“We will. But I want you to tell me first. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“I know who the Riddle Killer is.”

She stared, stunned. “Who?”

Kevin sat heavily in a chair. “The boy.”

“I thought he told you he wasn’tthe boy.”

Kevin’s mind began to work faster. “He said, ‘What boy?’ He didn’t say he wasn’tthe boy.” He ran to the refrigerator, opened the door, pulled out the milk jug, and slammed it on the counter.

She stared at the thick-stroked letters. Her eyes shifted to him and then back. “When was—”

“He was in here last night.”

“ It’s so dark.What’s so dark?”

Kevin paced and rubbed his head.

“Tell me, Kevin. Just tell me. We’re running out of time here.”

“Your dad made the boy leave, but he came back.”

“What do you mean? We never saw him again!”

“I did! He caught me on my way to your house two weeks later. He said he was going to hurt you. And me. I ran and somehow . . .” Emotions clogged his head. He glanced at the clock. 9:02. “Somehow we ended up in a storage basement in one of the warehouses. I don’t even remember which one anymore. I locked him in and ran away.”

She blinked. “What happened?”

“I had to do it, Sam!” He spoke desperately now. “He was going to kill you! And me!”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Kevin. We can talk about it later, okay? Right now—”

“That’s the sin he wants me to confess. I left him to die in the dark.”

“But he didn’tdie, did he? Obviously he’s alive. You didn’t kill anyone.”

He paused. Of course! The dark night flashed through his mind. Unless Slater wasn’t the boy, but someone who knew about the incident, a psychopath who’d discovered the truth somehow and had decided that Kevin should pay.

“Either way, I locked a boy in a basement and left him to die. That’s intent. That’s as good as murder.”

“You don’t know that this has anything to do with the boy. We have to think this through, Kevin.”

“We don’t have time to think this through! It’s the only thing that makes any sense. If I confess, this crazy game stops.” He paced and rubbed his head, suppressing a sudden urge to cry over the thought of actually confessing after all that he’d done to rid himself of his past. “Oh God, what have I done? This can’t be happening. Not after everything else.”

She stared at him, digesting the new information, her eyes wrinkled with empathy. “So then confess, Kevin. That was almost twenty years ago.”

“Come on, Sam!” He whirled to her, angry. “This will blow sky-high. Every American who watches the news will know about the seminary student who buried another kid alive and left him to die. This will ruin me!”

“Better ruined than dead. Besides, you had reason to lock up the boy. I’ll come to your defense.”

“None of that matters. If I am capable of attempted murder, I am capable of anything. That’s the reputation that will follow me.” He gritted his teeth. “This is nuts. We’re running out of time. I have to call the newspaper and tell them. It’s the only way to stop that maniac before he kills me.”

“Maybe, but he’s also demanding that you solve the riddle. We may be dealing with the same killer from Sacramento—”

“I know. Jennifer told me. Still, the only way to stop him is to confess. The riddle is supposed to tell me what to confess.” Kevin headed for the phone. He had to call the newspaper. Slater was listening—he’d know. This was insane.

“What was the riddle?”

He stopped. “ What takes you there but takes you nowhere?He said it would be worse this time.”

“How does thattie in to the boy?” she asked.

The question hadn’t occurred to him. What takes you there but takes you nowhere?“I don’t know.” What if Sam was right? What if his confession about the boy wasn’t what Slater was looking for?

“What connection is there between the boy and the three riddles he’s given?” She grabbed a piece of paper. “Sixty minutes. Yesterday it was three minutes and then thirty minutes. Today it’s sixty minutes. What time did he call?”

“Nine o’clock. Three times three. That’s what he said.”

Her eyes studied the riddles she’d jotted down.

“Call Agent Peters. Tell her about Slater’s call and the confession. Ask her to call the newspaper and tell her to get over here as fast as she can. We have to crack these riddles.”

Kevin punched in the number Jennifer had left him. The clock read 9:07. They still had fifty-three minutes. Jennifer picked up.

“He called,” Kevin said.

Silence.

“He called—”

“Another riddle?”

“Yes. But I think I might know who he is and what he wants.”

“Tell me!”

Kevin told her the rest in a halting run-on that ate up several minutes. An urgency he hadn’t expected crowded her voice. She was impatient and demanding. But her intensity reassured him.

“So you think you know who he is, and you neglect to tell me about his demand that you confess. What are you trying to do to me? This is a killer we’re dealing with!”

“I’m sorry, I was scared. I’m telling you now.”

“Any other secrets?”

“No. Please, I’m sorry.”

“Samantha’s there?”

“Yes. You have to get this confession out,” Kevin said. “That’s what this is about.”

“We don’t know that. I don’t see the relationship between the riddles and the boy.”

“He was here, last night, and he wrote on my milk jug,” Kevin said. “It has to be him! You wanted motivation; now you have it. I tried to kill someone. He’s mad. How’s that? You have to get this confession on the air.”

Silence stretched on the line.

“Jennifer?”

“We need more time!” she said and then took a breath. “Okay, I’ll put the confession on the wire. Stay put. Do not set foot outside that house, you hear me? Work the riddles.”

“Sam—”

But Jennifer had hung up. Now there was a no-nonsense girl. He found comfort in the fact.

Kevin hung up. 9:13. “She’ll call the paper.”

“Three,” Samantha said. “Our guy’s tripping over his threes. Progressions. Three, thirty, sixty. And opposites. Night and day, life and death. What takes you there but takes you nowhere?”She stared at her page of notes and numbers.

“She wasn’t exactly thrilled about you being here,” Kevin said.

Sam looked up. “What takes you there? The obvious answer is transportation. Like a car. But he did a car. He won’t do a car again. He’s into progressions. More.”

Kevin’s mind spun. “A bus. Train. Plane. But they take you somewhere, don’t they?”

“Depends on where somewhere is. I don’t think it matters— thereand nowhereare opposites. I think he’s going to blow up some kind of public transport!”

“Unless the confession—”

“We can’t assume that’ll stop him.” She jumped to her feet, grabbed the phone from its cradle, and punched the redial.

“Agent Peters? Sam Sheer here. Listen, I think—” She paused and listened. “Yes, I do understand jurisdiction, and as far as I’m concerned, Kevin has always been myjurisdiction. If you want to press the matter, I’ll get authorization from the attorney gen—” Another pause, and Sam was smiling now. “My thoughts exactly. But how long will it take to evacuate all public transportation in Long Beach?” She glanced at her watch. “By my watch we have forty-two minutes.” Sam listened for a while. “Thank you.”

She hung up. “Sharp gal. Feisty. The news already has your story. It’s going out live on television as we speak.”

Kevin ran to his television and flipped it on.

“The next edition of the paper won’t hit the street until tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “Slater didn’t mention the paper this time, did he?”

“No. I’m sure television will work. God help me.”

Empathy lit Sam’s gentle eyes. “Jennifer doesn’t think this will satisfy him. The real game’s the riddle. I think she’s right.” She paced and put both palms on her head. “Think, Sam, think!”