“Benton, have you talked to Ronnie Waddell's mother?”

“Pete went to see her in Suffolk several days ago. She's not feeling particularly friendly or cooperative toward people like us. In her eyes, we're the ones who sent her son to the chair.”

“So she didn't reveal anything significant about Waddell's demeanor when she visited him the afternoon of his execution?”

“Based on what little she said, he was very quiet and frightened. One interesting point, though. Pete asked her what had happened to Waddell's personal effects. She said that Corrections gave her his watch and ring and explained that he had donated his books, poetry, and so on to the N-double-A-C-P.”

“She didn't question that?” I asked.

“No. She seemed to think it made sense for Waddell to do that.”

“Why?”

“She doesn't read or write. What's important is that she was lied to, as were we when Vander tried to track down personal effects in hopes of getting latent prints. And the origin of these lies most likely was Donahue.”

“Waddell knew something,” I said. “For Donahue to want every scrap of paper that Waddell had written on and every letter ever sent to him, then there must be something that Waddell knew that certain people don't want anyone else to know.”

Wesley was silent.

Then he said, “What did you say is the name of the cologne Stevens wears?”

“Red.”

“And you're fairly certain this is what you smelled on Susan's coat and scarf?”

“I wouldn't swear to it in court, but the fragrance is quite distinctive.”

“I think it's time for Pete and me to have a little prayer meeting with your administrator.”

“Good. And I think I can help get him in the proper frame of mind if you'll give me until noon tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Probably make him a very nervous man,” I said.

I was working at the kitchen table early that evening when I heard Lucy drive into the garage, and I got up to greet her. She was dressed in a navy blue warm-up suit and one of my ski jackets, and was carrying a gym bag.

“I'm dirty,” she said, pulling away from my hug, but not before I smelled gun smoke in her hair. Glancing down at her hands, I saw enough gunshot residues on the right one to make a trace element analyst ecstatic.

“Whoa,” I said as she started to walk off. “Where is it?”

“Where's what?” she asked innocently.

“The gun…

Reluctantly, she withdrew my Smith and Wesson from her jacket pocket.

“I wasn't aware you had a license for carrying a concealed weapon,” I said, taking the revolver from her and making sure it was unloaded.

“I don't need one if I'm carrying it concealed in my own house. Before that I had it on the car seat in plain view. “

“That's good but not good enough, “I said quietly. “Come on.”

Wordlessly, she followed me to the kitchen table, and we sat down.

“You said you were going to Westwood to work out,” I said.

“I know that's what I said.”

“Where have you been, Lucy?”

“The Firing Line on Midlothian Turnpike. It's an indoor range.”

“I know what it is. How many times have you done this?”

“Four times.” She looked me straight in the eye.

“My God Lucy.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Pete's not going to take me anymore.”

“Lieutenant Marino is very, very busy right now,” I said, and the remark sounded so patronizing that I was embarrassed. “You're aware of the problems,” I added.

“Sure I am. Right now he's got to stay away. And if he stays away from you, he stays away from me. So he's out on the street because there's some maniac on the loose who's killing people like your morgue supervisor and the prison warden. At least Pete can take care of himself. Me? I've been shown how to shoot one lousy time Gee, thanks a lot. That's like giving me one tennis lesson and then entering me in Wimbledon.”

“You're overreacting.”

“No. The problem is you're under reacting.”

“Lucy…”

“How would you feel if I told you that every time I come visit you, I never stop thinking about that night?”

I knew exactly which night she meant, though over the years we had managed to go on as if nothing had happened.

“I would not feel good if I knew you were upset by anything that has to do with me,” I said.

“Anything? What happened was just anything?”

“Of course it wasn't just anything.”

“Sometimes I wake up at night because I dream a gun is going off. Then I listen to the awful silence and remember lying there, staring into the dark. I was so scared I couldn't move, and I wet my bed. And there were sirens and red lights flashing, and neighbors coming out on their porches and looking out their windows. And you wouldn't let me see it when they carried him out, and you wouldn't let me go upstairs. I wish I had, because imagining it has been worse.”

“That man is dead, Lucy. He can't hurt anyone now.”

“There are others just as bad, maybe worse than him.”

“I'm not going to tell you there aren't.”

“What are you doing about it, then?”

“I spend my every waking moment picking up the pieces of the lives destroyed by evil people. What more do you want me to do?”

“If you let something happen to you, I promise I will hate you,” my niece said.

“If something happens to me, I don't suppose it will matter who hates me. But I wouldn't want you to hate anyone because of what it would do to you.”

“Well, I will hate you. I swear.”

“I want you to promise me, Lucy, that you won't lie to me again.”

She did not say a word.

“I don't ever want you to feel that you need to hide anything from me,” I said.

“If I'd told you I wanted to go to the range, would you have let me?”

“Not without Lieutenant Marino or me.”

“Aunt Kay, what if Pete can't catch him?”

“Lieutenant Marino is not the only person on the case,” I said, not answering her question, because I did not know how to answer it.

“Well, I feel sorry for Pete.”

“Why?”

“He has to stop whoever this person is, and he can't even talk to you.”

“I imagine he's taking things in stride, Lucy. He's a pro.”

“That's not what Michele says.”

I glanced over at her.

“I was talking to her this morning. She says that Pete came by the house the other night to see her father. She said that Pete looks awful - his face was as red as a fire truck and he was in a horrible mood. Mr. Wesley tried to get him to go to the doctor or take some time off, but no way.”

I felt miserable. I wanted to call Marino immediately, but I knew it wasn't wise. I changed the subject.

“What else have you and Michele been talking about? Anything new with the State Police computers?”

“Nothing good. We've tried everything we can think of to figure out who Waddell's SID number was switched with. But any records marked for deletion were overwritten long ago on the hard disk. And whoever is responsible for the tampering was swift enough to do full system backups after the records were altered, meaning we can't run SID numbers against an earlier version of CCRE and see who pops up. Generally, you have at least one backup that's three to six months old. But not so in this case.”

“Sounds like an inside job to me.”

I thought how natural it seemed to be home with Lucy. She no longer was a guest or an irascible little girl. “We need to call your mother and Grans,“ I said.

“Do we have to tonight?”

“No. But we do need to talk about your returning to Miami.”

“Classes don't start until the seventh, and it won't make any difference if I miss the first few days.”

“School is very important.”

“It's also very easy.”

“Then you should do something on your own to make it harder.”

“Missing classes will make it harder,” she said.

The next morning I called Rose at eight-thirty, when I knew a staff meeting was in progress across the hall, meaning that Ben Stevens was occupied and would not know I was on the line.