"I didn't know the son of a bitch. I haven't been to Hilton Head where you said he lives. You can't put me there."

"Give us time. I was never happy, were you, Liz, with the way this asshole skated after messing with the lieutenant?"

"Me, I wanted to see him get some serious tuning on that. This time…"

"She's behind it." Arnie swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "You know damn well. Trying to set me up, that's what she's doing. I saw the damn doll at a yard sale, just used it to give her something to think about. I didn't kill anyone, I haven't been to goddamn Hilton

Head. She's trying to fuck me over. She can go to hell. I wasn't anywhere near Bonaventure last night."

"Where were you, Arnie? Prove it, and make this go away."

"I got me a girlfriend, okay? My wife's not giving me any support, or any sex, or anything else. So I've got someone who will. I was with her last night at her place. And I was banging her until after two in the morning."

"Name." Liz shoved a notebook across the table. "Address. We'll ask her how much she got banged."

"She's got a husband, okay? He was up at Myrtle Beach playing golf for a few days, so we used her place. You've got to let me talk to her first, tell her this is serious shit so she won't blow it off. Her husband finds out, he'll knock her around. She has to know you're not going to use her name."

"Let you talk to her first, prime her?" Sykes snorted out derision. "Not going to happen, Arnie. You're telling the truth, we'll keep her out of it. Sounds like you deserve each other."

"My wife's already talking divorce, and all because MacNamara-"

"Oh yeah, all this is MacNamara's fault. Sure. She tricked you into busting her up just so you'd get tossed off the job. Write the name down, Arnie."

"She's an exec at Terrance, Inc. You go see her there, not at her place. You go talk to her at her office. You have to give me the courtesy of being discreet."

Sykes's eyes were hard as stone. "You lost the right to courtesy from anyone here when you jumped Lieutenant MacNamara in that stairwell.

You remember that, asshole. Ain't nobody on your side. You want to save yourself, you write down the name. Otherwise, you're going in on assaulting an officer and you're staying in until we put all these ducks in a row."

As he wrote, Phoebe turned to Dave.

"It wasn't him. He's a pig, and he's stupid with it. He didn't kill Charles Johnson or Roy. He hasn't got the stones or the smarts." She turned back to the glass. "He'd really like to hurt me. He'd still like to make me pay. But he wouldn't understand that killing that boy, that killing Roy, hurts me, that it makes me pay. He doesn't understand me at all. Whoever did those things does."

"We'll check out the woman, see if the alibi holds."

"Yeah. I'm going home. I'll start going through the files. He'll be in there. He's in there somewhere."

As Phoebe stepped out of observation, Liz slipped out of the interview room. "I was just coming back to talk to you. Got a minute?"

"Sure."

"Let's, ah…" Liz glanced over, gestured toward the women's room. "Take it in here."

When they were inside, Liz leaned back on a sink. "Hard for you, watching that. Watching him. The glass isn't much of a barrier."

"Yeah, it was, and no, it's not. But it had to be done."

"He's not the guy, Phoebe."

"No, he's not the guy. You and Bull did good in there. His alibi's going to check out, and we'll be able to eliminate that avenue."

"How are you holding up?"

"Truth? I have no idea." Phoebe ran her hands over her face, back into her hair. "I've got my family holed up inside the house like a group of hostages. No choice. Whoever did this to Roy has made us all hostages, and I don't know the terms. I don't know what he wants or why. I can't negotiate their safety if I don't know the terms."

"You want to go grab some coffee?" As she asked, Liz tipped back her watch to check the time. "I can take thirty while Bull wraps up."

"I look that bad?"

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee and a friend."

"I could, but I need to get home. Pull out the linchpin, the wheel slips off. Right now, for my family, I'd be the linchpin. Could you let me know if and when his alibi's confirmed?"

"No problem."

Phoebe opened the door, shut it again. "I wish it was him. Wish it was that son of a bitch. Roy's dead, can't change that. Part of me wishes it was Meeks so it would be over and done, and I'd know my family's safe. But there's another part, Liz, just as active, just as sharp, that wishes it was him so he'd go down. All the way down. And not for Roy, not in the guts, you know? So he'd go down for every minute inside that stairwell. I thought I'd come to terms with the way all that shook out, with the payment made. But standing in there, looking at him? I haven't come to terms with it."

"Understandable."

"Is it?"

"Scales are only balanced when your gut tells you they are. You may have to accept the payment. You don't have to like it."

"I don't." Something loosened in her chest because she'd been able to say it, to spew it out to someone who understood. "I don't like it one damn bit. He should do a little time helpless and terrified, then maybe…" Phoebe shook her head. "Problem for another day. I think I have enough others to fill the plate for now."

"You should give some thought to talking to the counselor."

"I will. Really. I need to get through this first." She managed a smile. "That was better than coffee. Thanks for the ear, Liz."

"I got two when you need another."

Chapter 24

She put it away, locked up the turmoil that seeing, hearing, watching Arnie Meeks had made swirl inside her. No time, no place for it now. It would come back, she knew, spurting up to twist her belly into knots. When it did, she'd just have to find a way to uncoil them until there was time, until there was a place.

She had a whole checklist of priorities ahead of that one.

On Jones, she parked, got out of the car. Why, she wondered, did the house seem to loom sometimes? She could go weeks, even months, without thinking of it as anything but home-a beautiful, graceful place to raise her child, to house her mother, her friend. A place to eat, sleep, live, even entertain occasionally.

What did it matter that she hadn't chosen to live there, to be there? In the end, it was only a house. Only brick and glass. Cousin Bess's ghost had long since moved on.

Lack of choice, she thought. It was all about choice, and not having options.

Despite the fact she was needed inside, Phoebe walked around to the courtyard gate. Away from the police car, away from that looming face of brick and glass.

Here, at least, there'd been choices, even if she'd left them almost entirely up to Ava. Gardens and paths and shady nooks, graceful tables, whimsical statuary.

She sat on the steps of the veranda, looked out, and imagined that lovely courtyard somewhere else. New Orleans maybe, or just another street in Savannah. Could be Atlanta or Charlotte.

And what difference, really, at the base of things?

All the difference, she admitted. All the difference in the world. She heard the door open but didn't turn. So much, she thought, for solo brooding time.

Carter sat beside her, put a glass of wine in her hand. And said nothing at all.

She took the first sip in silence, with only the elegant music of the fountain trickling through. "I'm having a sulk."

"Hence the wine. Want me to go back in?"

"No. I decided to pick at an old scab. Cousin Bess, this house and the locks she put on the door I can't open. Nothing to do about it, so it's a good one to sulk about as I don't have to find the solution."