She did not reply.

I said, "For Godsakes, you gave us the connection to Phillip Fineberg. But to tie this together we need to know more… and you're going to tell us more. Now."

She mumbled, "But… you lied, and I… you deceived me about-"

"No-we did not lie."

"Yes, you-"

"We identified ourselves as federal officers pursuing an official investigation." Following an instinct, I bluffed and said, "Knowing that, you still lied about the circumstances regarding your crippling. We can and will investigate your story, but we already know what we'll find, don't we, Mrs. Barnes? You lied to us-on tape." She gawked at the recorder as I informed her, "That's a prosecutable federal crime, if you're interested."

Jennie insisted, very softly, "It's true, Margaret. You did volunteer the information. And you weren't truthful, were you?"

"But, I… but, Jason couldn't… I mean- I think I'd like to speak to my-"

Before the L-word could slip out of her lips, I raised my voice and said, "In a few hours, your son will murder again. If you withhold information that could help us stop him, I will arrest you for willful complicity in murder, for obstructing an investigation, and for willful concealment. I'll drag you out of this house in cuffs, and I'll put you in jail."

Mrs. Barnes turned her head and looked at Jennie. Jennie said, "Margaret… I'm sorry. I'm afraid we'd be left with no choice."

I said, "On tape, we already have you lying to federal officers. You'll be convicted. You'll go to prison, probably until you die."

In a way I was telling the truth, because any lie to a federal officer-even absent a Miranda warning-is a punishable offense. But as a lawyer, I was well aware that juries don't really expect mothers to rat out their own kids. So this mild exaggeration was obviously not intended to be interpreted too literally.

But what mattered was not what I knew, what mattered was what she knew, and, judge's wife or not, apparently she didn't know enough. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she appeared to be on the verge of a complete meltdown. But she still wasn't talking, which was annoying and frustrating. You have to push the right button, and I still hadn't found it. I searched my mind for the soft spot and wasn't coming up with it.

Jennie raised an eyebrow at me and mentioned to Mrs. Barnes, somewhat sorrowfully, "This is terrible, Margaret. Your family, and your reputation will be ruined."

I got it.

Jennie got off her knees and sat on the arm of Margaret's chair. I walked toward Margaret and leaned over, getting three inches from her face. "But hey, Mrs. Barnes-imagine if your boy actually kills the President. Think about it-the President of the United States. You'll become overnight sensations. You'll be the modern equivalent of Mrs. John Wilkes Booth."

"No… it's not-"

"Wow-I mean, wow! What will that do for the glorious and esteemed Barnes name?" But in the event she couldn't piece it together in her muddled mental state, I spelled it out for her. "The Barnes name in all the history books, beside Sirhan Sirhan, Lee Harvey Oswald, and that loony Hinckley. There'll be books about you, your family, reporters crawling through everything, biopics of how you raised a sociopath, probably a Broadway play some instant TV movies… Hey, who do you think they'll get to play you, Mrs. Barnes?"

"Stop it, Sean." Jennie looked at me and said, "Can't you see this is a huge shock for Margaret?"

"You're right. What was I thinking? Poor, poor Margaret Barnes. Why was I concerned about the wives, parents, and children of the sixteen people her son murdered today? How about Mr. Larry Elwood, Terrence Belknap's driver, who we found this morning, barbecued to a crisp, after Jason put a few slugs in his skull." Pause. "Or Agent June Lacy, one of Jason's partners, who would've been married next week-except Jason, this morning, put a bullet through her throat."

Margaret Barnes was shrinking into her seat. On her face you could see guilt, and in that guilt you could see that Jason's actions made sense to her, that something inside this family either had created or at least corrupted a human vessel capable of every wicked deed I had just described.

Jennie laid a hand on Mrs. Barnes's shoulder. She said, "Margaret, we need to find Jason." She confided, "By morning, he'll be the target of the largest manhunt in American history. We're the only hope of taking him alive."

I said to Jennie, "I hope she doesn't talk. Let them shoot the bastard."

"Sit down, Sean," Jennie ordered. "Just… sit down, and shut your mouth."

I sat.

Margaret Barnes was looking around the room, wide-eyed, and if she had a gun, a noose, and limbs that worked, I had not one doubt she would climb up onto a stool, slip the noose around her neck, and swallow a bullet herself. Actually, after what I'd just done to this poor lady, I felt ashamed enough to join her. Jennie said, "The human mind is a brittle thing, Margaret. We know Jason struggled to live a decent life… an honorable life. We also know he was fleeing something, some monster." She added, "Apparently, he did not run far enough."

Margaret Barnes looked at her, a little shocked by this insight. A good interrogator has to find common ground with the subject, of course. And the parent of a killer bears a special shame, and the mind of that parent searches for excuses, for solace, even absolution. Jennie said, "I don't blame you. Nobody should blame you. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"But you can't… It's not his fault."

"Whose fault is it, Margaret?"

She did not reply

"Margaret, help us understand."

Mrs. Barnes sipped from her sherry, and from her expression I wasn't sure she could piece it all together. She said, "He… his childhood…"

"Being robbed of his mother?"

"Yes. And my husband, he was very… he was quite strong-willed. And headstrong."

Jennie said, "I know this is difficult, Margaret. But Calhoun's dead. He can never hurt you again." She reached forward and she turned off the tape recorder. She said, "Whatever you tell us stays between us. I promise."

I knew why she did it, but turning off the recorder was, I thought, a bad move. But also, I realized in that instant that Jennie had picked up something I had missed entirely. Actually, she had picked up a lot I had missed, and I was curious to see what. Mrs. Barnes looked up at her. Jennie said, "It's going to come out. It can't stay hidden any longer. For your sake… for Jason's sake, tell us."

After a moment, Mrs. Barnes blubbered, "You can't imagine."

"Yes, well… I don't want to imagine. I need you to describe it. You'll feel better by telling us."

For a long moment, Margaret Barnes stared into Jennie's face, but it was not clear she understood a word. Jennie prompted, "Start with how he really broke your back."

With a distressed expression she recoiled back into her seat. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Yes… yes, you do. You've always wanted to talk about it. Haven't you?" She added, "For Jason. You owe him this."

In the past two minutes Margaret Barnes had learned her son was a homicidal maniac, that the two agents in her home had come to destroy her soul, that she was about to become the most shamed mother in the country, and possibly that she would spend the remainder of her years in prison. Interrogations are a tricky business, and every experienced interrogator will tell you there is a moment, not a crescendo necessarily, but a turning point after which the subject either blurts out everything or the lawyers take over. In fact, she looked at Jennie and asked, "Shouldn't I call my lawyer?"

Jennie glanced at me. I stood up and said,"Sure, Mrs. Barnes." To Jennie I said, "Hand me your cuffs." To Mrs. Barnes I ordered, "Put out your hands. After we've booked you, you can call your attorney from the holding cell of the nearest police station."