But even Wilston was changing. Yes, the old signs of liberalism were there: the tofu sweet shop, the migrant-friendly coffeehouse, the lesbian bookstore, the shop with the black lightbulbs and the pot paraphernalia, the clothing store that sold only ponchos. But the franchises were sneaking in quietly, slowly eating away at the gray stone corners: Dunkin' Donuts, Angelo's Sub Shop, Baskin-Robbins, Seattle Coffee.

Myron started softly singing “Time in New England.”

Win looked at him. “You realize, of course, that I'm well armed.”

“Hey, you're the one who got the song stuck in my head.”

They sped through town-with Win driving, you only sped-and arrived at the Hamlet Motel, a quasi-dump on Route 9 hovering on the town's edge. A sign advertised FREE HBO! and the ice machine was so large you could see it from your average space station. Myron checked his watch. Less than two hours to get here. Win parked the Jag.

“I don't get it,” Myron said. “Why would Clu stay here?”

“Free HBO?”

“More likely because he could pay in cash. That's why we didn't see anything about this on his credit cards. But why wouldn't he want anyone to know he was here?”

“Such good questions,” Win said. “Perhaps you should go inside and see if you can find some of the answers.”

They both stepped out of the car. Win noticed a restaurant next door. “I'll try there,” he said. “You take the desk clerk.”

Myron nodded. The desk clerk, definitely a college kid on break, sat behind the counter and stared straight ahead at nothing. He could have looked more bored, but only if a qualified physician induced a coma. Myron took a glance around and spotted the computer terminal. This was a good thing.

“Hello?”

The kid's eyes slid toward Myron. “Yeah?”

“This computer. It keeps track of outgoing calls, right? Even local ones.”

The kid's eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”

“I need to see records for all outgoing guest calls from the tenth and eleventh of this month.”

That got the kid to his feet. “You a cop? Let me see your badge.”

“I'm not a cop.”

“Then-”

“I'll pay you five hundred dollars for the information.” No sense in playing around here, Myron thought. “No one will ever know.”

The kid hesitated but not for long. “Hell, even if I get canned, that's more money than I clear in a month. What dates did you need?”

Myron told him. The kid punched a few buttons. The printer started cranking. It all fitted on one sheet. Myron handed the kid the money. The kid handed him the sheet. Myron quickly scanned the list.

Instant bingo.

He spotted the long-distance call to FJ's office. It had come from room 117. Myron looked for other calls made from the same room. Clu had called his answering machine at home twice. Okay, good, fine. Now how about something more local? No reason to come up here just to make long-distance calls.

Bingo again.

Room 117. The first call on the list. A local number. Myron's heart started pumping, his breath growing shallow. He was close now. So close. He walked outside. The driveway was gravel. He kicked it around a bit. He took out his phone and was about to dial the number. No. That might be a mistake. He should learn all he could first. If he called, he might tip someone off. Of course, he didn't know whom he'd tip off or how they'd be tipped off or what they'd be tipped off about. But he didn't want to screw up now. He had the phone number. Big Cyndi at the office would have a reverse directory. These were easy to come by now. Any software store sold CD-ROMs that had the entire country's phone books on them or you could visit www.infospace.com on the Web. You plug in a number, it tells you who the number belongs to and where they live. More progress.

He called Big Cyndi.

“I was just about to call you, Mr. Bolitar.”

“Oh?”

“I have Hester Crimstein on the line. She says that she urgently needs to talk to you.”

“Okay, put her through in a sec. Big Cyndi?”

“Yes.”

“About what you said yesterday. About people staring. I'm sorry if-”

“No pity, Mr. Bolitar. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Please don't change a thing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“Put Hester Crimstein through,” he said. “And while I'm on the line, do you know where Esperanza keeps the reverse phone directory CDs?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to look up a number for me.” He read it off to her. She repeated it. Then she put Hester Crimstein through.

“Where are you?” the attorney barked at him.

“Why do you care?”

Hester was not pleased. “God damn it, Myron, stop acting like a child. Where are you?”

“None of your business.”

“You're not helping.”

“What do you want, Hester?”

“You're on a cell phone, right?”

“Right.”

“Then we don't know if the line is safe,” she said. “We have to meet right away. I'll be in my office.”

“No can do.”

“Look, do you want to help Esperanza or not?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Then get your ass in here, pronto,” Hester said. “We got a problem, and I think you can help.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Not on the phone. I'll be waiting for you.”

“It'll take me some time,” Myron said.

Silence.

“Why will it take some time, Myron?”

“It just will.”

“It's almost noon,” she said. “When can I expect you?”

“Not until at least six.”

“That's too late.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “Myrpn, get here now. Esperanza wants to see you.”

Myron's heart did a little flip. “I thought she was in jail.”

“I just got her released. It's hush-hush. Get your ass over here, Myron. Get over here now.”

Myron and Win stood in the Hamlet Motel parking lot.

“What do you make of it?” Win asked.

“I don't like it,” Myron said.

“How so?”

“Why is Hester Crimstein so desperate to see me all of a sudden? She's been trying to get rid of me from the moment I returned. Now I'm the answer to a problem?”

“It is bizarre,” Win agreed.

“And not only that, I don't like this whole hush-hush release for Esperanza.”

“It happens.”

“Sure, it happens. But if it did, why hasn't Esperanza called me? Why is Hester making the call for her?”

“Why indeed?”

Myron thought about it. “Do you think she's involved in all this?”

“I cannot imagine how,” Win said. Then: “Except that she may have spoken to Bonnie Haid.”

“So?”

“So then she may have deduced that we are in Wil-ston.”

“And now she urgently wants us to return,” Myron said.

“Yes.”

“So she's trying to get us out of Wilston.”

“It is a possibility,” Win said.

“So what is she afraid we'll find?”

Win shrugged. “She's Esperanza's advocate.”

“So something detrimental to Esperanza.”

“Logical,” Win said.

A couple in their eighties stumbled out of one of the motel rooms. The old man had his arm around the woman's shoulder. They both looked postsex. At noon. Nice to see. Myron and Win watched them in silence.

“I pushed too hard last time,” Myron said.

Win did not reply.

“You warned me. You told me I didn't keep my eye on the prize. But I didn't listen.”

Win still said nothing.

“Am I doing the same now?”

“You are not good at letting things go,” Win said.

“That's not an answer.”

Win frowned. “I'm not some holy wise man on the mount,” he said. “I don't have all the answers.”

“I want to know what you think.”

Win squinted, though the sun was pretty much gone by now. “Last time, you lost sight of your goal,” he said. “Do you know what your goal is this time?”

Myron thought about it. “Freeing Esperanza,” he said. “And finding the truth.”

Win smiled. “And if those two are mutually contradictory?”

“Then I bury the truth.”

Win nodded. “You seem to have a good handle on the goal.”