"Ah, may I remind you that we just went through this in Telford?"

"Well, with any luck, these guys will do a better job than the Telford police did with Al Unger."

"Though the officers who came out to Landry's in response to his call seemed genuinely fond of him," Miranda noted. "Guess he's somewhat of a local celebrity. I think they'll keep tabs on him. Plus, he has that mega security system. Hopefully, he should be all right until we find Lowell."

"Well, I'll feel better if Regan is successful in getting her father to agree to hiring someone to watch his back. She seemed concerned about leaving him when she goes back to Philly tomorrow. She doesn't look like she'd be much of a bodyguard."

"I don't know about that. I read an article about her last year. She's pretty accomplished. She's supposed to be quite the marksman. She's a black belt in tae kwon do and competes in triathlons."

"Maybe so, but I don't think watching out for Landry is a job for his daughter."

"I think I'd have more faith in her than in the local police."

"Speaking of whom, you didn't hear back from Fleming yet, did you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I should pull over and make a call."

"Why don't we stop for dinner at one of those restaurants out there on Route One? I noticed there were quite a few when we came in."

"Good idea. I'll never make it back to Virginia on an empty stomach."

"Me either."

They rode in silence for a mile or two, down the winding country road.

"This is Grovers Mill," Will noted as the car rounded a curve that wrapped around a large lake. "See the sign back there?"

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Sure. Orson Welles. War of the Worlds. War of the Worlds."

"You're talking about the novel?"

"I'm talking about the radio show, back in the late thirties. The night before Halloween, 1938. The novel was adapted as a radio play and rewritten as a live news broadcast. Actors described the landing of a force of invaders from Mars. It was supposed to have happened on a farm right back there in Grovers Mill."

"I think I might have heard about that but don't recall the details."

"It was really famous. As a matter of fact, you can buy the entire broadcast on tape. I'll see if I can find it for you; you can listen to it yourself. People tuned in, not realizing it was a play, and there was all kinds of panic. People hid in cellars, locked themselves in their houses, boarded up the windows, and loaded up their shotguns, ready to take on the Martians. The broadcast was so convincing, people really believed the United States was being invaded by a force from outer s.p.a.ce."

"Didn't they tell the public it wasn't real?" She frowned. "That's not very responsible."

"They did make it very clear at the beginning, and occasionally reminded the listeners that it was just a play. But you know how it is, if you turn on the radio or the TV in the middle of something, you often have no idea what's going on. If it looks like a real broadcast, sounds like real news coverage, you think it's real."

"So if you tuned in at the wrong time, you thought we were under attack?"

"Apparently, a lot of people really believed it."

"And they broadcast from back there?"

"No, they just said they were there."

"Why'd they pick that place? It's in the middle of nowhere."

"That's probably why they picked it. I guess if they'd said they were broadcasting from someplace like Times Square, everyone would know it wasn't real."

She stopped at a stop sign, tried to get her bearings and remember which way they had come.

"Take a right here," Will said.

"You sure?" she asked, then, rather than wait for an answer, said, "Oh, of course, you're sure. You're always sure of yourself, aren't you, William James Fletcher, special agent for the FBI?" She slanted him a look from the corner of her eye and hit the gas.

"Right now the only thing I'm sure of is that I'm likely to die in this car with you behind the wheel," he muttered, and she laughed.

Minutes later the Spyder was pulling into a parking spot in front of a busy diner, and Miranda was digging into her purse for her cell phone. Will got out of the car while she made the call to Fleming, and wondered if there was any real possibility that Miranda's could be the third name on the list. He didn't have a good feeling about it. The thought of it caused his insides to twist.

"I had to leave a message for Carson to call me back," she said as she stepped out of the car and locked it. "Ready?"

Will nodded and they walked up the steps of the diner.

"You're awfully quiet," Miranda said after they'd been seated.

Before he could reply, a waitress in a black dress appeared with menus in one hand and flatware in the other.

"Specials are inside," she told them as she set their places for them. "I'll be back with your water in a sec."

"Efficient, isn't she?" Will noted as he opened the menu.

Miranda looked at him over the top of hers. She knew the look on his face, the set of his jaw. Something was working below the surface, and she was going to find out what it was.

"I think I'll have the turkey sandwich," Miranda told him. "How about you?"

"I'm going to have the pork chops," he said.

The waitress returned with their water, and they placed their orders.

"So," Miranda said when the waitress disappeared. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"You have to ask?"

"You're wondering how we let Lowell get to Unger and how we can make sure Landry is protected."

"Bring it a little closer to home."

"You're thinking about Landry's suggestion that I'm the third?" She frowned.

"I think we need to discuss it with John. I don't think we can take this lightly."

"I'm not taking it lightly," she said softly. She hadn't. But she'd pushed it aside to think about later.

"Tell me about the interview you had with Channing six years ago. Tell me everything you remember. What he said, how he said it. How he looked when he said it. Let's go over it, bit by bit."

"I don't recall all the details." She played with her spoon, spinning it around slowly on the table. "But if we could find the file, there is a tape."

"A tape of the interview?" he asked. "He let you tape the interview?"

"Yes. Actually, he seemed amused by the prospect."

"It has to be in the file, though I don't remember seeing a tape when I looked for your reports a few months back. I'll check again as soon as we get back to the office. I think we need to listen to the tape and see exactly what he had to say to you back then."

"I remember his tone-he was pretty c.o.c.ky with me, I remember that. As if he knew exactly what I wanted to know, but he wasn't going to give me a thing."

"Was he aggressive? Combative?"

"No, no. More like he was toying with me. The impression that I had was that he seemed more amused than angry. At least in the beginning, he did." She continued to play with the spoon. "I think if he was angry at all, it might have been toward the end of the interview. I seem to recall there'd been a shift in his demeanor, somehow."

"What kind of a shift?"

"Oh, it was subtle. Might have been nothing at all. And I might have been imagining it."

"Try to remember. Was there anything in particular he might have said?"

"Will, I just don't remember." She shook her head. "It was six years ago. And even though he'd made me uneasy at the time, I doubt I could have told you even then what it had been that made me more suspicious of him than I was of any of the others I'd interviewed that day. Maybe if I listen to the tape, something might strike a chord."

"Then we'll put finding the tape at the top of the to-do list." He leaned back to permit the waitress to serve their food. "We'll see if anything jogs your memory."

"Funny, but I don't remember any of the other suspects I spoke with that entire week, but I never forgot him."

"Tell me what you do remember. Maybe if you talk about it, something might come to you. Who picked him up and brought him in, and why?"

"He worked at the restaurant with the vic. We spoke with all of her coworkers."

"Was he resistant to speaking with you?"

"Not at all. When we first starting talking, he was very relaxed, very matter-of-fact. Said he was washing dishes at the time of the murder, and wasn't it just terrible, poor Jenny. He said he had seen her off and on during that night, but that she'd worked her shift and left by the back door at closing time." Miranda leaned her head back against the seat. "However, when we went over our notes, we realized that several other employees mentioned that Jenny had left through a side door. And when pressed, none of them could remember actually seeing Channing just before closing."

"And, of course, when you wanted to question him again, he was gone."

"Right. Disappeared into thin air."

"And there was no physical evidence to tie him to the crime scene?"

"None. There'd been no fingerprints to match-he must have worn gloves-and he had no record, no DNA to match."

"I'm a.s.suming his apartment was searched."

"He'd been living in a rented room. Week to week. By the time we got there, he'd cleared out."

"Seems as if he'd have been a likely suspect at that time. I'm surprised they gave up on him as easily as they did."

"Keep in mind that the local cops had another suspect-a neighbor of the victim's-who looked pretty good to them for a while. By the time he was cleared and we decided to take another look at Channing, he'd taken off."

They'd finished their meals and the waitress returned to ask if they wanted dessert. When Miranda shook her head, Will reached across the table to place a hand upon her forehead.

"Hmmm, you don't appear to be feverish." He frowned. "Was there something wrong with your dinner?"

"No. I'm just not in the mood for dessert." She took a sip of water from her gla.s.s. "I'm tired. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about asking you to drive home."

"This is a first, Cahill. Are you sure you're not sick?"

"No. Just tired. You ready to leave?"

"Yes. I'll just grab the check from the waitress, and we can go."

"I'm going to go on outside and see if I can get Veronica Carson again. I really want to know what's going on out there in Fleming." Miranda slid out of the booth and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll meet you out by the car."

By the time Will got outside, Miranda was in the pa.s.senger seat in the recline position, the key was in the ignition, and the engine was turned on.

"All warmed up and ready to go," she told him as he got into the car.

"Great." He adjusted the driver's seat and the mirrors, and put the car in reverse. "Were you able to get through to Carson?"

"No. I had to leave another message." She closed her eyes. "I hope she's not avoiding me. I can't think of any reason why she would."

"Do you want the heat on?" he asked.

"No, thanks."

"Want to put my jacket over you?"

She thought about that for a minute, then shook her head no.

"You all right?"

"I'm just tired, Will. I haven't been sleeping well. And I barely slept at all last night."

"Thinking about Unger?"

"Thinking about how we screwed up."

"That's the second time you said that. How do you figure we screwed up?" He put on the right turn signal and followed the signs for I95 south.

"We should have been more aggressive with the Telford police, should have been stronger in our approach to them."

"As I recall, we made it pretty clear that there was a good chance Unger might be the target of a killer. Then again, there was a good chance that he might not be."

"We should have-"

"Stop it. We gave the police all of the information we had. It was their responsibility to follow through. You can't be everywhere and do everyone else's job, Miranda. I feel every bit as badly as you do that Unger is dead, but I can't think of one thing I could have done to have prevented it." He paused, then added, "Other than watch him myself."