A man and woman stood a few feet apart from one another, staring at the television. It was on Channel 50, the cable version of the local CBS affiliate. Taylor tuned out when she heard her name from the tinny speakers.

“Mr. and Mrs. Edvin?”

They turned and faced her. Both had short blond hair and square black glasses-so similar that Taylor immediately thought them brother and sister rather than husband and wife.

“We have no comment,” the man said, turning his back to Taylor. His arm snaked around his wife, pulling her closer.

“Sir, I’m not a reporter. Lieutenant Jackson, Homicide. I need to speak with you about your son.”

The wife snapped at Taylor. “About what? Your people are the ones who put him in here. He nearly died, and you want us to let you talk to him?”

“Now, now, mijn beste. Juri said he ran, that’s why they chased him. I apologize for my wife, Lieutenant. She is very upset by the incident.” His English was accented, the broad, flat Scandinavian vowels pronounced.

“I’m sorry about that. Juri did run, refused to stop. We had no choice but to send the dog after him. Has he told you why we were chasing him?”

“He says you thought he was someone else,” Mr. Edvin said.

‘That’s not exactly true. He was present at the scene of a homicide. He claims to have been trick-or-treating, but he was miles from home, with no costume.” She had to be careful. The Edvins looked like they were softening, and she didn’t want to lay it on them all at once and lose her chance to speak to the kid without a lawyer telling him to clam up.

“I need to ask him a few questions. If he hasn’t done anything wrong, then it shouldn’t be a big deal, and you’ll receive a full apology from me and from the department.”

“And if he has done something?” Mrs. Edvin^?s accent was stronger than her husband’s. “Will you send him away?”

“That depends, ma’am. Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it? Is Juri a good kid? Has he been giving you any trouble?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, but her eyes were clouded. The edge of her left eye was the tiniest bit yellow-a fading bruise. Taylor glanced at Mr. Edvin. His face was screwed into a frown. She could see the pulse at the base of his jaw jumping. He looked like a rabbit about to bolt, the whites of his eyes showing as he calculated the distance to safety.

So that’s how it was. “I know how hard it can be,” Taylor said softly. “Being afraid of your own son is terrible. Will you tell me more?”

The Edvins’ eyes met, and they seemed to shrink a little bit. They sat down on the closest couch heavily, all of a piece, sudden and breathless.

“We just don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Mrs. Edvin wailed. “He was never like this before. He’s always been such a sweet boy. We move to the United States when he is ten, and he changes. He sneaks out. I find marijuana in his gym bag last year. He is never coming home at night. And now he is seeing some little wijfje who glares at me when she comes over. They go into his room and he blocks the door. When I tried to stop them last week, he hit me. He has not been home since.”

“Did you report him missing?”

They shook their heads. “‘He’s done this before,” Mr. Edvin said. “We think moving back to Finland is a good idea, but he raised such a fuss we must back away. He says he’ll kill us in our sleep before he lets us take him. We lock our door at night, afraid he means to murder us. We don’t know what happened to our boy.”

“Do you know his friend’s name?”

“He calls her Ember. We don’t know her whole name. She brings him the makeup, and they dress like ghouls and run around downtown. We have no more control of him than we do the wind.”

That was as apt a description of a troubled young man as she’d ever heard.

“Will you allow me to question him?” Technically, she didn’t need their permission, but parents usually lawyered up their kids the moment they realized they were in real trouble. She held her breath-she thought she had them, but she never knew. The Edvins looked at one another. She could see the conversation going on in their silent gazes. Finally, Mr. Edvin pulled away from his wife.

“Yes. You may talk to him. We would like to be there, too.”

“Okay. But I may need to ask you to step out if he won’t talk to me with you in the room. Let’s go.”

She led them back to their son’s room. The patrol stood when he saw them barreling down on him. Taylor motioned for him to join them.

“Come in and witness for me, okay?”

The patrol set down his magazine, silent as the grave. She’d met him before, once or twice, a man named Rob, quietly suspicious of his female fellow officers, but efficient and solid. He opened the door for them. Taylor let the Edvins go first.

Juri Edvin’s eyes were open, glazed, but he recognized Taylor. With no place to go, he shrugged and turned his head to face the window. If he saw his parents, he gave no indication at all.

“Juri, we need to talk,” Taylor said, pulling a chair closer to the bed. She was damned tired, and the idea of sitting was most welcome. She hoped it would disarm the boy too, looming over him would remind him of her authority. If they were eye to eye, he might relax a bit. The chair screeched on the linoleum floor, the shriek making a chill run up Taylor’s spine.

“So talk,” Edvin said, still facing away. He sounded groggy, but coherent enough.

“You are quite the little smart-ass, aren’t you? Okay then, I’ll talk. Tell me why they call you Thorn.”

She had him. His eyes popped open, the whites flaring. He started to struggle, quickly realized he had no strength and nowhere to go. He collapsed back against the pillow.

‘So you’re the dealer, huh? I’ve heard all about you. Why’d you kill them, Juri?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, hot tears starting to course down his face. “I have no reason to kill anyone. Mama. Papa. Help me!”

Juri had obviously never heard the tale of the boy who cried wolf. Taylor was impressed by the Edvins-they stood their ground. His father set his shoulders a little straighten “You must tell the lieutenant what she needs to know, Juri. If you have done something wrong, you must answer for it. We’ve always tried to teach you that.”

“Oh, fuck off, you freaks.”

Mrs. Edvin began to cry. Taylor barely resisted the urge to slap the boy. She turned to them.

“Maybe it would be better if we talked without you for now.”

Mr. Edvin met her eyes, bleak and hopeless. “Maybe.”

Juri became incensed. “You can’t just leave me with the cops. What kind of parents are you? You’re supposed to love me, and you throw me to the wolves instead? Thanks a whole hell of a lot.”

Taylor popped out of her chair and grabbed ahold of Mr. Edvin before he could cross the room and strike his son. She propelled them toward the door.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll come find you when we’re done here.”

The two left, the soles of their sneakers the only noise to compete with Juri’s snuffled whimpers.

Taylor took a deep breath, turned back to the bed. She heard a squeak behind her, glanced over her shoulder at the noise.

The door to Juri’s room slid open. A small girl, pale, with wide, liner-blackened eyes, slipped inside, closing it carefully behind her. She glanced back out the door, then whispered, “Thorn, your parents are gone, and the guard left. We can go now.”

She turned and saw Taylor, jumped and screamed. The patrol grabbed her by the arm. She spit and snarled, sank her teeth into his hand. He yelled and let go. The girl took the opportunity to scram, throwing open the door and bolting down the hall toward the stairwell.

Taylor shouted, “Stay here,” to the patrol and took off after her.

The girl was quick, athletic, built like a fireplug, or a gymnast. She was a powerful runner. She made it all the way to the stairwell, threw open the door. She miscalculated- instead of continuing to run, she tried to pull the door closed behind her. Taylor burst through the door, knocking the girl over. She scrambled to her feet and headed down the stairs. She made it down a whole flight before Taylor, longer legs making up precious time, caught her. She grabbed a fistful of the girl’s hair and yanked, drawing her up short like a wild horse. She was breathing heavily, struggling. Taylor clamped another hand down on her shoulder, spun her and slapped cuffs around her wrist.