PART TWO 4 page

“No problem.” Derek lifted the pack and started to unzip it. “I don’t get it. I totally don’t.”

Holding the pack by the sides, he upended it and shook it hard, spilling the contents onto the desk. Books. Folders. A pencil box. An iPod. A cell phone. A Snickers bar.

Samuel squinted across the room, studying the contents. As soon as he saw the silvery watch slide onto the cover of a textbook, he understood.

Mrs. Maloney raised her hands to her cheeks. “Well, my faith. That is interesting,” she said softly. She picked up the watch and slid the shiny band through her fingers. “Derek? How did my watch get into your backpack?”

Derek’s face had gone pale. His mouth was working up and down, but he didn’t make a sound. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to think about it?” Mrs. Maloney remained calm. No sign of anger or even surprise.

“I.. never saw it. Really.” Derek’s eyes down, shoulders slumped. Looking guilty as hell. “I don’t know how it got there. Really.”

“But it did tumble out from the bottom of your backpack, right?”

“Yes. But‑”

“Derek, why don’t you gather up your belongings here and follow me to my office for a talk. Do we need to call your mother? What do you think?”

She raised her eyes to the door and saw Samuel and Daniel standing, watching the scene intently. “What are you two lads lingering there for? This is no business of yours. Go on now. Don’t miss the bus on your first day.”

“Okay. Bye,” Samuel said, turning to leave.

“See you tomorrow,” Daniel said, then quickly added, “Good luck, Derek.”

“W e have work to do, Sammy.” Daniel pressed his forehead against the window glass as the school bus bounced along Noyac Road, the tall trees along the side making the shadows dance in his eyes.

Samuel shifted the blue canvas backpack in his lap. He knew how impatient Daniel could be. He hoped maybe he would take his time, get to know the terrain, enjoy their new family, their new home at least a few weeks before setting things in motion.

“You gave that lug Derek a good lesson, Daniel.”

Daniel tapped Samuel’s knee with his fist. “Derek is dead in the pasture. The flies are already circling him.”

Samuel laughed. But he could see the growing intensity on his twin’s face.

“Work to do, Sammy.”

“What’s your hurry, Daniel? Haven’t we got it made here?”

“We’ve waited a long time,” Daniel murmured, gazing at a deer chewing tall weeds by the roadside. “A long time, boyo.”

“But look at us now. We’re in Heaven.”

Daniel turned away from the window. He shook his head. “Sammy, it may be heaven but there’s a devil on our cloud.”

Samuel felt a chill, muscles tightening at the back of his neck. “Who is the devil?” He knew the answer.

“The new pa.”

“Maybe he didn’t mean those things we heard him say.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at Samuel. “He meant them. He said he didn’t want us to come. He didn’t want Mum to bring us here. And he didn’t want us to live in the little house in the backyard. Why? Because he didn’t know if he could trust us.”

That made Samuel giggle. “He can’t trust us, boyo.”

Daniel didn’t smile. His normally pale cheeks had turned rosy pink. “Pa doesn’t like us, Sammy. He doesn’t want us here. And he shouted at Mum. You saw him shout at Mum because she wants to make us happy and give us everything we want.”

“But, Daniel‑”

“He doesn’t want us to be happy. Pa doesn’t want to give us the things we want. You heard him. You heard every word. We have work to do. We have plans, boyo. We cannot let the new pa stand in our way.”

Samuel felt the chill again. “What are you thinking, Daniel? Why are you saying all this? We can’t kill the new pa. We can’t. It would make Mum so sad.”

“He’s a devil, Sammy. A devil in our heaven.”

Samuel grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Don’t think it. We can’t do that to Mum.”

“You’re right. You’re the sensible guy, Sammy. As sensible as potatoes in chowder. We don’t want to kill Pa. We just have to keep him busy.”

Samuel shook his head. The backpack suddenly felt heavy in his lap. He let it slide to the bus floor. “Keep him busy?”

Daniel nodded. He had that thoughtful look in his eyes that Samuel knew well.

“How do we keep him busy? What do you mean?”

A thin smile played over Daniel’s lips. “I have some ideas. We can keep him real busy, Sammy. Maybe with the coppers.”

M ark watched from the front window as the dark blue Audi pulled up the driveway. A young man with a thick head of wavy brown hair and a seriously tanned face climbed out. He leaned into the car to retrieve a slender laptop case, then walked crisply to the front door, straightening his red necktie and buttoning his dark suit jacket as he walked.

Autumn had left ten minutes earlier, weighed down by a tall stack of folders. She offered Mark several meaningful glances as she left. In return, he gave her a comic wave and a goofy grin, keeping it light. Nothing serious happened here, Autumn. Did it?

If only he could move back the clock. Would he move it? Maybe not. Moments before, he had kept his eyes on her long, slim legs under the short skirt as she bent to pick up the folders, and felt himself start to get erect again.

Am I crazy? What am I thinking?

Lea, I love you. Why didn’t you stay and watch out for me?

Oh, what kind of juvenile thinking is that?

Roz had returned with a trunk load of grocery bags and a screaming, hungry Axl. Mark emptied the car for her. He saw the twins tossing a tennis ball back and forth in the backyard. He thought about joining them. But it was time for his meeting with this man from the institute.

What was his name? Hulenberger? Something like that.

Mark had suggested they meet and have tea at the American Hotel on Main Street in town. That way there wouldn’t be kids underfoot, running in and out, demanding his immediate attention. Elena was already angry that he didn’t have time for a long discussion about the sleepover she wanted to have with Ruth‑Ann.

But Hulenberger insisted on coming to the house. And here he was at the front door, all tanned and prosperous‑looking in a designer suit that fit his slender shoulders perfectly and a crisp white shirt that contrasted his tan.

“Mr. Hulenberger? Come in.”

“It’s Dr. Hulenberger. But call me Richard. Everyone does. Even my kids.” A brief, hard handshake.

“Well, call me Mark. Come in. Welcome.”

Mark led him down the hall to his office. He could hear Roz in the kitchen, pleading with Axl to sit still. The back door slammed, and he heard Ira calling, “Anyone home? Roz?”

“Nice day,” Hulenberger said. “I enjoyed the drive. My wife and I have a house in Sagaponack, but we haven’t opened it yet. It’s almost May, but it still feels like October, doesn’t it? All the rain. Incredible. We probably won’t open up till Memorial Day. My wife hates the country. She always says she’d rather be on Madison Avenue. Ha.”

Was he talking so much out of nervousness? Or was he just a chatty guy?

Mark stopped at the office doorway and pictured Autumn bending over the desk again. Her short skirt tossed up onto her back, black underpants around her ankles, and that smooth little ass..

Oh, God.

Would he see her there every time he walked into the office?

The whole left side of the desktop was empty. The papers and folders had all been swept aside. He wondered if Hulenberger noticed that something was odd.

He led him to the green leather couch against the wall. Hulenberger dropped onto the edge and sat up very straight, lowering his laptop case to the floor. Good posture. He slid a hand down his tie a few times. Nervous habit?

“Nice room, Mark. I like that photo behind your desk. I think I know those trees. From Brisbane, right? Australia? I walked in that very spot and admired those twisty roots all around the tree trunks.”

Mark nodded. “My wife is a travel writer. A good photographer, too. She writes about adventure travel. Seems a lot of people are into it.”

“Hannah and I were on a food and wine tour. We weren’t impressed with the food in Queensland at all. Dreadful. In fact, we didn’t have anything good to eat till we got to Sydney. Were you there with your wife?”

“No. She was on assignment. I had my patients. You know. And my book.”

Chitchat, chitchat.

Mark suddenly had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rolled his desk chair in front of the couch and dropped into it. The room still smelled of Autumn’s lemony scent.

“Nice of you to drive out, Richard.”

Richard cleared his throat loudly. Adjusted his tie. “Well, I wanted to tell you in person. I didn’t think it was right to do it over the phone or by email. Too impersonal.”

“You mean‑about the grant?” His voice suddenly tight.

“Yes. Should I come right to the point? I think I should. We’re not going to give you the grant, Mark.”

Can silence be loud?

To Mark the silence in the room seemed deafening. Without realizing it, he slammed his head back against the leather seatback, like someone showing shock in a cartoon.

“You mean.. you’re not giving the whole amount? Only part?”

Richard sat even more erect. Mark saw a single bead of sweat appear above one brown eyebrow. “No. I came to offer our regrets. We can’t give you any of the grant money at this time.”

“But my studies..” Why can’t I finish a sentence? His hands left wet marks on the leather chair arms.

“We approve of your work. Wholeheartedly. That’s why we made the initial offer. We felt that your studies with juveniles would add considerably to the literature.”

Mark was distracted by movement at the office doorway. He turned and saw Samuel and Daniel standing there, hands in their jeans pockets, serious expressions on their pale faces.

“How long have you two been standing there?” He didn’t mean to sound so irritated. His mind was churning from the news of the grant money turndown. He should shout at Hulenberger, not the boys.

They didn’t reply. Both had their eyes on Hulenberger. Staring at him hard, as if giving him the evil eye. Then, without a word, they turned and vanished down the hall, bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.

He turned back to Hulenberger, who was defiantly gazing at him, not backing down, not avoiding his eyes after bringing this devastating news. Macho guy.

“So, Richard.. Can you explain? If it isn’t my study..”

“It’s your book. Can I speak plainly? It’s the book. We understand why you wrote such an inflammatory thing. But that’s the problem in a word, see. It’s inflammatory.”

“But it’s a sincere study. It wasn’t skeptical in any way. I wasn’t just trying to make a buck with a piece of crappy pop psychology. I did my homework, Richard. I did years of research in addition to my own studies.”

Whoa. Blowing it. He’s sitting there coolly, and your voice is rising to soprano.

Richard kept his green‑gray eyes on Mark, his face a blank. No emotion.

This man is a fish. I’ve seen eyes like that on a cod. He thinks he’s terrific. But he didn’t just fuck a beautiful twenty‑three‑year‑old girl.

What am I thinking? Am I losing my mind?

“How can I say this, Mark? The book has attached a certain notoriety to you. I’m sure you won’t disagree with that.”

Mark didn’t reply.

“And the grant committee.. well, we feel we can’t risk backing someone in your position, someone with that kind of controversy following him.”

Mark remained silent.

Richard sighed and shook his head. “The institute has such limited funds now. You know how much the government has cut our funding. They’re almost not subsidizing us at all. It’s a crime. This country will pay for the shortsightedness in Washington. In the meantime, we have to be very judicious about where we spend what little we have. And I’m afraid‑”

Mark jumped to his feet, visibly startling his guest. “Okay. I get it. Thanks for coming out, Richard.”

Richard gazed up at him, swallowing hard. Mark realized he’d frightened the man. Richard thought Mark was about to get violent.

Maybe I should. Beat the crap out of him. What kind of notoriety would that bring me?

But he’d never been in a fight in his life. Not even on the playground. He’d never thrown a punch or wrestled another kid on the grass or come home with a black eye.

Mark was the good kid. The smart kid. The talker. The kid who was interested in how everything works. He always talked himself out of fights. He used psychology.

Richard finally climbed to his feet. He grabbed up his laptop case.

Why did he bring it? Did he just feel insecure without it?

He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Then he tucked it back into his suit jacket. “I’m really sorry, Mark. I can see you are disappointed.”

“Yeah. That’s the word for it.”

“My only suggestion‑if you want any advice from me‑is to apply again in a few years.”

“A few years?”

“Yeah. Wait for the notoriety to die down. In a few years, people will forget your book, right?”

A smile crossed Mark’s face. “That isn’t exactly a compliment.”

Richard blushed. “You know what I mean. Wait for the controversy to fade. People have short attention spans. You know that, right? Apply again. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but‑”

Mark led him to the door. “Do you believe in freedom of speech, Richard?”

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“But you don’t think I should put my findings and theories in a book?”

“I didn’t say that. The committee has to be careful. I know you understand that. You have a bestseller, Mark. No one begrudges you that. Some psychologists would kill for a bestseller like yours. This grant money‑”

“Would have paid my mortgage for the next two years,” Mark interrupted. “And would have paid for my next book, which I hope will have the same notoriety.”

He pulled open the front door. He could see the twins playing catch at the side of Richard’s car.

“I’m sorry. I mean that sincerely.” Hulenberger stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m just the messenger here, you know. No hard feelings, I hope.”

Mark shook his hand. This time it was cold and damp. He watched him walk down the gravel drive to his car. He deposited the laptop in the passenger seat, glanced briefly back at Mark, then climbed behind the wheel.

One of the twins fumbled the tennis ball and went running down the driveway after it. “Be careful!” Mark shouted to them. “Get out of the way, boys. He’s going to back out!”

He didn’t watch Hulenberger drive away. Mark turned and walked into the house, feeling heavy, a headache forming just behind his forehead. He sighed. I need a glass of wine.

He found Roz in the kitchen, stirring a pot of tomato sauce. She had a gray long‑sleeved T‑shirt, torn at the neck, pulled down over the baggy denim cutoff shorts she wore nearly every day. She turned when he entered and read his expression. “Bad news?”

“You were listening?”

“No. The twins told me something bad was happening. That guy looked like the kind who’d bring bad news.”

Mark opened the refrigerator and pulled out an already opened bottle of Chablis. “Yeah, well. Bad news is right. I’m not getting the grant.”

She stopped stirring. “Because?”

“Because I’m too controversial.” He found a wineglass in the cabinet and poured it full. “Mainly, I think, because I’m too successful.”

“Yes. That’s your problem. You’re too successful and too rich.”

“I wish.” He took a long sip. “Guess I’m going to have to fill up my patient list. Put aside the next book for a while.”

The tennis ball bounced hard against the kitchen window. The thud made them both jump.

Roz smiled. “The twins are having fun.”

Mark took another drink. The wine wasn’t helping his headache. “Think they’re doing okay?”

“Yes. I think they’re happy. I know you don’t approve, but they love their little house back there. I’m surprised they’ve adjusted so well. Aren’t you?”

“I guess. I’d like to see a little more interaction between them and Ira and Elena. Of course, twins often keep to themselves.” He refilled his glass. The Chablis tasted a little sour. Or was that just his mood?

He thought about Hulenberger. The guy wasn’t actually smug, but he was totally unlikable.

“Can I change the subject?” Roz broke into his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking I need a night off. You know?”

“A night off? You have a date?”

“Is that your business? I just need a night off. Think you could hold down the fort? Watch Axl for me? You know. Take care of him for a few hours without killing him?”

Mark grinned. “Axl and I get along fine. I stuff him full of Oreos and tortilla chips and he’s a good boy.”

“That’s what makes you a good psychologist.”

“Lea gets home tomorrow night. Maybe she and I will have a special playdate with Axl.”

“Sounds like a plan. Go tell our four boarders it’s dinnertime, okay?”

Carrying his wineglass, Mark walked to the stairs and shouted up to Ira and Elena. “Dinner. Come down. Now. Okay?”

He opened the front door and shouted to the twins. “Dinner!” But they had disappeared, probably to their house in back. The tennis ball lay in the driveway in front of Hulenberger’s car.

Huh?

The wineglass nearly slipped from his hand. Something was wrong. Hulenberger’s Audi was still in the drive.

Mark stepped out onto the stoop and squinted into the evening light. Yes. Hulenberger sat behind the wheel. Not moving. And his head.. it was tilted back, way back.

Wrong. All wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Richard? Hey! Richard?” he shouted.

Hulenberger didn’t move.

“Richard! Hey‑what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He shouted louder with his hands cupped around his mouth.

No. The man didn’t move.

Mark started to jog toward the car. But he stopped halfway. Hulenberger’s head.. it wasn’t right.

He spun away, his mind whirling. From the wine. From the headache. So hard to think clearly.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

What has happened here?

“Richard? Can you answer me?”

A tightness gripped Mark’s chest. A wave of cold washed over his body, a cold he’d never felt before.

He lurched to the car. What was splattered over the windshield? “Richard? Richard?” Breathing hard, he gazed into the open window. Grabbed the bottom of the window with both hands. Leaned toward the wheel.

And screamed. A long, shrill scream of horror from somewhere deep in his throat.

“No! Fucking no! Oh my God! Oh, shit. Oh my God!”

Dark blood splattered the windshield, as if someone had heaved a can of paint over the glass. And Hulenberger.. Hulenberger.. The blood had run down his shirt, his suit..

Like a sweater. A sweater of blood.

His head tilted back. His throat.. it had been torn open. Ripped open?

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Fucking no!”

Fighting the tide of nausea, the drumming of his heart that made the blood pulse at his temples, Mark pushed himself back, away from the car. He turned to the house. He saw the twins standing at the top of the driveway.

“Get back! Go back! Don’t come down here! Go back!” He waved them away with both hands. They turned and ran.

Had they seen anything?

His hands felt wet. He raised them to his face. They were covered in blood. Hulenberger’s blood. He shook them hard as if trying to toss the blood away. Then he staggered into the house. Through the living room, to the kitchen where Roz was tilting the tomato sauce pan over a big bowl of spaghetti.

“Roz! Call the police.” So breathless she didn’t hear him.

He grabbed her shoulder, startling her. Her eyes locked on his hands. “Mark? Oh my God! Is that blood?”

“Roz‑call the police! Hurry! Call the police! Call the police!”

“I t’s a ten‑eighty‑four, Vince. We’re on the scene.”

“I gotta learn those numbers, Chaz. I never know what Vince is talking about.”

“Forgetaboutit, Andy. No one knows what Vince is talking about.”

Pavano peered out the window as his partner, Chaz Pinto, eased the car up the gravel driveway. “Where are we? Why does this look familiar?”

“John Street, dude. You took the call ten minutes ago, remember?”

A dark Audi stood in the drive. Chaz stopped the black‑and‑white a few feet behind it.

“It’s taking me awhile to get oriented, you know. We’re by the water, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. The bay is over there.” Pinto pointed out the side door. They both gazed at the car in front of them.

“The caller was a woman. She didn’t say what the problem was. Something about a car in the driveway. The driver..”

“I see him. The back of his head. Not moving.”

“Heart attack?”

“Hope so. That would make it easy.” Pinto leaned toward the radio. “We’re going to check out the car, Vince. You there?”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be, Pinto? Don’t sit there holding hands, you two. Get out and take a look.”

“The driver appears to be in the car.”

The front door to the house swung open, and a dark‑haired man in jeans and a white polo shirt stepped out.

Pavano’s eyes went wide. “Hey, I know that dude.” His breath caught in his throat. “Oh, wow. Oh no. I don’t believe this.”

“What’s your problem, Andy?”

Pavano pushed the car door open, flipped his half‑smoked Camel to the driveway, and lowered his feet to the ground. “I’ve been here. That night. Remember? The rain? I had the wrong house. I told him his wife was dead!”

Pinto let out a hoarse wheeze of a laugh. “We’re still talking about that one. Behind your back, you know. It’s classic. We’ll be talking about that asshole move for a long time.”

“Thanks, partner.” Pavano stretched his lanky body, adjusted his black uniform cap lower over his eyes. Maybe the guy won’t remember me.

Yeah, sure. What are the chances?

Pinto was approaching the driver’s side of the Audi. Pavano followed, boots crunching on the gravel driveway, eyes on the man inside the car.

“Hello, sir? Sir? Are you all right?”

The man from inside the house came running down the driveway. “I’m Mark Sutter,” he shouted. “This is my house.”

Pavano waved him back. “Please stay there.”

The driver’s side window was down. “Hey, sir!” Pinto shouted loudly into the car even though he was just a few feet away. “Sir? Are you okay?”

“He’s not okay. He’s fucking dead!” Sutter cried. He didn’t heed Pavano’s instruction. He ran up beside them, breathing hard. “He’s dead. I saw him. It.. it’s horrible.”

Pinto and Pavano both stooped and leaned into the window at the same time.

“Oh, my God!”

“Oh, fuck no! Fuck no!”

“I.. can’t believe it,” Sutter stammered.

Pavano frantically waved him back. “Please stay back, sir. Let us do our job.”

A pair of blond boys were watching from the front door. “Get the kids away, sir. Please!”

The boys stepped out onto the stoop. “Is he sick?”

“Please, Mr. Sutter. Get those boys inside.”

“Oh, fuck. This is impossible!” Pinto gasped. “His whole throat..”

“It.. it’s open. Opened up. Like ripped open.”

“No. It’s burned. Totally burned. See the black skin around the hole? The skin is charred. It’s flaking off.”

Pavano turned away, his stomach tightening into a knot. The man’s throat had been cut or ripped open. He shut his eyes and still pictured the dark red flesh inside, blackened. A hole, a gaping hole in the man’s neck. Thick, dark blood caked down the front of the man’s suit, puddled in his lap.

Someone opened his throat and let him bleed out.

“How did this happen? How could it happen? Here in my driveway,” Sutter said, shaking his head.

“Mr. Sutter, please go in your house. Wait for us. And keep those boys away from the window. You don’t want them to see this.”

Sutter started to turn away, then stopped. “Hey, I remember you!”

Pavano ignored him and turned back to his partner. Pinto reached for the door handle, then thought better of it. “Fingerprints. Look. There’s blood smeared on the door here. Might be good fingerprints. We need backup here. We need an ME. We need the crime scene guys.”

Pavano raced back to the patrol car, flung the door open, and grabbed the radio. “Vince, we have a homicide here. We need backup. We need someone with a strong stomach.”

“I take it you don’t need an ambulance?”

“No. We don’t need an ambulance. This is a murder scene. We need CS guys. We have a man with a giant hole in his neck and‑”

“Save the details, Andy. I’m eating my dinner. Ten‑four.”

“Just hurry, Vince. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You haven’t seen much‑have you, Andy?”

Who told him he always has to have the last word? And who told him he couldn’t be serious even for a crime this horrible?

Pavano slammed the patrol car door and made his way back to Pinto. The big, older cop leaned with his hands on his waist, peering into the victim’s window. Finally he turned, removed his cap, and scratched his thinning flattop.

“It’s like a horror movie, Andy. The skin is all scorched. The hole is as big as a grapefruit. And it looks empty inside. Just burned skin.” He swallowed. His teeth clicked.

Never realized he has false teeth, Pavano thought. And then, why am I thinking about Chaz’s teeth when I’m staring at a guy with a giant knothole in his neck?

Pinto pulled Pavano back from the car. “Stop looking at him. Your face is green. No shit.”

Pavano nodded and turned his back on the Audi. It didn’t make him feel any better.

I came out to Sag Harbor to take it easy, get away from all the fucking crime in the city, maybe get back with Sari. What the hell happened here?

“We can’t do anything,” Pinto said. “Not till the crime scene guys get here. Let’s go inside and talk to that Sutter guy.”

Pavano nodded. “He acted totally innocent. That’s the first sign he did it, right?”

Pinto patted him on the back. “Too much TV, Andy.”

The sun had almost disappeared behind the house. The sky darkened to gray, and a cool breeze rattled the still‑bare trees.

They stepped onto the front stoop. Pinto leaned close. “Andy, tell Sutter this time you got it right‑the victim really is dead.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Pavano could feel his face turn hot. That rainy night on this doorstep had to be the worst moment of his life. And now here he was, ringing the doorbell again.

It took only a few seconds for Sutter to pull open the door. He had a glass of white wine in his right hand. Pavano saw the hand tremble. A few drips of wine spilled to the floor. “How did someone do that to him? Can you tell me?”

“Hard to say,” Pinto replied softly, eyes narrowed on Sutter.

Pavano didn’t see the blond boys, but he saw another boy, dark‑haired, small, peering down from the top of the stairs.

“Dad, is everything okay? Why are the police here?”

“It’s okay, Ira. Go back to your room, all right?”

“But aren’t we going to finish dinner? My spaghetti’s getting cold.”

“We’ll finish dinner in a short while. Please‑get up to your room. And tell Elena to stay up there, too.”

Sutter can’t hide how tense he is. Tense because he murdered the guy?

“Sir, I’m Officer Pinto. He’s Officer Pavano. As you can see, we’re from the Sag Harbor Police Department.”

Sutter gazed hard at Pavano. “We’ve met,” he said quietly.

“Sir, can we go somewhere more private?” Pinto had Sutter by the elbow.

“Sure. Come into my office. I can’t tell you much about Richard, but‑”

“Is that his name? Richard? Do you know his full name?”

They stepped into the book‑lined office. Pavano admired the dark wood, the big desk, the floor‑to‑ceiling bookshelves.

“Well, yes. His name is Richard Hulenberger.”

Pavano pulled out his phone. He brought up the memo app and typed in Richard Hulenberger. The phone had replaced the little black notebook that cops used to carry in their shirt pockets. Pavano missed his notebook. But he was grateful. He could never find a pencil to write with.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Pinto asked.

Sutter motioned for them to sit on the green leather couch. “A friend? No. First time I ever met him.” Hand still trembling, he set the wineglass down near the edge of the desktop.

The two cops remained standing. Pavano typed Not a friend into his phone.