I tossed the various pages of the report onto the envelope and stood up, paced back and forth a few steps. We need to talk to him, I said.

Huh?

We need to go talk to Ronald.

What's the point of that?

I want you to introduce me. Just tell him the truth. That I'm Tim Blake, my daughter Sydney is a friend of Patty's, the two of them are missing. I want to see his face when you tell him who I am.

You think that'll prove something, she said.

It might, I said. He still work for Sikorsky?

In his dreams. He works at a liquor store. Right, I thought. I did know that. He's probably still on. I'd shop there, but the son of a bitch doesn't give me a discount. So I take my business elsewhere.

My cell phone rang.

Hello?

You said you were going to get back to me. It was Detective Jennings.

Hearing her voice made me feel as though a trapdoor had opened under me. I've kind of had a lot on my plate, I said. When I get a minute, I'll call you.

Where are you, Mr. Blake? she asked.

Out and about, I said. Carol Swain looked at me curiously.

I want to talk to you right now, Jennings said. In person.

Why's that so important?

I dropped by your house, she said.

I swallowed. Oh, I said. Like I said, I've been out, looking for Syd.

I'm not asking you to come in, Jennings said firmly. I'm telling you. You're coming in right now, or we're going to find you and bring you in.

I decided to take a shot at playing dumb. I don't understand the urgency.

Mr. Blake, one of your neighbors saw you come home less than an hour ago and leave again in a hurry. I know you were here.

I really have to go.

Mr. Blake, let me lay it out for you. Kate Wood is dead. Unless you can tell me something to persuade me otherwise, you're the lead suspect in a homicide.

I didn't do it, I said. Carol was still looking at me.

That's not what I'd call persuasive, Jennings said. Call your lawyer, Edwin Chatsworth. He can arrange a surrender so no one has to get I closed the phone and said to Carol Swain, Let's go see your ex.

I PUT MILT IN THE BACK SEAT so Carol wouldn't crush him when she got into the Beetle. She gave me directions to a store in Devon, not far from the dealership, that was sandwiched between a courier franchise and a distributor of appliance parts.

At a four-way stop, we waited for a police car to go through ahead of us. I gripped the wheel a little tighter and held my breath, trying to will myself into a state of invisibility as the patrol car went past.

Carol picked up on my anxiety. Somebody looking for you? she asked.

I'm fine, I said. I figured it would take a few more minutes for Jennings to put the word out to every cop in Milford to be watching for me. It wouldn't take her long a call to Susanne or Bob would do it to find out what I was driving now.

It was getting to be dusk as I pulled into a spot in front of the liquor store. Carol Swain was out of the car before I'd turned the ignition off. She was making a beeline for the door and I told her to wait up.

An elderly, unshaven man clutching a brown-bagged bottle shuffled out the door as we went in. The old guy had evidently been the sole customer. The only one left in the store was the man behind the counter.

The guy who scratched Patty's mother's itch every eight to ten months might have been a good-looking man once. About five-ten, strong jaw, blue eyes. But he was thin to the point of emaciated, his hair was thinning, and he'd gone a day or two without shaving. He peered at me through a pair of cheap reading glasses.

Hey, he said. He noticed his ex first, me second, and my nose third. He didn't look puzzled, surprised, annoyed, intimidated, you name it. There was nothing there.

Hey, Ron, she said.

Hey, he said.

I thought he might ask Carol if she'd heard from Patty, but he didn't.

Ron, this here's Tim Blake. He just looked at me. He's been trying to find his daughter, Francine?

That had been my idea, to refer to Sydney by her first name, the one that the detective had used in his report.

Ronald's expression stayed blank.

She was a friend of Patty's, Carol Swain continued. Now the two of them are missing.

Kids, he said dismissively, shaking his head. He asked me, Did they run off together? It seemed a genuine question.

We don't know, I said. I came by to talk to Carol, see whether she had any idea about where either one of them might be.

I don't know what your daughter's like, he said, but Patty's the kind of girl, she's probably just blowing off some steam, getting a little wild for a couple of days. I'm sure she'll turn up. And if your Francine is with her, they'll probably come back together. He looked at his ex-wife and said, Joyce is going to give me a lift home when I lock up so, you know, you might not want to be hanging around when'

It's okay, Carol Swain said. We just wanted to pop in, in case you'd heard from Patty, you know?

Yeah, well, no, he said, looking back and forth between us.

I said, Mr. Swain, do you know who I am?

What do you mean?

Do you recognize my name?

He looked at me a moment and finally said, Yup.

Where from?

He glanced at Carol, then back at me. You're the one supplied the juice to make Patty.

From Carol Swain, a sharp intake of breath.

How would you know that? I asked.

Ronald Swain offered up half a shrug. It was all in the report. The one the detective did. It was hidden in a suitcase under Carol's bed.

You son of a bitch, Carol said. If Ronald was hurt by the name-calling, he didn't show it.

When did you see that report? I asked.

Another shrug. A year ago? Something like that.

I tried to probe a bit. What did you think when you read it? Were you angry?

Not really. I mean, I knew I wasn't Patty's father. Somebody had to be.

You were never curious?

He shook his head. I mean, when I found the report, I was interested enough to read it. But that was about it.

What about my daughter? Were you curious about her? Were you interested in Patty's half sister? Did you think about trying to get the two of them together?

There was almost nothing in his dull eyes. Why would I want to do that?

Did you ever show that report to Patty? Carol asked. Did you ever tell her about it?

Ronald Swain sighed tiredly. Both of you have evidently mistaken me for someone who gives a damn. Why would I tell Patty? The only thing I might have done, if this had been ten years ago, is go knocking on your door he looked at me with Patty in tow and seen if you wanted to take her off our hands. Might have kept the two of us together. But now, with her grown up and all, what would be the point of that?

Carol Swain looked from Ronald to me and offered up half a shrug, as if to say, There you go.

Ronald, looking at Carol, said, You should give me a call. But here, not at home.

When this whole thing with Patty blows over, she said, giving him a wink as she turned away.

It didn't feel as though we'd been in the store all that long, but it was noticeably darker out when we got back into the car.

Well, fuck me, she said.

Excuse me?

He read the file. She shook her head. He's never been much of a reader.

Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT.

THERE WAS A POLICE CAR SITTING IN CAROL SWAIN'S DRIVEWAY when we turned the corner. I hit the Beetle's brakes.

Whaddya suppose they're doing there? she said. Maybe they brought home Patty.

She had her hand on the door handle, getting ready to bolt. I reached for her arm and held her.

They're probably looking for me, I said. Checking all the possible places I might turn up.

Carol settled back into the car. What do they want with you?

It's a long story, I said.

I can hoof it from here if you want, she said.

I'd appreciate that, I said. And if they ask if you've seen me Seen who? she said, and smiled. I couldn't turn in my daughter's real-life father. What kind of mother would I be if I did that?

If the police find me right now, I said, they're going to slow me down trying to find Syd. I paused. And Patty.

You think Patty's mixed up with what happened to your girl?

I don't know. I hope not. I didn't want to tell Carol I had a bad feeling about Patty. Thanks for your help, I said.

No problem, she said. She had her hand on the door again but didn't push it open. It was good to finally meet you. I mean, I know the circumstances are kind of shitty and all, but I'm glad to be able to talk to you, to tell you what you did for me, after all this time.

I smiled awkwardly.

I don't blame you for not saying anything, she said. I wouldn't know what to say, either.

I had to know I might be the biological father of some child out there somewhere, I said. So that part's not a surprise. I guess I never expected to actually know the identity of one of them.

She smiled ruefully. There might be more. Maybe there's hundreds of them running around out there. Little Tims and Timettes all over southern Connecticut.

I doubt that, I said. I think they limit just how much of the stuff they spread around. I winced. That didn't sound right.

Carol smiled. That's okay. But I can't help wondering, if you'd been her father in every way, not just the biological, if she'd have turned out different. Whether she would have been such a screwup. So ungrateful, always getting into trouble.

I felt maybe I was being blamed here. I wanted to ask whether Patty might have turned out differently if Carol's husband had hung in, if Carol hadn't turned into an alcoholic over the years.

That was what I wanted to say to her. But I didn't because I did feel the blame.

I felt responsible.

Patty existed because of me. But I'd done nothing to help her since she came into the world.

I rested my hands on the steering wheel, looked at the Swain house shrouded in darkness, the cop car out front. You make decisions years ago, not thinking they mean a great deal, and then years later'

It's a bitch, isn't it? she said. Then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Tentatively, so as not to put any pressure on my injury. If you find my girl, tell her to get in touch with her goddamn mother, would you do that for me?