It seemed to Diane that he said it wistfully but before she heard anything that confirmed that impression, he added, "Know what I'd like?"

"Name it," she said, smiling, coquettish as a barmaid.

"Let's go for a walk. Show me your property."

"Well, sure." She pulled a jacket on and they walked outside.

She showed him her herb garden then the muddy strip of potential lawn then the spots where the bulbs would've come up if the deer hadn't been at them. Breck muttered appreciative comments then strolled toward the back of the lot and its low post-and-rail fence. "Let's check out the woods."

"Uh-un," Diane said, leading him around to the side. "We have to go the long way."

"Around that little fence? We can jump it, can't we?" Breck asked.

"Uhm, see those cows?"

"What about them?"

"How expensive are those Shee-caw-go shoes of yours?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, "got it."

They both laughed as they walked around the pasture and into the strip of tall grass and knobby oak saplings that bordered the forest. Diane wasn't the least surprised when, out of view of the house, Breck took her hand. Nor was she surprised that she let him.

"Weren't the boy after all?"

"Uh-uh. They got a new witness."

Their eyes would make troubled circuits of the room, following the green-gray checkers of linoleum to their conclusion in the dark reaches of the County Building cafeteria. Then they'd turn back to watch the half-moons of ice slowly water their Cokes.

"Necessitates something." The man speaking was fat. Through a short-sleeved white shirt his belly worked on the elasticity of his Sears waistband. He had white hair, crisp with dried Vitalis, combed back. His name was Jack Treadle and in addition to other jobs he was supervisor of Harrison County. All aspects of his face had jowls – eyes, mouth, chin. He poked his little finger into his cheek to rub a tooth through skin.

"Suppose so," said the other man. Just as jowly though not so fat. He too wore short-sleeved white and on top of it a camel-tan sports coat. Bull Cooper was a real estate broker and the mayor of New Lebanon. These two were major players in the Oval Office of Harrison County.

"Way it sizes up," Treadle said, "the boy -"

Cooper said defensively, "He had a gun."

"Well, he may've. But I don't give two turds about the incident report. We shouldn'ta arrested him, we shouldn'ta let him get loose, we shouldn'ta shot him down."

"Well…"

"Hi ho the derry-o, somebody's gonna get fucked for this."

"Boy got shot bad," Cooper agreed.

"Got shot dead," Treadle snorted. Around them, slow-talking small-town lawyers and their clients ate liverwurst sandwiches and plates of $1.59 macaroni and cheese while they waved away excited spring flies. Treadle was a man who did best with ignorant friends and small enemies; he was in his element here and had nodded greetings to half the room during the course of this meal.

He said, "Hammerback and Ribbon were playing cute. I mean, shit, they were playing big-time sheriffs and they wanted press, they wanted a big bust and they wanted to tie that other co-ed killing last year in with all this serial killer, goat skinner fucking crap. Well, they got press, all right, which are now wondering why we let a innocent kid get killed. We got the SBI looking over our shoulder and we probably got some ethics panel up in Higgins about to poke its finger up our ass. We gotta give ' em somebody. I mean, shit."

"And you're thinking somebody from New Lebanon, I know you are." Cooper hawked and cleared his mouth with a thick napkin.

"Naw, naw, don't matter to me. If we pick a county man and I make the announcement then it looks good for me. If he's town and you make the announcement it's good for you. You know, like, it hurts us to do it but we're cleaning out our own. No cover-up."

"I didn't think of that." Cooper relaxed then added, "What about that Mahoney?"

"What about him?"

"Corde copied me on this letter he sent the Missouri AG. He wants Mahoney's nuts, Corde does. Whoa, Ribbon's got a feather in his ass over that, I'll tell you."

"What's the point?"

Cooper said, "Mahoney shouldn't've even been on the case. He's a civilian."

"Well." Treadle guffawed. "I don't give a shit about Mahoney. What's done's done. Things like Mahoney fall through the cracks and that's the way of the world."

"What's the options? Who bites the big one?"

"There's Ellison," Treadle offered casually, stating the obvious. "Then there's Ribbon. But if it's somebody too high up it'll look bad for us – like you and me weren't enough in charge."

Cooper said, "We had a couple county deputies working on the case. And Bill Corde was running the investigation for a while."

"Corde's a smart guy and he, he…" Treadle stammered as he groped for a thought.

"Found this new witness."

"He found this witness," Treadle agreed. "And he…"

"He doesn't take any crap," Cooper offered.

"No, he doesn't take any crap."

"But," Cooper said slowly, "there's the trouble."

"What trouble?"

"Didn't you hear? He may've accidentally on purpose lost some evidence. There was word he'd been fucking the Gebben girl. She was a regular little c-you-know-what. Anyway, some letters or shit got burnt up that may've connected her with Corde. They dropped the investigation -"

"What investigation?"

"What I'm saying. About Corde, about him eighty-sixing the evidence. But he wasn't ever found innocent. They just dropped it."

Treadle's eyes brightened. "Think that's something we can use?"

"I suppose that depends," Cooper said, "on whether we want to use it or not."

Bill Corde was talking on the pay phone to Diane. It was after dusk and he was in front of Dregg's Variety, perilously close to Route 117. Every sixth or seventh car whipped by so fast he felt his uniform tugged by the slipstream as if the drivers were playing a fun game of cop-grazing.

"Jamie?" Corde asked, "What's the matter with him?"

"He got home late. He didn't call or anything. I want you to talk to him. It's the second night in a row."

"Well, I will. But I'm…" Corde let the cyclone from a Mack eighteen-wheeler spin past then continued, "But I'm a little busy right at the moment. This lead on the Gebben case. He's okay?"

Diane said testily, "Of course he's okay. I just said he's okay."

"I'm out here on the highway," Corde said to explain his distraction. Then he added, "I'll talk to him tonight."

"I don't want you to talk to him. I wanted…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Corde ignored the brittleness and asked, "How's Sarah?"

"She had a good session with Ben and she said she did two more chapters of her book. The insurance money didn't come again today. I was thinking maybe you should call…"

I'm out here in the middle of the highway.

Diane continued, "It's over two thousand. Mom had her ovaries out for three thousand five. I'm so glad Ben's only twenty an hour. That's a lifesaver."

"Right." Who's Ben? Oh, the tutor. "Well," Corde said, "that's good. I better go."

"Wait. One more thing. The team can't get a bus for the match in Higgins. Jamie wants to know if we can drive him and Davey?"

"I guess. Sure."

"You won't forget? It's the last match of the season."

"I won't forget."

Another car was approaching. This one didn't speed past. It stopped. Corde looked up and saw Steve Ribbon and Jack Treadle looking at him. Ribbon was solemn.

Oh, brother.

It was Jack Treadle's car – a bottom-of-the-line Mercedes though it had a big fancy car phone. They pulled in front of Corde's cruiser and parked. The two men got out. He realized Diane was saying something to him. He said, "Gotta go. Be back around eight." He hung up.