"Very good."

Sarah beamed.

"How about 'table'?"

She closed her eyes and thought for a minute. She shook her head. Then she said, "T-A-B-E-L. No, L-E."

"That's right. How 'bout 'tablecloth'?"

The girl went quiet, her mood changed fast as a balloon popping. "I don't know." Her face became sullen.

"Tablecloth," Breck said.

Diane, returning with the blue carton, felt an electric rush across her face – sympathetic fear. She's getting upset, she's going to be blocked and you're bucking for a tantrum, boy…

Breck opened his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of black paper. Diane handed him the salt. Breck took it and poured a large pile onto the paper then spread it out smoothly. Mother and daughter watched – one with fascination, one with caution. Breck said to Sarah, "Let's spell it together."

"I don't know how." She stared at the salt. Diane stood in the doorway until she saw what she believed was a glance from Breck, requesting privacy. She retreated to the kitchen.

"Give me your hand," Breck said to the girl.

Reluctantly Sarah did. He took her index finger and drew a T in the salt with it. "You feel it?" he asked. "You feel what a T is like?"

Sarah nodded. Breck smoothed the salt. "Do it again."

She hesitated, then started the letter. It was a clumsy attempt, looking more like a plus sign.

"Let's try an A."

"I can do that one," she said and smoothed the salt herself.

For a half hour they made salt letters. A hundred 'table's. A hundred 'cloth's. A hundred of those words put together, making a third word. Even though Sarah struggled fiercely to spell it correctly – and did so the majority of times – Breck did not seem interested in her results. Less a tutor than a sculpting instructor, Breck urged her to feel the shape of the letters. Diane crouched like a peeping Tom, peered through a crack in the kitchen door and watched.

At the end of the session he gave Sarah a tracing notebook, which contained a story Breck read to her. Sarah declared it was "a pretty darn good story," even though she guessed the ending halfway through. Breck gave her instructions on tracing the paragraphs. He stood up and left Sarah to her book and tape recorder and mangy stuffed bear.

"Hello?" Breck called. "Mrs. Corde?"

"In here."

He walked into the kitchen, where Diane had rapidly resumed peeling potatoes.

"You are amazing," she said. Then confessed, "I overheard."

"These are very well-known techniques. Rapport with the child. Multisensory stimulation. Work with her motor skills. Use her given talents to compensate for her deficits."

"You seem like an artist."

"I like what I do. That's the optimal motivation for any endeavour."

Optimal? Endeavour?

"You want some coffee?"

He said, "Sure."

She poured two cups and chattered about her garden and a PTA bake sale she was chairing. Diane Corde didn't know what to make of her rambling. Apparently neither did Breck, who sat in the kitchen and sipped coffee while he looked close to uncomfortable. He gazed out over the backyard. When she paused he said, "I like these windows, you can see the whole field there. I have bay windows like these in my town house."

"Where's that?"

"Chicago. South Side. Only I don't see fields. I see the lake."

"I wonder if that's why they call them bay windows. Bay, lake."

He said, "Or perhaps it's because they're shaped like a bay."

Diane said that was true and felt like a fool that her joke had missed its mark.

Breck said, "Sarah's a good candidate for improvement. Dr. Parker has her dictating stories to build up self-esteem, I assume?"

"That's right."

"She has an astonishing imagination."

"She's always making up things. It drives me nutty sometimes. I don't know what's real and what's fantasy."

"A plight many of us suffer from."

Plight.

There was a moment of long silence. Breck was still gazing, though no longer at the cow pasture. Now it was Diane's eyes he was examining.

He asked, "Do you work?"

"Yep. You just finished with one of my bosses. I got two more. Jamie – you saw him – and a husband. They're all a handful."

"Ah, your son. The bicyclist. Does he have any learning problems?"

"Nope. Good student, good athlete."

"That's not unusual. Birth order is often a significant factor in dyslexia. And your husband's a policeman?"

"A detective. He works like a maniac, he's away from home so much." Diane found herself about to blurt, "And that's with a case he's been ordered off of!" But she said only, "We don't get many murders in New Lebanon."

"From what I've read it's got the town in quite an uproar."

"Well, all this talk of Moon Killers and cults and that nonsense…"

"Is it nonsense?"

"Well, they've caught that boy. I shouldn't be telling you this but that's why Jamie was a little moody. The one they've indicated was a friend of his."

"Really?" Breck frowned in sympathy. "Poor kid."

"I'm of mixed mind. I didn't want to say anything in front of Sarah but the reason the deputy's out there? Somebody's left some threats."

"How terrible."

"To get Bill to stop the investigation."

"And they think your son's friend did that?"

"Philip's a sorry soul. With parents like his I'm not surprised he turned out bad. He's been abused, I'm sure. And his mother drinks. But threatening my daughter… I don't cut him any slack. He gets no sympathy from me."

"But if they've arrested him, why the guard?"

"That's my Bill. Between you and me and the fence post, he's not sure the boy's guilty. He asked to have the deputy kept on the house for a few days longer. I can't say that upsets me too much." Diane hesitated. "I guess I shouldn't… I mean, this is pretty much classified stuff I'm telling you."

Breck acknowledged the discretion with a nod and Diane turned the talk back to the PTA. After ten minutes Breck looked at his watch and stood. "Thanks for the coffee. I'd like to stay longer," he said with sincerity, "but I have a lecture to prepare."

Diane took his hand and found she was studying parts of him – his floppy hair, his eyelids, his lips, reaching conclusions about each. This allowed her to avoid conclusions about Breck as a person. Or as a man.

She thought suddenly that this was the first time in years she was having a serious talk alone in her kitchen with a man not related by blood or marriage. She asked, "Next Tuesday?"

"I'll look forward to it." Breck added, "I've enjoyed talking with you. I think we have some good rapport established."

"Is that important?"

"Indeed." Breck took her hand again. He continued to hold it, pressing firmly, as he said, "You'd be surprised how important the tutor's relationship with a parent is."

MEMO TO: Files

FROM: Dennis B. Brann, Esq. DATE: May 8

RE: People v. Halpern, a Minor Attached are the relevant portions of a transcript of my interview with Philip Halpern, defendant in this case, which interview took place today at the New Lebanon Sheriffs Department, following a bail hearing at which bail was set in the amount of $1 million and was not posted. The Grand Jury of Harrison County has indicted Philip with one count of first-degree murder, one count of first-degree manslaughter, one count of first-degree rape and one count of first-degree sodomy, in connection with the death of Jennifer Gebben, and one count first-degree murder and one count first-degree manslaughter in the death of Emily Rossiter.

DNA genetic marker test results indicate that the semen found in and on the Gebben victim was Philip's (see Attachment "A").

DBB: Philip, I'd like to talk to you about what happened at the pond. Everything you tell me, even if you tell me that you did what you're accused of, is only between us. The court will never find that out.