Walker said. "We merely want to chat."

"Like something on your social calendar? How nice. Yet you issued search warrants for his home and car, did you not?"

"We did."

Hester nodded. "Good, super. Here, before we get started." She slid a piece of paper and pen across the table.

"What's this?" Walker asked.

"I would like you to write down your names, ranks, office addresses, home addresses, phone numbers, turn-ons, turnoffs, whatever else may help my subpoena server find and thus serve you when we sue for wrongful arrest."

"I just told you. No one is under arrest."

"And I just told you, handsome: Yet you issued search warrants."

"I would think your client would like to make a statement."

"You do?"

"We have a witness who saw your client execute a man," Walker said.

Ed Grayson opened his mouth, but Hester Crimstein put her hand on his forearm, silencing him.

"You don't say."

"A reliable witness."

"And your reliable witness saw my client execute-such an impressive word, by the way, not kill or murder or shoot, but execute-a man?"

"That's correct."

Hester smiled faux sweetly. "Do you mind then if we take it a step at a time, Sheriff?"

"A step at a time."

"Yes. First off, who is the man? The victim of this execution?"

"Dan Mercer."

"The pedophile?"

"Doesn't matter who or what he was. And that particular charge was dropped."

"Well, that last part is true. Your compadres screwed up the case. But never mind. Step by step. First step: You say Dan Mercer was executed."

"Correct."

"So, step one: Show us the body."

Silence.

"Trouble with your hearing, big boy? The body. I would like my medical examiner to examine it."