"I don't know, really. I was working the dock and I heard these two women talking, joking, about Wendy and Erica," Jared said. "I don't even know that Wendy was there, just that they were hanging, you know, but I got the impression that Wendy was there. But I'm not sure about that."

"What's going on here?" Susan Boehm asked her son. "You were dating this woman? Wasn't she a lot older than you?"

Virgil: "Mrs. Boehm-"

"Don't Mrs. Boehm me," she said to Virgil. To her son, "Why would he ask you if there was anybody else there while you were, were…"

Virgil said, "Listen, I don't think we need-"

Jared said, "Because, Mom, she paid me three hundred dollars a time to fuck her."

This time, Susan Boehm went down for the count, standing there, her mouth flapping. Jared said to Virgil, "You knew that, right?"

"Yup. You have to kick any of that back to Margery Stanhope?" Virgil asked.

"No… jeez, she'd kill us if she found out about it."

"Okay… was Miss McDill paying anyone else?"

"I don't think so," Boehm said. "She picked up on me right away, and she was flirting with a couple other women there."

Susan Boehm, still flapping, "Other women?"

"Yeah. She was a bi," Jared said. To Virgil: "I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what happened. I don't have any ideas. I sat around thinking about it, but I couldn't think of anything. If I had, I would have come to talk to you, or somebody. As it was, I decided to keep my mouth shut and see if I could slide through."

"Wasn't going to happen," Virgil said. "People joke about 'the boys.' You were toast."

"Didn't know that," Jared said.

Virgil asked, "Were there any other women interested in you, who might have become jealous when you went with Miss McDill?"

"No… there was a woman the week before, named Karen something or other, but she was gone," Boehm said.

"Okay. Did you see or hear anything about Wendy Ashbach or her band when you were hanging around with Miss McDill?"

Boehm jabbed a finger at Virgil. "Yes. She talked about that. They had a deal. She asked me what I thought about Wendy's band, and I told her I didn't like country music, but that Wendy had a good voice and I thought she could go somewhere. And she told me she was going to take Wendy there. She patted some papers. Like, she had some papers there, and I thought they might be a contract or something, but I didn't ask. But: she was deep with Wendy."

"Have you ever had any kind of relationship with Wendy?"

"No. Nope. If I had a chance, I wouldn't," Boehm said. "You ever seen her brother? The Deuce? There's one scary guy. He's goofy, and he could pull your arms off, and I think he's hot for Wendy. I'd like to know what that's all about…"

"Hot for Wendy. Is this a rumor, or something you know, or what?" Virgil asked.

"Just from school. He dropped out as soon as they'd let him, and they were happy to see him go. Didn't make any difference, he wasn't going to graduate anyway. He was a couple years behind me, so he must be about sixteen? People used to say, you didn't want to mess with Wendy or the Deuce would kill you. They meant it: kill you."

"Tell me one person who said that."

He thought a minute, then grinned and said, "Tommy Parker. He's still here, he works at Parker Brothers motors in the summer, for his dad. He goes to the U. I saw him yesterday. You catch him, ask him what happened when he asked Wendy to go to the prom."

Virgil made a note of the name. "Anything else?"

Jared shook his head. "No. Who are you going to tell about all this?"

Virgil stood and said, "At this point, nobody. I'll tell you, Jared, I'll check your alibi for the time of the murder, but right now, I believe you. And if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut about your summer job. You really don't want to be in the newspapers."

"So you're not going to do anything?" he asked.

"Not at this point," Virgil said, "I was mostly concerned about whether there might be a sexual conflict involving the boys that led to the murder. You don't seem to think that there was."

"I don't think so," he said. "She showed up, she let me know she was interested, I don't think any of the other guys were cut out, or anything. She didn't seem interested in a three-way… and that was about it."

"Okay. Listen, you take care of yourself," Virgil said. "We don't know what's going on here, but… be cool. Watch TV. Go to Duluth. Don't go wandering around by yourself until we get this guy."

AS VIRGIL WAS LEAVING, he heard Susan Boehm ask, "A three-way?" and he thought to himself, I just said "this guy." That feels right. The killer's a he. So who made the Mephisto prints?

He was getting in his truck when Susan Boehm blew through the front door and shouted, "Wait a minute! Wait!"

He got back out and she steamed up and said, "Something has to be done."

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know exactly what."

"But this is… sexual exploitation. This might be statutory rape."

"It's prostitution, is what it is," Virgil said. "My problem is, I know one boy-your son, and he certainly wouldn't testify against himself-and one patron, Erica McDill, who was murdered. So who do I charge?"

"You mean…?"

"I thought about going after Margery Stanhope, but she denies knowing anything about it, and your son confirms it. I don't necessarily believe Margery-that she doesn't know anything about it-but if everybody agrees she wasn't part of it, what am I going to do? None of the women will testify against themselves, and none of the boys would. All we could do is send in a woman agent, get one of the boys to proposition her and mention a price, and then bust him for prostitution, but… I don't even know if that would work. Or if we could get a conviction."

"So nothing's going to get done," she said.

"If a group of parents had a quiet word with Margery, it might end. Or maybe not. You're talking about a bunch of horny college boys who need the money, and you heard what Jared said: three hundred dollars a time to have sex with her. Who knows? He might make thirty thousand dollars a year, tax free, if he works at it… Of course, he's a prostitute."

She started to blubber and he patted her on the shoulder. "Listen, talk to your husband. Figure something out. Tell me what you want to do, if anything, and I'll try to help out. But I'm not sure this is a problem the law is very well equipped to deal with."

Still blubbering, she headed back toward the house.

VIRGIL BACKED HIS TRUCK out of the driveway and thought, The killer's male. What's this about the Deuce?

He thought about the Deuce, but then switched back to Susan Boehm, and for a moment felt very, very sorry for her, and for her son; not bad people, probably. And he hadn't been exactly diplomatic about it: Of course, he's a prostitute…

He drove to Barbara Carson's, suffering from the knowledge that he'd been an asshole. Maybe, he thought, looking for an excuse, the realization of assholedom was the beginning of wisdom.

But probably not.