I'm not talking about a licensed gun. Any gun.

I don't own a gun, I said. I never have.

Never even went hunting with your dad as a kid?

No.

Marjorie looked unconvinced.

I'd really appreciate it if you'd tell me what this is all about, I said. I don't understand the point of all this.

There never really was a Yolanda Mills, was there? Marjorie said.

No, I said. I thought we'd pretty much established that. She's an invention. She was made up by these people, the ones working with that guy who wanted to kill me, who probably shot up my car. They wanted me out of town so they could plant that cocaine in my house. They tore the place apart so it would look like someone had been searching the place for it, but missed it. Their whole plan was for the cops to find it, and arrest me. Then I'd be out of the way.

And just who is it who wants you out of the way? he asked.

I don't know, I said.

Detective Marjorie grinned and shook his head.

My daughter's missing and you think the whole thing is a fucking joke, I said.

Do I? Marjorie said. I think it's a joke? You give me a story that's straight out of The Twilight Zone and I'm the one making a joke? Okay, let me ask you something very serious, then, Mr. Blake. Did you make up Yolanda Mills?

It was like getting hit in the side of the head with a two-by-four.

I'm sorry? I said.

You heard me.

I looked at Detective Jennings. Is he fucking kidding?

Jennings held my gaze. Answer his question, Mr. Blake.

I said to her, leaning closer to her, From him, I can accept this kind of horseshit. But you? From the beginning, I've always thought you were in my corner.

This will all go a lot better, and be over a lot quicker, if you just answer the questions, she said.

No, I said, sitting upright. I did not make up Yolanda Mills.

Marjorie said, You sure? You sure you didn't make her up, and use Kate Wood to back up your story? Use her as a witness?

What the hell did she tell you? I asked. There's something you need to know about Kate Wood. No, two things. First, she's got it in for me because I didn't want to see her anymore. And second, she's a nutcase.

Isn't it possible, Marjorie said, that you waited until she came over to discover that first email, then later when you took the laptop downstairs, you sent yourself an email from a bogus Hotmail account in Yolanda Mills's name, which Ms. Wood discovered upstairs? And then you placed your call to her, but you didn't really place a call to anyone? That you faked it, all for Ms. Wood's benefit?

Now it was my turn to smile. Not with amusement, but astonishment. I said to him, And you thought my story was inventive. You're out of your fucking mind.

Jennings remained stone-faced, but Marjorie's cheeks flushed red with anger. That's not exactly answering the question, Mr. Blake, Jennings said.

You have to understand something about Kate Wood. She sees conspiracies all over the place. She thinks everyone's got it in for her, like everyone gets up in the morning and has a meeting to figure out how they're going to stick it to Kate Wood today. That's why I felt I had to call her. Because I know how her mind works.

So that's your defense, Detective Marjorie said. She's a nut.

I'm just saying you need to know how she sees the world. Is this really what she believes, or did you lead her this way? Because I know it wouldn't take much. Does she honestly think I was manipulating her? That I set this whole thing up so she'd corroborate some crazy story? I looked directly at Jennings. You saw my house when I got back from Seattle. You saw what they did to it.

She nodded thoughtfully. It is possible, in theory, she said slowly, that you could have done that before you left for Seattle.

Is that what you believe? I asked her point-blank.

You have to admit it's possible, she said.

That's not exactly answering the question, either, I said. Is that what you believe?

She grimaced, as though she didn't want to have to answer. Was that because she didn't want Marjorie to know she thought I was innocent, or because she didn't want me to know she'd given up on me?

Why would I do something like that? Set up a call from someone who didn't exist? Tear up my house and make it look like someone else did it? Plant cocaine so you could find it? Where would I get cocaine? And if I could get my hands on some, why would I do that? What possible reason could I have for doing something like that?

Neither of them said anything. I guess they wanted me to figure it out on my own.

Mr. Blake, Jennings said, what started out as an investigation into your daughter's disappearance has fanned out in a number of directions. For example, there's this man named Eric who supposedly was trying to kill Supposedly? I said, pointing to my nose. Does that look like a supposedly busted nose?

Jennings continued, And now a second missing girl. Who's a very close friend of your daughter's. You know what the common thread in all these incidents is?

Yes, I said. Sydney.

That's one way of looking at it, Detective Marjorie said. The way I see it, what's most common is you. You know what I think?

I waited.

I think you're a pretty smart guy, but not smart enough. I think it's even possible there are some people hunting for you. Maybe you've jerked some people around and they're looking for payback. That part I haven't worked out yet. But I do think it's possible you've staged some of these things to make it look like your daughter was mixed up in something. Divert the attention away from yourself.

Why the hell would I want to do that?

You're at the center of everything, Marjorie said. You're the last one to see your daughter. The last one to see Patty Swain. We're not stupid, Mr. Blake.

No, I said. You are. I shook my head. Whatever you're getting at, this is crazy.

Is that why you had to get rid of Patty? Detective Marjorie asked. Because she figured out you killed your own daughter?

I didn't even think about what I did next. Even if I had, I can't say that I would have behaved any differently.

I do know it was something instinctual. Someone suggests you killed your own daughter, that you took the life of the person more dear to you than anyone else in the world, what else are you going to do but try to get your hands around his neck and choke the life out of him?

I came out of the chair like it was an ejector seat and went straight for Marjorie, my hands outstretched. I wanted to kill him. And not just for what he was suggesting about me. I was doing it for Syd. These people were supposed to be helping find her, but weren't getting anywhere because they maybe not Jennings, but I was no longer sure about her were wasting their time trying to find a way to put the blame on me.

You son of a bitch, I said, reaching for his throat.

But I couldn't get my hands around it. You weren't a cop for as many years as I guessed Detective Marjorie had been without learning a thing or two about how to defend yourself. He took hold of one of my arms and used my own force and momentum to throw me into the wall behind him.

Then he turned, grabbed hold of my hair with his meaty fingers, and shoved my face up against the wall. My neck felt like it was going to snap.

Adam! Jennings shouted at him.

You motherfucker, he breathed into my ear.

Adam, Jennings said again. Let him go.

You just assaulted a police officer, he whispered. Nice going, dickhead.

I didn't kill my daughter! I shouted, my lips moving on the pale green surface.

Adam, Jennings said, let's talk.

He held me another second for effect, then let me go. Then he and Jennings left the room. I heard the door lock.

I leaned up against the wall, panting, trying to regain my composure. I stood there a good five minutes before the door opened and Detective Jennings came in alone.

You're free to go, she said, holding the door open.

What, that's it?

You're free to go.

I don't believe you people.

Mr. Blake Let me guess. Your friend wants to hold me, to charge me, but there's no evidence against me. Just his wacko theories.

Really, Mr. Blake, you should just go.

He'd like to charge me with assault, but he's thinking if you let me go, maybe I'll make some sort of mistake, something that'll stick.

Jennings didn't speak.

I'll tell you the mistake I made. The mistake I made was trusting you. I mean, I know parents are usually primary suspects when something happens to their kids, but I never got the idea I was one in your eyes, not until now. But now, if you're thinking the way he's thinking, then I guess I can't count on you for help anymore. I guess I'm on my own to find my daughter.

She was still holding the door open. I went through it.

Thanks, I said.

Chapter THIRTY-ONE.

I WAS IN A SWEAT AS I WALKED OUT into the police station parking lot. It wasn't just from anger. It was hot. I turned on the AC when I got into the car and powered up the windows. I adjusted the vents so they'd be blowing on me, but even after a couple of minutes, all that was coming out of them was hot air. I tried adjusting the settings on the AC controls, but things didn't get any better.

Goddamn it, Bob, I said under my breath.

I drove into the Riverside Honda lot, circled around until I saw a demo a blue Civic hybrid I was pretty sure Andy Hertz was using these days, and parked next to it. I walked into the showroom, heading straight for Andy's desk, but when I passed Laura Cantrell's office she called out, Tim!

I whirled around.

Bringing back the CR-V? she asked.

Try the cops, I told her.

Andy was leaning over his desk, on the phone. I reached over his shoulder, tapped the receiver base and disconnected him.

He saw my arm and followed it until he realized who'd cut him off. What the fuck, Tim? What are you doing?

We're going to have a chat, I said.

I had a solid lead there, he said. Guy wants to get his wife a Pilot for her birthday and I grabbed him under the arm and yanked him out of his chair. Let's go, I said.

Where? Where we going?

Tim! What are you doing? It was Laura, hands on hips, trying to look like she was running the place.

I ignored her and steered Andy toward the door. I took him outside and walked him around back of the dealership, where I'd chewed him out for stealing a commission out from under me.

What's with you? he asked. I didn't swipe any more of your customers. Besides, you're not even working here now, so if someone did come in and dealt with you before, what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?

Think back, I said, putting my face into his. A year ago. You put Jeff Bluestein in touch with someone for a job.

Huh?

Jeff. You remember. He and Sydney were going out for a while.

Yeah, I know who he is, he said defensively.

I'm guessing you know Syd and all her friends. Jeff tells me you used to hang out with them.

He protested that. Aw, come on, a few drinks was all.

That was the other thing he mentioned. That you used to buy booze for them since they're underage.

Jeez, Tim. Shit, you were their age once, weren't you? Didn't you have someone buy beer for you when you were sixteen?

Any other day, Andy, I'd carve you out a new one for getting booze for my daughter, but I'm worried about bigger things right now. I want to know about this guy you put Jeff onto.

It was just some guy, he said.

I pushed him up against the side of a minivan. I want a name.