“Wouldn’t the FBI already have done that?”

“I would have thought so, but Lincoln seemed to have passed under their radar.”

“True. Didn’t you tell me your friend Evie did Web site work? A little hacking?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to drag her into this. She’s finally got her life steady.”

Glenn waited a full minute while David frowned. “And? Who else, boy?”

David sighed. “I know someone in Chicago who’s great with Internet spying, but I hate to ask him for anything.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the husband of the unrequited thing.” Who, to David’s constant consternation, was a hell of a nice guy. He’d always wanted to hate Dana’s husband but had never been able to summon it.

Glenn winced. “Oh. What about that nephew of yours? He goes to college. I bet he knows something about the Internet.”

“I’m sure Tom knows quite a lot, but he’s not the hacker type. He might know someone who is, though. I’ll call him.”

“You do realize you aren’t going to make your karate class tonight?”

David sighed. Traffic was snarled. “I got a decent workout this afternoon with Lincoln, so I can miss once. I’ll call Paige and tell her I’m not coming.”

“Then we can work on those phone numbers and the Web site.”

“I was thinking that.”

Tuesday, September 21, 6:30 p.m.

Austin Dent paced his bedroom floor, checking his phone every few minutes. School had been out for three hours. Three hours. Where the hell was Kenny? All he had to do was get to the mailbox in the middle of town and drop a goddamn letter in.

Getting to town was no problem. The two of them had done it dozens of times when they’d been given off-campus public-library passes. That was one of the perks of being in high school. You got more freedom than the little kids who lived on campus.

He stopped pacing, raked his hand through his hair. Why hadn’t Kenny texted?

Trying to calm down, Austin slumped onto the worn-out sofa in the living room and turned on the television news. And frowned. The closed-captioning sucked on this channel. They used some kind of computer speech detector and it was always getting the words wrong. Half the stories made no sense.

He switched to the national cable station where the captioning was more consistent. It was annoying to have to depend on the captioning. A lot of kids he knew didn’t bother with the news. But Austin wanted to know what was happening in the world because one day he’d go to college, make something of himself.

He shook his head. College? Yeah, right. There was no money for college. And after this suspension? He could kiss the scholarships he’d been trying for good-bye. If they think you did that fire, you’ll go to jail and nothing else will matter.

But I didn’t do it. I was only trying to protect Tracey. His chest hurt to even think of her, which meant it hurt all the time. She trusted me. I promised to help her.

Why didn’t I do something? He remembered the bruises with vivid detail. He’d picked her up at the Omaha airport and had wanted to kill someone.

“Let me take you to a hospital,” he’d begged her but she’d refused.

“They’ll make me go back.” Her eyes had been so determined, even as she signed with one hand, because her hand was sprained. Sprained.

Austin had never felt such hate before, but he did when he thought of a monster twisting her arm until it fractured and her hand until it sprained. Someday, when all this died down, he’d make sure the monster paid. But it wouldn’t bring Tracey back.

And then, there she was. Her picture on the news. A scream rose from deep within him, but he kept it chained. Silent.

She was only sixteen. A runaway from Gainesville, Florida, the captioning read. But she’d been so much more. She’d been sweet and smart and funny. And scared. She’d been so scared. I promised her she’d be safe.

A second picture joined Tracey’s on the screen and Austin flinched. It was the guard he’d watched get shot in cold blood. Henry Weems.

Fuck, he thought, his heart plunging as he read the captioning flowing across the screen. A retired cop. They’ll want revenge. They’ll take it out on me.

He jumped to his feet, turning his back, unable to watch any more. He turned off the television, then went back to pacing. Kenny, where the hell are you?

Tuesday, September 21, 6:50 p.m.

Olivia brought the car to a stop. “I thought the Fischers’ house would be bigger.”

“Me too,” Kane said. “Mr. Fischer is a rich man.”

She bit at her lip thoughtfully. “I wish we had a warrant. They’re going to be mad enough that Ian put the skids on Joel’s burial. I don’t think we’ll find them terribly cooperative. I’ll call the ADA one more time.”

“He’s gonna yell,” Kane said glumly.

Olivia’s lips twitched as they did whenever he used that tone. “Let him yell.” She dialed Brian’s phone, prepared for the yelling.

“No,” the assistant DA said without preamble. “Judge said no.”

“No way,” Olivia whined. “Really?”

“Look, I’m sorry. You need to get more before we have cause to search.”

“Okay. Thanks for trying.” She hung up and looked at Kane. “No warrant.”

“I got that,” Kane said dryly. “At least we can tell Abbott that Lincoln’s clean of these two fires.”

“Luckily Blue Moon had video showing Lincoln there until closing both nights. I don’t think Crawford would have believed the bartender’s word on it.”

“We’ll still want him for B and E and attempted assault on Hunter, but on the fires, Lincoln is the Fed’s problem. Joel Fischer is ours.” Kane got out of the car, tossing back a careless, “It’s your turn.”

“It is not. I did Louise Tomlinson. The Fischers are yours.”

Kane made a face. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Have I ever?” she asked as they walked up the Fischers’ driveway.

“Not once.”

Olivia stopped him before he knocked on the door. “Wait. Take off your shoes.”

Kane frowned. “Why?”

“They’re not sitting shiva yet, because the burial was delayed. But the house may be prepared. No leather shoes. It’s just respect.”

“How do you know this?” Kane asked, toeing off his shoes.

“Our next-door neighbors growing up were Orthodox. When they had a family death, my mom and I visited, took food. Take off your hat.” She did the same.

He obeyed. “Look, Liv, if you know all this, maybe you should take this one. It’ll go smoother if I’m not bungling it out of ignorance. I’ll take the next two. I promise.”

She shot him a disgruntled look. “I hate it when you make sense. All right.” She knocked and waited, dread mounting. Informing parents was never easy. When the deceased was a potential suspect… This wasn’t going to be pretty.

The door opened, revealing a man with a full beard, wearing a black suit. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’m Detective Sutherland and this is my partner, Detective Kane.” She flashed her badge. “We’d like to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Fischer.”

“They are in mourning. They cannot be disturbed.”

Olivia put her hand on the door as it began to close. “Excuse me,” she said. “This isn’t a social call. We realize they are in mourning, but we must speak with them. Now.”

Displeased, the man opened the door. “I am Rabbi Hirschfield. Come in.”

“Thank you.” Olivia sat down on the love seat the rabbi indicated, Kane at her side. In a moment a red-eyed couple joined them, sitting on the adjacent sofa. The rabbi stood in the doorway to the kitchen, almost as if standing guard.

“We’re the Fischers,” the man said indignantly. “Are you going to release his body now? We’d like to bury our son.”

“I know this is difficult,” Olivia began. “The medical examiner found something in your son’s autopsy that required further investigation. That’s why we’re here.”

Mrs. Fischer lifted her chin. “We’ve already been told about the narcotics supposedly found in our son’s body. We don’t believe it.”