"Neither could I, for a long time," Bishop said. "It's still a struggle opening up."

That last sentence missed its mark, coming out hollow and contrived. I think Bishop knew it. My gut told me he was painting himself in the kind of light he thought a psychiatrist would favor. "Let me tell you a little about me," I said, "as long as we're opening up here."

He cocked his head slightly to listen.

Even that movement looked scripted to me. "I have one real skill," I said. "It's the only thing people pay me for."

"And what's that?" he asked.

"I'm a burrower."

"A burrower."

"Yes," I said. "I just keep going deeper and deeper, kind of like a screwworm, until I get to the truth."

Bishop must have heard me loud and clear: I didn't intend to stop working the investigation. "In that regard," he said, "despite how much I might value your relentlessness in other circumstances, I should tell you that my plan for Billy to plead innocent-rather than entering an insanity plea or putting forward a diminished capacity defense- makes your services unnecessary."

'To whom?" I asked.

"This family," he said.

That certainly could have been debated, given that Billy-and Tess-were members of the family, but I had a simpler point to make. "The family isn't my client in this case," I said. "The Nantucket Police Department is."

"And I'm sorry if they gave you the impression this would be a long and involved piece of work," Bishop said. "I'll make good on that expectation. I'm happy to cover a month of your time. Two months. Whatever you think is fair."

Bishop obviously felt the police department and he were one and the same. It was also obvious he wanted me off the case badly enough to pay for it. I wondered how badly. "Two months, full time, bills at fifty thousand dollars," I said.

"That's a rich fee," Bishop said.

"Too rich for you?" I said, forcing a smile.

"I didn't say that. If your expectation was for two months' employment, you should be compensated accordingly. I'll arrange everything." He held up his hand. "There is one condition: You're to have no further contact with Julia."

Maybe I had missed the point. Maybe I was being bribed to stay away from Bishop's wife, more than from Billy's case. Regardless, it was time to end the charade. I stood up. "No deal," I said.

Bishop's face hardened. "I met your price."

"The thing is, once I start burrowing," I said, "I can't stop. Not for any price. It's a little like your drinking."

"Or yours," the voice at the back of my mind said.

"I wish you would rethink your decision," Bishop said.

I nodded. "Thank you for your time," I said. "I can show myself out." I started toward the door.

"Last chance," he called to me. Something in his tone had changed dramatically, becoming mechanical, with no effort to connect or persuade in it.

I stopped in front of the portraits of Bishop's horses again. "How can someone as open and sensitive as you are not fall for these animals?" I said. "It seems inhuman."

"If you were a stock," Bishop said, "I'd be selling."

I walked out of the office.

Claire Buckley caught up with me before I reached the front door. "I hope you got your questions answered," she said.

"Some of them," I said.

"Is there anything I can help with?" she asked.

I slowed my pace. I decided to increase the anxiety level in the house another notch by letting Claire know I had my doubts about Billy being the assailant. "Do you think Billy is the one who killed Brooke?" I asked. I watched her face, expecting a replay of the same confusion with which others, like Laura Mossberg and Julia Bishop, had greeted that question-as if they had never considered any other possibility. But Claire bit her lower lip, looked down at the ground, and said nothing. "Do you think Billy's the one?" I repeated, finally.

She took a deep breath. "Is this confidential?"

"Just between you and me," I said. "It won't go any further."

"Not even to Win."

"You have my word."

"You need to understand," she said, "there was a reason I got so involved with Brooke and Tess."

"Okay," I said.

"I never expected to be a full-time nanny, you know? It just sort of happened. I was mostly helping with decorating, arranging parties, setting up some of Win's business meetings at the house."

"What changed?" I said.

"Julia did, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"As long as I've known her, she's always been very upbeat and vibrant. She's a wonderful woman. I have a lot of respect for her."

That had to make it more gratifying to sleep with her husband. "You have respect for her, but…" I prompted Claire.

"But after she gave birth to the twins, she went downhill. She took no interest in the babies. She didn't want to be around them."

"And you picked up the slack." I tried to keep my tone even, but cynicism crept in.

"Because Mr. Bishop asked me to," she said.

He was "Mr. Bishop" all of a sudden. My putting her on the defensive was shutting her down. I backtracked. "To be honest, they're lucky you were here-and willing to step in. A lot of people would have said, 'Hey, it's not in my job description.' "

"I could never do that," she said. "Win was beside himself."

"Of course," I said. "What was Julia like, exactly?" I asked. "Was she sad and tearful, or…?"

"More irritable. Win called it a 'black mood.' They'd hired a baby nurse for the twins-a woman named Kristen Collier-but Julia argued with her and fired her a week after the twins were born."

"Do you remember where she was from?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I helped find her. She's from Duxbury."

Duxbury is a suburb of Boston, about twelve miles south of the city. I took a mental note of Kristen's name and hometown. "Did Julia ever mention hurting herself?" I asked. "Or anyone else?"

Claire shook her head. "I don't want to make more of this than it is. I mean, it's probably not that uncommon. Right? I think a lot of women feel the way Julia did and just never say anything. And her moods had been getting better over the last month."

"A lot of women never say anything" the voice at the back of my mind prodded me, "but what did Julia say?"

"I understand," I said. "But did Julia share anything specific about her feelings-anything, in particular, that concerned you?" I asked.

Claire looked away and said nothing.

"Claire?"

"Well, she told me once that…" She fell silent, again.

"Go on."

"She told me… She said she wished she never had the twins." She dropped her voice to just above a whisper. "She said she wished they were dead."

My heart fell. It is true that many women feel overwhelmed after childbirth and wish they could go back to their lives without the constant demands of a new infant. They may even fantasize about the baby not surviving. The most honest and brave of them might even confess their private thoughts to doctors or close friends. But given Brooke's death-her murder-the question had to be asked whether Julia had acted on those thoughts. My whole being told me that that wasn't the case, but I couldn't completely trust my instincts where Julia was concerned.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Claire went on, "but when they took Billy to the psychiatric hospital, he really did seem shocked."

"Tell me what you mean," I said.

"I've heard him lie plenty of times," she said. "He's very convincing. He could have your wallet in his pocket and tell you flat out that he hasn't seen it. That happened to me once with him. He even helped me look for it after he'd stolen it. And I remember him swearing he was nowhere near any of the neighbors' pets, even when he had scratch marks all over his arms from one of the cats." She toyed with her shiny Cartier love bracelet. "But the night he left for Payne Whitney, he seemed just plain scared. Like he didn't know what had hit him."