Five minutes, she said and hung up.

I heard sirens in three.

JENNINGS WAS LOOKING AT THE PHOTOCOPY we'd taken of Eric Downes's driver's license prior to the test drive.

It's a fake, she told me.

Let me see, I said. I studied the photo on the license. It was a man with roughly the same facial shape and hair color as the one who'd tried to kill me, but it wasn't him. The more I looked, the more I realized it wasn't even close.

That's not the guy, I said. He handed over his license to me, I didn't even look at it before I gave it to Shannon to copy. He could have handed me my mother's ID and it would have worked.

Jennings didn't bother to lecture me on the obvious holes in our system.

He said they were looking for Syd, I said.

Who's they'? Jennings asked.

I don't know, I said. While I was telling her my story, a team of cops descended on the red Civic across the street.

You have surveillance cameras here? she asked, looking about the showroom. We might be able to get a look at him.

We only turn them on when we're closed, I said.

Super, Jennings said. She leaned in and got a closer look at my nose. You should see a doctor.

I don't think it's broken, I said. I had been, for as long as I could stand it, holding an ice pack on it. Laura Cantrell had found one in the lunchroom fridge.

Jennings asked countless questions. Not just about the man's appearance, but his voice, his clothes, mannerisms, patterns of speech.

He knew all about the Seattle thing, I said. He admitted he was in my house. They planted the coke, thinking you'd arrest me, that'd be one more headache for me to deal with.

Why would they want to do that?

I paused. He said I was a problem waiting to happen. Because I won't stop looking for Syd.

A problem for who? she asked. Aside from that guy from the flower shop.

Just about everyone else who runs a business near the hotel, I said.

Jennings's eyes were piercing. Have there been others?

Other what?

Other misunderstandings? Like the one you had with Ian Shaw?

No, I said.

Jennings didn't look convinced. She was about to ask me something else when her cell rang. She dug her phone from her purse, looked at who was calling, and said, I have to take this. She turned and stepped away.

I took the opportunity to go into Laura Cantrell's office with my warm, damp ice pack.

Thanks, I said.

She took it from me gingerly, looking for a place to put it down where it wouldn't leave a wet spot, and finally set it atop a crinkled copy of Motor Trend.

I'm taking a leave, I said.

Tim, she said.

I'm going to look for Sydney and I'm not coming back until I've found her. If I have to, I'll put my house up for sale to keep myself afloat.

I guess you do what you have to do, she said. But you know, at the end of the day, I can't hold on to your job forever.

I'd expect nothing more.

Jesus, Tim, I know you're going through a lot, but you don't have to be an asshole.

I'll turn my contacts over to Andy. He can have my customers. He's already got a head start.

I was going to tell you about that, she said.

I don't care, Laura, I said.

I was about to turn and leave when Laura said, This is kind of difficult, Tim, but'

What? I asked.

You are driving a company car.

I wanted to see whether she could look me in the eye and ask for my keys, and damned if she didn't. I can help you out as best I can, but I can't justify giving a car to someone on a leave, she said.

Riverside Honda had plenty of used cars to choose from, but suddenly I didn't want to give my own employer the business. Give me a day or two?

Of course, Laura said.

I'll give Bob a call, I said, half grinning to myself. I'll bet he can put me into something.

Detective Jennings was waiting by my desk. Her cell phone was tucked away.

Tell me again why you think this guy was going to kill you, she said.

To get Syd to come back. I guess he figured she'd hear, somehow, if I was dead, and she'd feel she had to come back for the funeral.

Jennings didn't say anything for a moment.

What? I asked.

That tends to support the idea that Syd is alive.

I blinked. You got some reason to believe that she isn't?

That was the lab calling, she said. We got the DNA results, on the blood from your daughter's car.

I was feeling faint.

We got two hits. One was your daughter.

I WAS ALREADY FEELING WOOZY. Jennings put me in my own desk chair, then sat down across from me.

Some of the blood on the steering wheel and door handle of Sydney's car turned out to be hers, Jennings said.

That doesn't mean she's dead, I said. It just means that she lost a bit of blood. She could have had a cut finger or something.

That's true, Jennings said.

I was trying hard to focus, and thought back a couple of sentences. Some? I said.

Some what?

You said some of the blood on the steering wheel was Syd's.

We've acquired quite a database over the last few years of suspects and convicted criminals. She paused. And from the deceased. When we get a DNA sample, we run it against what we already have, see if we get lucky.

Lucky.

She nodded. The other blood belonged to Randall Tripe.

I looked at her oddly. Should I know that name?

I mentioned him the other day. He'd been involved in everything from identity theft to human trafficking. He was found dead in a Dumpster in Bridgeport a day after you reported Sydney missing. Shot in the chest.

That doesn't make any sense, I said. Sydney's car was found up in Derby. That's quite a hike from Bridgeport.

Whoever dumped his body in that Dumpster might have taken him from the car in Derby, Jennings said. But the way I see it, there's a couple of ways to explain two different kinds of blood on the car. One, an injured Mr. Tripe had your daughter's blood on his hands and took off with her car, or an injured Sydney Blake had Mr. Tripe's blood on her hands and took off in her own car.

But we know Tripe is dead, I said.

Bingo. That's why I tend to go with number two.

But if Syd had Tripe's blood on her hands'

Yeah, Jennings said. That's something to think about, isn't it?

I thought about what Eric had said. That Sydney hadn't gotten in touch because she was ashamed of something she'd done.

IT WAS DARK BY THE TIME I GOT HOME.

After the kind of day I'd had, I was on high alert, like a mouse slipping through the forest at night wondering how many owls are overhead. I was checking my rearview mirror, looking for vans, scanning the faces of pedestrians I passed on the street, hunting for people in the bushes, looking for lights that were on that should be off, lights that were off that should be on.

I'd asked Jennings whether I was entitled to some sort of police protection, and she'd said she'd put a call in to the Secret Service. I took her sarcasm to mean the Milford police did not have a lot of extra officers to go around. So I was my own bodyguard, and I didn't exactly feel up to the job.

As I pulled into the driveway, the house appeared in order.

I unlocked the door, went inside, flipped on the front hall light switch. The house looked almost as it had before I'd gone to Seattle. Things back in place, carpets vacuumed, floors swept.

My nose was throbbing, my head pounding. I went looking for Tylenol in its usual place in the kitchen cupboard, but after the cleanup many things were not where I expected to find them. I hunted around, finally found the bottle, and washed down a couple of pills with some cold water from the tap.

I stood there, leaning up against the counter, pondering what I would do next. I'd made a decision to devote every waking hour to finding Syd. Now all I had to do was figure out how to use them productively.

I wondered how Arnie Chilton's parallel investigation was coming along. Perhaps, by this time, he'd tracked down a Boston cream donut.

It wasn't until I was standing there, alone in my kitchen, that I realized how weary I was. I felt as though I had nothing left to give, at least right now.

I decided the smartest thing to do, for myself and for Syd, was to head straight to bed, get a good night's rest, start fresh on this in the morning.

I finished drinking the water, set the glass in the sink. And then, perhaps not sure whether I really should go to bed, I sat down at the kitchen table. Put my head down for a moment onto my folded arms. Turned my head so my injured nose wouldn't rub up against my arm.

Maybe I didn't need to go to bed yet. Maybe, if I just rested for a few moments, it would be enough to recharge my batteries. Then I could spend the rest of the evening coming up with a plan to find Syd. Even though this Eric character didn't know where she was, maybe if I knew more about him, that would tell me more about what Syd had been into, and then'

I'm not sure how many times the phone rang before I heard it. I jerked awake, looked up at the clock. It was after midnight. I'd been asleep at the kitchen table for nearly three hours. I pushed the chair back, stumbled over to the phone, and snatched up the receiver.

I put it to my ear and said, groggily, Hello?

There was some background noise. Music, people shouting. And then a voice.

A girl's voice.

She said, Help me.

Chapter FIVE.

SYD? I SAID. Syd, is that you?

At the other end of the line, crying. I need you to come and get me. Her words were slightly slurred. The background music made it difficult to hear her clearly.

Syd, where are you? Tell me where you are! I was feeling overwhelmed, as though my entire body wanted to cry. I'll come and get you.

It's not Syd.

What? I said.

It's me. It's Patty. She sniffed. Can you come and get me? Please?