"The sequence of the tape used on the mother is completely out of whack," he was saying.

"This piece here should have been first. Instead, it was last. And since this one was torn from the roll second, it should have been used second instead of fifth.

"The little girl, on the other hand, was taped in sequence. Seven pieces were used, and they went around her wrists in the order they were torn from the roll."

"She would have been easier to control," Wesley remarked.

"One would think so," I said, and then I asked Richards, "Did you find any of the varnish-type residue on the tape recovered from her body?"

"No," he replied.

"That's interesting," I said, and the detail bothered me. We saved the dirty streaks on the tape for last. They had been identified as hydrocarbons, which is just a highbrow name for grease. So this didn't guide us a bit one way or another because unfortunately grease is grease. The grease on the tape could have come from a car. It could have come from a Mack truck in Arizona.

Wesley and I went on to the Red Sage at half past four, which was early for drinks. But neither of us felt very good. It was hard for me to meet his eyes now that we were alone again, and I wanted him to bring up what had happened between us the other night.

I did not want to believe I was the only one who thought it mattered.

"They have microbrewery beer on tap," Wesley said as I studied the menu.

"It's quite good, if you're a beer drinker."

"Not unless I've worked out for two hours in the middle of summer and am very thirsty and craving pizza," I said, a little stung that he didn't seem to know this detail about me.

"In fact, I really don't like beer and never have. I only drink it when there's absolutely nothing else, and even then I can't say it tastes good."

"Well, there's no point in getting angry about it."

"I'm certainly not angry."

"You sound angry. And you won't look at me."

"I'm fine."

"I study people for a living and I'm telling you that you're not fine."

"You study psychopaths for a living," I said.

"You don't study female chief medical examiners who reside on the right side of the law and simply want to relax after an intense, long day of thinking about murdered children."

"It's very hard to get into this restaurant."

"I can see why. Thank you for going to a lot of trouble."

"I had to use my influence."

"I'm sure you did."

"We'll have wine with dinner. I'm surprised they have Opus One. Maybe that will make you feel better."

"It's overpriced and styled after a Bordeaux, which is a little heavy for sipping, and I wasn't aware we were dining here. I've got a plane to catch in less than two hours. I think I'll just have a glass of Cabemet."

"Whatever you'd like."

I did not know what I liked or wanted at the moment.

"I'm heading back to Asheville tomorrow," Wesley went on.

"If you want to stay over tonight, we could go together."

"Why are you going back there?"

"Our assistance was requested before Ferguson ended up dead and Mote had a heart attack. Trust me, the Black Mountain police are sincere in their appreciation and panic. I've made it clear to them that we will do what we can to help. If it turns out that I need to bring in other agents, I will." Wesley had a habit of always getting the waiter's name and addressing him by it throughout the meal. Our waiter's name was Stan, and it was Stan this and Stan that as Wesley and he discussed wines and specials. It was really the only dopey thing Wesley did, his sole quirky mannerism, and as I witnessed it this evening it irritated the hell out of me.

"You know, it doesn't make the waiter feel he has a relationship with you, Benton. In fact, it seems just a little patronizing, like the sort of thing a radio personality would do."

"What does?" He was without a clue.

"Calling him by name. Repeatedly doing it, I mean." He stared at me.

"Well, I'm not trying to be critical," I went on, making matters worse.

"I'm just mentioning it as a friend because no -one else would, and you should know. A friend would be that honest, I'm saying. A true one would."

"Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"Quite." I forced a little smile.

"Now, then, do you want to tell me what's really bothering you, or should I just bravely hazard a guess?"

"There is absolutely nothing bothering me," I said as I began to cry.

"My God, Kay." He offered me his napkin.

"I have my own." I wiped my eyes.

"This is about the other night, isn't it?"

"Maybe you should tell me which other night you mean. Maybe you have other nights on a regular basis." Wesley tried to suppress his laughter, but he could not. For several minutes neither of us could talk because he was laughing and I was caught between crying and laughing. Stan the waiter returned with drinks, and I took several swallows of mine before speaking again.

"Listen," I finally said.

"I'm sorry. But I'm tired, this case is horrible to deal with, Marino and I aren't getting along, and Lucy's in trouble."

"That's enough to push anyone to tears," Wesley said, and I could tell it bothered him that I hadn't added him to my list of things wrong. It perversely pleased me that it bothered him.

"And yes, I'm concerned about what happened in North Carolina," I added.

"Do you regret it?"

"What good does it do to say that I do or I don't?"

"It would do me good for you to say that you don't."

"I can't say that," I said.

"Then you do regret it."

"No, I don't."

"Then you don't regret it."

"Dammit, Benton, leave it be."

"I'm not going to," he said.

"I was there, too."

"Excuse me?" I puzzled.

"The night it happened? Remember? Actually it was very early in the morning. What we did took two. I was there. You weren't the only person there who had to think about it for days. Why don't you ask me whether I regret it?"

"No," I said.

"You're the one who's married."

"If I committed adultery, so did you. It takes two," he said again.

"My plane leaves in an hour. I've got to go."

"You should have thought about that before starting this conversation. You can't just walk out in the middle of something like this."

"Certainly I can."

"Kay?" He looked into my eyes and lowered his voice. He reached across the table and took my hand.

I got a room in the Willard that night. Wesley and I talked a very long time and resolved matters sufficiently for us to rationalize our repeating the same sin. When we got off the elevator in the lobby early the next morning, we were very low key and polite with one another, as if we had only just met but had a lot in common. We shared a taxi to National Airport and got a flight to Charlotte, where I spent an hour with Lucy on the phone.

"Yes," I said.

"I am finding someone and have in fact already started on that," I told her in the US Air Club.

"I need to do something now," she said again.

"Please try to be patient."

"No. I know who's doing this to me and I'm going to do something about it."

"Who?" I asked, alarmed.

"When it's time, it will be known."

"Lucy, who did what to you? Please tell me what you're talking about."

"I can't right now. There's something I must do first. When are you coming home?"

"I don't know. I'll call you from Asheville as soon as I get a feel for what's going on."

"So it's okay for me to use your car?"

"Of course."

"You won't be using it for at least a couple days, right?"

"I don't think so. But what is it you're contemplating?" I was getting increasingly unsettled.

"I might need to go up to Quantico, and if I do and spend the night I wanted to make sure you wouldn't mind."