David’s stomach dropped. What kind of a man was this? And how could Nick understand him so thoroughly?

“Yes,” said Neemal.

“And you tossed the matches into the fire for an extra little burst.”

“I did do that, yes,” he said quietly.

“Because fire helps you climax.” Nick sighed.

David’s imagination supplied an image of the Wolfman Neemal masturbating over Janelle’s headless body as the newspapers burst into flames. An atrocious moment. David felt preyed upon by his own mind.

Neemal nodded again. He was no longer crying. But still looking down at the table. “So I can’t sign. I thought I could. I thought about it. I wanted to.”

“Why?” asked David.

“For the reporters. Then I could just kind of stay here and…you know, just stay here and have people write articles about me. But if I sign that they’ll put me in the gas chamber.”

David couldn’t formulate a meaningful reply.

“You disappoint me, Wolfie,” said Lobdell. “I thought you might have had the presence of mind to pull off that murder. Had my money on you for a few days. I figured the crazy shit was just an act. But it isn’t.”

Lobdell walked to the door and rapped on it. A deputy let him out.

In the silence David watched Neemal as he stared down at the table. “Sorry, Nick. Guess I’ll only get to stay in here a while longer.”

“Looks that way, Terry.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t confess. I…thought I could go through with it. Thought it would be best for everybody.”

“I understand,” said Nick.

Though David wasn’t sure at all that he did.

“Thanks for your help, David,” said Nick.

“I helped no one.”

“I believed your God would forgive me,” said Neemal. “It wasn’t that, Reverend. You did your part.”

David didn’t know what to say. This was like being trapped behind the looking glass. He couldn’t wait to get outside and into some real air. Into a faintly logical world. He smelled dinner wafting in from the mess hall, which sickened him slightly.

“I’m hungry,” Neemal said. “I want to go back to my cell and eat and get rested up for the Register. I got an interview tomorrow at nine.”

He stood and sighed and put his hands behind his back for Nick and the cuffs.

TEN MINUTES later David pulled into his driveway. Spent and stupefied. The white Ford that had been behind him since the jail slid under the big sycamore by the curb. His heart fell further.

David got out and lifted the garage door. He pulled Wendy’s new bike out of the way, and Matthew’s beloved Mickey Mouse guitar. Amazing what kids could leave in the sure path of a car.

He pulled the station wagon in. Got out and took a deep breath as he reached for the rope to pull down the door. Looked out at the darkening sky. Saw the kitchen light on at the Cranes’ across the street. Looked at the Ford under the sycamore and knew he had to go face the music.

Hambly sat behind the wheel. Window down. News station on. Looked at David.

“Get in,” he said.

David went to the passenger side and got in.

“Five days,” said the agent.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

“Offer? There’s nothing to think about. You give me information or I send the pictures to the newspapers, your parents, brothers, wife, and key congregational members of the Grove Drive-In Church of God. I was very clear on that.”

David listened to the words but his mind jumped its track. He found himself understanding how people committed murder. And sympathizing with them.

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” he said.

“I’m sure you’ve thought about Stoltz and your father and the John Birch Society and the National Volunteer Police down south.”

“I actually haven’t.”

“Too busy with God?”

“I don’t see Stoltz,” said David. “He’s in Washington, where your bosses are.”

Hambly ignored the threat. “What about Max and his JBS chapter? Come on-I know you’ve attended meetings. I know you see him. I know you’ve heard things.”

“My father thinks the JBS is doing good work,” said David. “Informing people about the Communist conspiracy. Some of their ideas seem a little…exaggerated. But they’ve never said one thing about shooting Negroes or whatever it is you’re suggesting.”

“Not one thing?”

“Never. It’s not a secret organization. They have bookstores and phone numbers you can call for information. They give away little red, white, and blue plastic pens with the number on them. They’re dentists and engineers and lawyers and schoolteachers and-”

“I heard Dick Nixon was in town. Come by the old house last Saturday?”

David stared out the windshield. Saw Peg Crane at her kitchen window, looking out. Always there. Like she was washing dishes, but she was more like a DEW system for the block.

“Yes,” said David. “We talked very briefly.”

“Finally,” said Hambly, as if hugely relieved.

David was aware of Hambly taking out a notebook and pen but he kept looking at Peg Crane. “He asked about my church. He said he was sorry he couldn’t see eye-to-eye with Dad and Stoltz.”

“Meaning what?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

“Go on.”

“I said I thought they’d support him in November.”

“How do you know that?” asked Hambly.

“It was just polite small talk.”

“Talking votes to a presidential candidate is small?”

“It was just my opinion,” David said.

“Was your father sorry, too, not seeing eye-to-eye with his old Yorba Linda buddy?”

“He didn’t say, either way,” said David.

“Dick not quite aggressive enough for him? Won’t destroy villages to save them? Not willing to drop the bomb on Moscow if they keep sending guns to the North Vietnamese?”

“Who cares what my father thinks of Richard Nixon?”

“Like I said before,” said Hambly, “I care. I’m the one who cares.”

“That’s all I’m going to say.”

David swung open the door, stepped out under the sycamore, and slammed it. Peg Crane hadn’t moved. He sighed and looked back at the special agent.

Hambly grinned. “Have you talked to that Marxist Washburn out at UCI? Figured out how many kids he’s registered into the American Communist Party?”

“I have not.”

“Call anytime, Jude.”

David leaned in the open window. “I will. I’ll call you next time. Until then, stay off my block. We have children and elderly people here. I don’t want them in the presence of evil.”

“Evil,” said Hambly. “Reverend, you crack me up. Hey, did you know your buddy Langton was questioned by the Laguna cops today? They wondered what he knew about the Boom Boom Bungalow killing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They’ve got a witness who saw a guy running from the victim’s room. Got into a car and sped away. Witness got the plates-for Howard’s cute little Triumph convertible. Witness took his sweet time coming forward because he wasn’t supposed to be boom-booming that night. But there it is.”

“That’s not possible,” said David. “Howard’s wife will vouch for him.”

“Vouch or lie?”

David straightened, looked down at the grass. Breathed deeply. “Lie. But-”

He couldn’t continue. Thought of his Father in heaven but couldn’t continue.

“But what, Rev?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

David looked into the car. Hambly eyed him with the binary detachment of a rattlesnake. To strike or not to strike.

“My guess,” said Hambly, “is the cops will smell something wrong unless Howard and his wife are both really talented liars. If they shake and break them, they’ll put Howard in a lineup and see what the witness says. If the witness picks Howard, he’ll have to use you as his alibi. This is a murder rap we’re talking about. This is serious. Maybe you should be lining up your ducks, too.”

“What ducks?”

“If Howard tries to use you as an alibi, deny everything he says. Barbara would have to hang tough when she lies about being with you that night. But I’ll bet she’s tougher and cooler than you are.”