A little before eight o’clock, Jonah came back into the bedroom, dressed and ready to go to the movies with Mark. Miles had forgotten about the outing completely. Jonah kissed him good-bye and headed out; Miles went straight back to the file without asking when he’d be back.

He didn’t hear Sarah come in until she called his name from the living room.

“Hello?… Miles? Are you here?”

A moment later she appeared in the doorway, and Miles suddenly remembered that they were supposed to have a date.

“Didn’t you hear me knock?” she asked. “I was freezing out there, waiting for you to answer, and I finally just gave up. Did you forget that I was coming over?”

When he looked up, she saw the distracted, distant look in his eyes. His hair looked as if he’d been running his hand through it for hours. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Miles started shuffling the papers back together. “Yeah… I’m fine. I’ve just been working… I’m sorry… I lost track of time.” She recognized the file and her brow arched up. “What’s going on?” she asked. Seeing Sarah made him realize how exhausted he felt. His neck and back were stiff, and he felt as if he were coated in a thin layer of dust. He closed the file and set it aside, his mind still on the contents. He rubbed his face with both hands, then looked at her over his fingers.

“Otis Timson was arrested today,” he said.

“Otis? What for?”

Before she’d finished her question, she suddenly realized the answer, and she inhaled sharply.

“Oh… Miles,” she said, moving toward him instinctively. Miles, aching everywhere, stood up and she slipped her arms around him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered, holding him tight.

As he embraced her, everything he’d felt during the day came rushing back. The mixture of disbelief, anger, frustration, rage, fear, and exhaustion magnified the renewed feelings of loss, and for the first time that day, Miles gave in to them all. Standing in the room with Sarah’s arms around him, Miles broke down, the tears coming as though he’d never cried before.

Madge was waiting for Charlie when he got back to the station. Normally off at five, she stayed for an extra hour and a half waiting for him. She was standing in the parking lot, her arms crossed, hugging her long wool jacket against her. Charlie stepped out of the car and brushed the crumbs from his pants. He’d grabbed a burger and fries on the way home, washing it all down with a cup of coffee.

“Madge? What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” she answered. “I saw you pull up and I wanted to talk to you out of earshot.”

Charlie reached into the car and grabbed his hat. In the chill, he needed one.

He didn’t have enough hair anymore to keep his head warm.

“So what’s up?”

Before she answered, a deputy pushed through the door and Madge looked over her shoulder. Buying time, she said simply, “Brenda called.” “Is she okay?” Charlie asked, playing along.

“Fine, as far as I can tell. She wants you to give her a call, though.” The deputy nodded at Charlie as he strode past. Once he was near his car, Madge moved a little closer.

“I think there’s a problem,” Madge said quietly.

“With what?”

She motioned over her shoulder. “Thurman Jones is waiting for you inside. So is Harvey Wellman.”

Charlie looked at her, knowing there was more.

“They both want to talk to you,” she said.

“And?”

Again she looked around, making sure they were alone. “They’re here together, Charlie. They want to talk to you together.”

Charlie simply stared at her, trying to anticipate what she was going to say, knowing he wouldn’t like it. Prosecutors and defense attorneys got together only under the most dire circumstances.

“It’s about Miles,” she said. “I think he might have done something out there.

Something that he shouldn’t have.”

Thurman Jones was fifty-three, of average height and weight, with wavy brown hair that always looked windblown. He wore navy suits, dark knit ties, and black running shoes while in court, which gave him a sort of country bumpkin appearance. When in court, he spoke slowly and clearly and never lost his cool, and that combination, along with his appearance, played extremely well to a jury. Why he represented the likes of Otis Timson and his family was beyond Charlie, but he did and he had for years.

Harvey Wellman, on the other hand, dressed in tailored suits and Cole-Haan shoes and always looked as if he were heading off to a wedding. At thirty, he had begun to go gray at the temples; now, at forty, his hair was nearly silver, giving him a distinguished appearance. In another life, he could have been a news anchor. Or maybe a funeral director.

Neither one of them looked happy as they waited outside Charlie’s office.

“You two wanted to see me?” Charlie asked.

They both stood.

“It’s important, Charlie,” Harvey answered.

Charlie led them into the office and closed the door. He motioned to a couple of seats, but neither of them accepted. Charlie moved behind his desk, putting a little space between him and the visitors.

“So what can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a problem, Charlie,” Harvey said simply. “It concerns the arrest this morning. I tried to talk to you earlier, but you were already out.” “Sorry about that. I had to take care of some business out of town. What’s this problem you’re referring to?”

Harvey Wellman met Charlie’s gaze directly. “It seems that Miles Ryan went a little too far.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve got witnesses. A lot of witnesses. And they’re all saying the same thing.”

Charlie said nothing, and Harvey cleared his throat before going on. Thurman Jones stood off to the side, his expression blank. Charlie knew he was taking in every word.

“He put his gun to Otis Timson’s head.”

Later, in the living room, Miles was nursing a beer and absently peeling the label as he told Sarah everything that had happened. Like his own feelings, the story came out jumbled at times. He jumped from one point in the story to another, then backtracked, repeating himself more than once. Sarah never interrupted, never looked away, and though there were moments in which he was unclear, she didn’t press him to clarify for the simple reason that she wasn’t sure he could.

Unlike with Charlie, however, Miles went further.

“You know, for the past two years, I’ve wondered what would happen when I came face-to-face with the guy who did it. And when I found out it was Otis… I don’t know…” He paused. “I wanted to pull the trigger. I wanted to kill him.”

Sarah shifted, not knowing what to say. It was understandable, at least on some level, but… a little frightening, too.

“But you didn’t,” she finally said.

Miles didn’t notice the tentativeness of her answer. His mind was back there, with Otis.

“So now what happens?” she asked.

His hand went to the back of his neck and he squeezed. Despite how emotionally caught up he was in this, the logical side of him knew they’d need more than they had now. “There’s got to be an investigation-witnesses to interview, places to check out. It’s a lot of work, and it’s harder now that time has passed. I’m gonna be busy for I don’t know how long. Lot of late nights, lot of weekends. It’s back to where it was a couple of years ago.”

“Didn’t Charlie say he was going to handle this?”

“Yeah, but not like I would.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

It wasn’t the time or place to discuss his role, and she let it go. “Are you hungry?” she asked instead. “I can throw something together in the kitchen for us. Or we can order a pizza?”