"Mice?"

"Bingo!"

"I'm on my way home. Don't touch anything until I get there. And don't give him any idea what we're up to until I get Dania in my arms. Promise me?"

"Promise. Have Marcel bring you."

"I'm on it. Goodbye."

We hang up and I'm immediately guilted with the notion that we might be grossly overreacting. We've got this seventeen-year-old boy who has had a tough life, maybe smokes a little pot, but who doesn't at his age? And some Metallica. Big deal. But he was seen in the area of Amy Tanenbaum the night she was killed. And he keeps mice (I'm guessing, I'm not in there, yet). Plus-and this is the killer part-he has a guitar. We bought him a used Fender Strat when he told us about the guitar his mom had p.a.w.ned in Santa Monica. It was only a few hundred bucks and came with a practice amp and headphones, so we've all but forgotten about it. Until now. I need to check the strings. If it's missing even one string, Jana and the Greshams are done. He'll be back at Uncle Tim's before nightfall.

Twenty minutes later, Guido's Keys rolls into the drive. The brakes on the van squeak and minutes later the bell rings. I hurry down the hall. The guy has a toolbox and a good smile.

"Is this confidential?" I ask.

"Are you the property owner?"

"Yes. Michael Gresham. I called you."

"Then only you know about it. You and your credit card company. One hundred for the call, sixty-five an hour."

"Come on in. Let's get to it."

He has the lock out five minutes later and takes it out to the van to make me a key.

Silently, I step inside Jana's room and I am struck with how clean and neat it is. Against the far wall, on a bookshelf, is where he first had the snake container when he moved in. Now, it's gone. I take a careful look around, closet, shelves, under the bed-everywhere-and the snake is gone. I shiver: at least its container is gone. Brush that off, I tell myself. There's no snake. Again looking high and low, even in the drawers of his chest and desk, I find no mice. I find no sign of mice ever having been in here. His guitar is leaning against the wall, the amp in between. The amp's little red light is glowing. Wasting electricity, but that's sure as h.e.l.l not the point right now.

"Sir?"

I almost jump through the window.

"Sir? Here's the key. I just need a credit card and I'm outta here."

I hand him a card and turn my attention back to the guitar.

Six, I slowly count them, strings. I locate the guitar case underneath his bed and slide it out. I unlock four clasps and lift the top. There's a small door with a little box in the center of the case. There's a tab to be pulled to open the door. I pull it open.

A complete set of guitar strings. Quickly I riffle though them in their individual paper packages.

I count them again.

According to the box the packages came in, there should be six strings, from high E to low E. It's high E that is missing. I peer inside the packages. High E would be the thinnest string. It would be a silver, unwound string, consisting of razor sharp wire, if its neighbor is any indication.

A sudden chill races up my spine. I feel like I'm being watched from behind. I spin around.

He's holding out the credit card and giving me a dumbfounded look: Jana.

"What the h.e.l.l, Michael?" he says. "I thought this was off-limits, dude."

"Where's the high E string from this package, Jana? It's missing."

"It's on the guitar. I broke my E and replaced it."

He's good. He didn't miss a beat. That, or he's telling the truth and it came easy. Facile or truthful, what's your pick? I don't know. Discovering him behind me and his easy explanation for the errant string have me on the ropes, so to speak.

"So what the f.u.c.k, Michael? You changed my lock, man?"

"What are you doing home so early?"

"No gym cla.s.s today. They're resurfacing the floor for basketball season. No gym for a week."

"So they sent you home?"

"Yeah. It's only an hour early. No big deal, man. But let me ask again. What the f.u.c.k?"

"We'll talk, Jana. As soon as Danny gets home. For now, I'm going to ask you to wait in your room until she gets here and we can sort this out."

"Sort what out, man? Are you investigating me?"

I blanch. He's got me.

"Yes. I was looking for mice."

"What the h.e.l.l for? I don't have any mice. Leonard went back to Uncle Tim's. He buys a mouse from Petco every three days. No other mice besides that."

"Why did Leonard go back to Uncle Tim's?"

"He's gonna be a mother. He is actually a she. I knew you wouldn't put up with a nest of baby snakes, so Uncle Tim came by and we moved Leonard back to Uncle Tim's. He actually likes snakes. He's going to sell the babies to Petco."

I inwardly groan. Perfectly good, plausible explanations. And again, he's either facile or truthful. How do you ever know? How do you know if someone is simply hip, slick, and cool, or whether they're actually telling the truth? Simple. I'm a trial lawyer of thirty years. I know when witnesses are lying to me. Usually. This time, while I'm uneasy with the flow of answers, they are also perfectly innocent responses in their substance. Face it, Michael, the kid is telling you the truth. And you just let yourself down a full floor of trust by breaking into his room. I'm kicking myself when I hear the locksmith's brakes squeak as he's pulling out of my driveway.

"Let's get coffee," I tell Jana. "I owe you an apology."

"Don't bust a nut over it, dude. You don't know me yet. You've gotta be sure of stuff."

DANNY PULLS in thirty minutes later. She comes inside with a worried look plastered on her face and rushes in to check on Dania. Jana and I are sitting at the kitchen table, working on our second cups of coffee, as Danny flashes past. She returns moments later, holding our daughter and patting her on the back.

"She was sitting up in her crib, singing. Didn't Priscilla check on her before she left for cla.s.s?"

Priscilla headed out to a late afternoon cla.s.s thirty minutes ago.

"She did. She said Dania was sleeping."

"I wish you'd pay closer attention, Michael. This is our baby we're talking about."

I'm chastised and rightly so. I just got lost in talking to Jana. He's a pretty remarkable young man, I'm learning, with high hopes for a career in video journalism after college. He's talking podcasts, which I know very little about, and online video reportage for one of the networks like CNN. The technology escapes me but his enthusiasm is infectious and I'm happily hearing him out.

"So what happened with the mouse and the dead girl?"

Danny never beats around the bush. Plus, she's much more confrontational than I am.

Jana looks at me.

"Jana, I talked to the medical examiner who autopsied Amy Tanenbaum. He told me about a really disconcerting discovery."

"Okay, I'm listening," says our guest.

"Amy's mouth was glued shut. And there was a dead mouse inside her oral cavity. The mouse had evidently been alive when Amy's killer put it inside her mouth. That's why I was looking for your snake."

"Like I said, Leonard's been over at my Uncle Tim's. He hasn't lived here in weeks."

"How many weeks?" Danny asks. She pulls out a chair and sits on the other side of Jana. Now he's got one of us on either side.

"I was here about a week. Then Leonard went back when I figured out she was pregnant."

"Out of curiosity," I say, "how did you know she was pregnant?"

"She stopped eating. Someone told me female snakes stop eating when they're pregnant."

"That doesn't sound right to me," Danny says sharply. "She would need nourishment to feed her babies, like any other pregnant animal."

Jana nods his head. "I thought it was weird when I heard it. It was some guy at school who told me that."

"All right. Amy was found murdered three weeks ago, give or take," Danny remarks. "So your timing is good."

"What's that mean?" asks Jana. "My timing is good?"

"We're ruling you out as someone who had a mouse that might have wound up in Amy's mouth. Unless you bought one at Petco, but I'm going to give you that point."

"Well, that's nice to know. I'm ruled out. Holy s.h.i.t! You people are making me very uncomfortable here. I'm thinking it might be better if I move back to my uncle's."

"Not possible," I remind him. "The judge released you into our custody. You're stuck with us."

"And vice-versa," Danny says. Her eyes are sad and her voice barely audible as she says this. It's unclear whether she means for Jana to hear her negative comment or not, but he does.

"You really hate me, don't you?" Jana says to Danny.

"I don't know. Sometimes yes, most of the time no. I'm just trying to understand why you were arrested for killing Amy and why you're living with us. There are moments-lots of moments-when I feel like we've made a huge mistake bringing you into our home. There are lots of times when I think you're guilty-more times when I think you are than when I think you're innocent. Sorry, but that's just how I feel."

"Can you go back and ask the judge to let me stay with Uncle Tim?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Probably. But I don't know that he'd allow it."

"Why not?"

"Because you were living with Uncle Tim when you were arrested. Judges are usually careful about putting minors-or adults, even-back into questionable situations."

"So I'm stuck here with two people who think I'm probably a killer. That's a good way to live. s.h.i.t!"

"We're all stuck," Danny says. "It's not all about you, Jana. We're stuck, too."

The talk fades away. I get up and make another cup of coffee. Danny declines my offer to make her one. So does Jana.

"If it's okay, if we're finished, I'm going back to my room. Don't call me for supper. I'm not hungry."

"All right, if that's the way you feel," Danny says. "But if you change your mind, I'll make up a plate and leave it in the refrigerator for you."

"Don't bother."

Then he is gone and we are left staring at each other. She hands the baby to me.

"I'm having a cup," says Danny. "Then we need to have a real talk, so don't go away."

"I wasn't. I'm here to the finish."

"I want him out of our house. I don't trust him for a second."

I tell her about the missing guitar string. Her face colors up and her eyes blink rapidly.

"You must be kidding! She was strangled and her carotids cut and Tsung thinks it might have been something like a guitar string and our houseguest is missing a string out of his pack? Are you serious? I want him out, Michael! Now! Tonight!"

"We can't do that, Danny. There's a court order. There was no secondary placement made for this eventuality."

"Whose fault is that?"

I cringe. "Mine, I guess. Father Bjorn was with me and I knew he wouldn't be a good second choice. Truth is, I didn't have any other options that I could think of on the spur of the moment."

She hangs her head then reaches out and takes Dania back from me.

"s.h.i.t, Michael. Call the judge by phone tonight if you have to. I want this kid gone!"

"I can't. But I'll go see the judge and take the prosecutor with me. First thing in the morning."

"Then I won't sleep tonight. And Dania will be sleeping in our bed. I'm not closing my eyes while this monster inhabits our house."

"We don't know he's a monster. That's kind of harsh, isn't it?"

She gives me a mean, questioning look. "Really? How would you have said it?"