Glitsky looked from one to the other. 'Two more minutes.'

'I'm timing it,' Isaac said, checking his watch.

Glitsky shook his head. 'Then I'd better hurry. So, Diz, we get our three helpers out canvassing the area, checking out the restaurants and bars. Then if Ridley ever calls back, we have him check the lab reports again for whatever they found on Maiden Lane that we didn't look for last time. Also, Rid can follow up on Cullen's scene – he said he had something on this, didn't he? You were assuming he meant Elaine and Cole, right?'

'That's the impression I got.'

'One minute,' Isaac said.

'All right, then somebody ought to look at her car. And her house.'

'We already did that today. Curtis went up there.'

Abe nodded in satisfaction. 'Already? Good. And Walsh let him in?'

'Treya called him first, greased the wheels. She's good.'

'Did he find anything interesting?'

Hardy shook his head. 'Not at first sight. He brought a box back, but I only got a glance at it. I'll give it a closer look over the weekend. And while we're on it, Amy found that guy at Hastings, too. Not an Elaine fan anymore, though once upon a time he was a big one. According to her, definitely a possible.'

'Did she ask him where he was that night?'

'I don't know.'

'All right, then maybe Rid can go talk to him-'

'Time!' Isaac called out, standing up. 'That's it, gentlemen. Time is called.'

'Dinner!' Rita yelled from the kitchen.

'OK.' Hardy was on his feet. He had the map and notebook in his hands. 'Never let it be said I can't take a subtle hint.' He started moving to the doorway.

Glitsky sidled along with him. 'One more time,' he said, 'for the record. As far as you've been able to find out, Logan isn't any part of this.'

'Hey!' Isaac said. 'Time's been called.'

'We're just saying goodbye, Ike,' Glitsky yelled back.

Hardy had gotten to the door. 'In code,' he added.

'So no Logan?'

'I guess not. Unless something turns up on him in Elaine's files. Which won't happen because she didn't have any.'

Hardy spoke with finality and disappointment. He'd put in a lot of hours on some Logan connection, and it was starting to look as though they'd all been wasted. He was at the door, on his way out, closing it behind him.

Glitsky stood a moment, frowning. Suddenly, he pulled at the door and stepped out onto his landing. Hardy was almost to the sidewalk and he called down after him, 'What do you mean, Elaine didn't have any? You mean files on Logan?'

Hardy turned on the bottom step. 'Yeah.'

'But she must have.'

'I don't think so. Nothing labeled that way, anyhow.'

'Then what did she give Treya when she came back to the office on Sunday? She'd just been to Logan's office and gave her some files.'

Hardy considered for a long beat, then broke a grin. 'He just won't go away, will he?'

The weight of the world settled on him as soon as he opened the door to his home. Had it only been last night, he thought, that it had all worked so well here? Tonight, like an animal in the moments before an earthquake, he felt the tension before he could have been consciously aware of it. He walked back through the dark and silent house, turning on lights as he went. 'Anybody home?'

A distracted voice answered – Vincent's. Before the re-model, their old bedroom had been directly behind the kitchen. They had turned it into a family room with their entertainment center, a couch, some reading chairs. Vincent sat in one of them, the room dark around him, playing with a hand-held Gameboy. 'Hey.' Hardy flicked on that light too. 'How's my guy?'

Vincent barely looked up. 'Hey.'

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing.'

He stood looking at his son, debating whether he should try to break through, but he decided not. Vincent was all right, into his game, which Hardy thought probably wouldn't harm him for life. He knew from long experience the probable reason why Vincent was here, doing what he was doing. It was a refuge.

'Where are the girls?' he asked, although he was sure he knew. The door to Rebecca's room was closed and a light showed under it.

Frannie was sitting on the Beck's bed, a stricken, exhausted look on her face. His daughter was lying across the comforter, her head on her mother's lap. Frannie was stroking her hair. They both looked up and he saw exactly what he expected – that the Beck had been crying again.

He felt his own shoulders sag. Another crisis. My God, he thought, would it never end? Without a word, he crossed over and sat with them on the bed. His eyes met his wife's, he put a hand on the Beck's shoulder. 'How's my sweetie?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'Not too good.'

'I guessed that.' He rubbed her shoulder, looked a question at Frannie.

'They had a suicide workshop today.'

He would have laughed if it hadn't made him so furious. He couldn't keep the comment in. 'Well, there's something every seventh-grader sure needs to know all about. What did they do, give tips on the top ten favorite ways?'

Frannie gave him a signal to hold his temper, but he couldn't do it. This was at least the fifth such workshop in the past couple of months, and each one had traumatized his already fragile daughter. Since Thanksgiving, in the name of God knew what, the Beck's school had subjected her and apparently the rest of its students to perhaps forty hours of 'awareness training', and it was playing havoc with her life.

She was, Hardy hoped, still a good five or six years away from sexual activity, but her school had given a five-day course on every possible malady and consequence that could ever be associated with sex. A few weeks later, all the girls had been enlightened on the growing incidence of anorexia and bulimia in the age group. Rebecca tended to 'pick' at certain foods, and the fact sheet that the school had sent home with her listed this as a possible indicator of trouble. Although the Beck weighed ninety-odd pounds and ate with a healthy appetite, the eating disorder bug had even infected Frannie over the holidays, and that had been a lot of fun. Then, in January, came the drills in case a group of terrorists, or some of their fellow students, broke into the school and started shooting or throwing bombs – how they should pile their desks a certain way, strategies for exiting the campus.

Hardy rubbed his daughter's back. And now suicide prevention. For the life of him he couldn't imagine how any amount of pre-counseling was going to have any appreciable impact on the rate of teen suicides. The Beck sniffed and sat up. 'Why would somebody my age want to kill themself? I didn't even know they did that.'

'Not very often, Beck. Really.'

'But why?'

Maybe, Hardy thought, because all these awareness courses made kids so fearful that they no longer had the guts to live, or even wanted to in such a treacherous and unstable world. But of course, he couldn't say that. 'It's really not very common, Beck. It's not like it's something that happens to you. You've got to decide that's what you want to do, and very, very few people feel that way, especially kids.'

No doubt Frannie had been mouthing the same truths for the past hour and gradually, getting them from her dad as well, they were beginning to sink in. She was perking up slightly. 'I don't think I'm going to want to commit suicide. Do you?'

'No. Of course not.'

'But they made it seem like if you have a boyfriend and he breaks up with you, then that's one of the things to do.'

She brought a little fist down on her thigh. 'But that would be so stupid. I mean, I never would have thought of that, even if I ever did have a boyfriend to begin with.'

'You're right,' Frannie said. 'That would be stupid.'

'But how great that they teach this and give everybody the idea.' Hardy couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. He pulled his daughter closer. She wrapped her arms around him. 'Bad things happen sometimes, Beck, but not as often as you think. Not even close. You don't have to worry about all of them, or even any of them.'