'I think New York. She graduated from some prep school in Brooklyn Heights. I'm not sure, though,' she said, her voice trembling.

'Yes. That must be it.' Albert turned back to Spencer. His gaze was impenetrable. 'Brooklyn Heights.'

Spencer felt uneasy as he left.

He waited for five minutes after knocking on Jim Shaw's door. No one answered. There were no sounds coming from the room. Spencer thought Jim might be out walking the dog, and so he leaned against the door and waited. Another student walked down the hall and said, 'Can I help you?'

'No, thank you,' said Spencer pleasantly.

'If you're waiting for Jim, I saw him out earlier. Can I give him a message?' The student seemed curious.

'No, thanks,' repeated Spencer.

'I don't know how long he'll be,' said the student. 'Sometimes he's gone quite a while. Sure you don't want to leave a message or come back?'

'Positive,' Spencer said. He had a feeling Jim wouldn't be too long.

And he was right.

About fifteen minutes later, around six o'clock, the yellow Lab came barreling down the hall.

The dog ran up to Spencer, who bent over and lavishly petted him. Spencer had always loved dogs and wished he were allowed to have one like his childhood pet in the little apartment. He also got a good look at the shoes of the dog's present owner.

'Good dog, good dog, Aristotle,' Spencer said, straightening up and facing a bundled young man wearing a ski cap and scarf. 'Are you Jim Shaw?'

'I guess so,' replied the young man sourly, taking off the cap and scarf. 'Who are you?'

Taking out his ID and shoving it into Jim's face, Spencer said, 'From now on, let's get it straight. I am the only one allowed to ask questions, okay? I need you to come with me.'

'What for? I haven't done anything,' said Jim loudly.

'See, that's my trouble with you, Jim. I think you either did plenty or not enough. In either case, I'd like you to accompany me to the police station so I can ask you a few questions.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Jim, but Spencer, looking into Jim's flushed face, into his racing eyes, thought Jim knew precisely what he was talking about.

'Come now.'

'I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about and I have my lawyer with me.'

'And where is your lawyer, Jim? Do many Dartmouth students have lawyers on call? Can he get here in an hour? Because my shift was over at five, and I'm not going to wait another second. I will place you under arrest for suspicion in a capital felony and will hold you in our jail cell until I return to work tomorrow morning. Or you can come with me now, so I don't have to stand in this claustrophobic little hallway and yell at you.'

Jim just stood there, dumbfounded.

'What's this all about?' he finally said, averting his eyes and staring intently at Aristotle.

'Look at me, Jim,' Spencer said, wanting to put his fingers under Jim's chin and lift up his head. Jim looked up. 'Your girlfriend, Kristina Kim. She's been found dead.' Staring at Jim intently before speaking again, Spencer waited.

Jim blinked and blinked again. He slumped against the door, and when he lifted his hands up to his face, Spencer noticed they were shaking. 'Oh no, oh no, oh no,' Jim said quietly. 'Oh my God, oh no.' His shoulders heaved, and for a moment Spencer was afraid Jim was going to cry. Spencer wanted to stay sharp, and sympathy would destroy that.

'Keep yourself together, Jim,' said Spencer, gentler. 'I'm sorry to have brought you bad news.'

Jim's shoulders were still heaving. He did not look at Spencer, who wished to hell he didn't have to look at Jim.

'I'm sorry, man,' said Spencer with emotion. 'It's awful, I know.'

Jim lifted his eyes up at Spencer. In a low voice he said, blinking rapidly, 'She's not my girlfriend.'

Spencer shook his head. 'That's good. Show grief,' he said sarcastically.

'No, no,' Jim said quickly. 'Just wanted to clear that up in case of further confusion.'

Jim stood dumbly outside his door. Aristotle paced about. Other doors opened and closed.

'I'll come with you,' Jim finally said. 'Let me just leave Aristotle some water.'

'Actually, the dog should come with us.'

'What for?'

'Jim, I see you're forgetful. The rule is, I ask the questions, you answer them. Got that? Now, the dog comes with us. Let's go upstairs.'

'Upstairs where?'

'Upstairs to Kristina Kim's room.' Spencer never took his eyes off Jim, who winced noticeably at the mention of Kristina's name.

'Aristotle is Kristina's dog, isn't he?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

Because I know everything, Spencer wanted to say, but it wasn't true. He hardly knew anything.

Jim said quietly, 'I saw the cop cars outside. When I saw you, I thought it might be about Kristina.'

Spencer tilted his head in an effort to keep it steady. 'You were right. It's about Kristina.'

When they got upstairs, Aristotle began to whine. He lay down in the hall, refusing to move or go in the room.

Jim's back was to Spencer. There was no sound coming from him. It was almost like watching someone's sorrow with the mute button on.

Jim's heaving shoulders reminded Spencer of his own deep-down boiling-over grief, and he felt bad for the boy.

Spencer pulled out of his pocket the roll of yellow fly tape, the one that said POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS, and stretched it over the wall, the doorknob, the door itself, and a foot or so over the other wall.

'We're done,' Spencer said, ripping the tape off with his teeth. 'Let's go.'

They got Conni and Albert, took the dog back to Jim's room, and left for the station.

Spencer led Conni into one small room, Albert into another, told them to wait and that someone would be with them shortly.

He took Jim into a rectangular room in the back. After speaking to Will Baker about the students he had interviewed at Hinman Hall, Spencer asked Will to sit in on the questioning. They got a tape recorder and some coffee, which Jim refused.

They sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs in a room with a single light above a white round table. Will sat to Spencer's left. Under his breath, Spencer cursed the modern table that belied the gravity of any questioning he might do at it. The table looked more like a snack table at a suburban corporation's canteen.

He cleared his throat.

'Jim Shaw, this is Detective Will Baker, my partner. He's assisting me on this case.'

Will nodded. Jim was motionless. Trying to inject a little humor, Spencer said, 'You know your Dartmouth library? It's named after Will.'

Jim raised his eyes but said nothing.

Spencer made a face at Will, and sat down. 'Okay, let's get on with this. Tell us a little about yourself.'

'Like what?'

'Like anything, Jim. We don't know you. Tell us anything you want us to know.'

Clearing his throat and keeping both hands under the table, Jim said, 'I was born in Bonn, Germany '

'You're German?' Spencer interrupted. Will laid a gentle hand on Spencer's arm. Spencer moved away.

'To American parents. My father was a vice president in the international division of the Coca-Cola Company. We traveled a lot, and when my dad retired, we moved back to Wilmington, where the rest of my family's from.'

'Any brothers or sisters?'

'A younger brother.'

'Where's he now?'

'Back in Wilmington. He works for Delaware National Bank.'

'I see.' Spencer fell silent, sorting through his notes. Will silently rubbed his hands, and Jim looked at Spencer. Jim was a good-looking guy. He was wearing a tweed jacket over a white-collared shirt, and a royal blue wool sweater. His deep-set eyes alternately flashed intelligence and exasperation, defiance and fear. His light brown hair was parted on the side and neatly combed back. Jim looked like a good son and a good student.

'Jim, as you know, Kristina Kim is dead.'

Jim remained stationary.

'Can you tell us when you saw her last? I need you to remember everything, every last detail.'

Jim twitched. 'It must've been last week.'

'Last week when?'

'Last week before Thanksgiving.'

'Okay. Before Thanksgiving. Sunday? Monday? Tuesday?'

'Guess it must've been Tuesday.'

'Jim,' said Spencer, 'I'm not going to lead you into the right answer. I want you to tell me as much as you know. In case you don't understand how this works, I'll run it by you once. We sit here and ask you lots of questions. You answer them completely and fully, also furnishing us with details we may've forgotten to ask about. This way your conscience is clear and we in turn don't arrest you. Got it?'

'Tuesday, I told you.'

'Why Tuesday?'

'Because I left for home on Wednesday, and didn't see her then.'

'You sure?'

'Positive.'

'When on Tuesday?'

'Late. Maybe eleven. We played cards that night.'

'In the Hinman lounge?'

'Yes, how'd you know?'

'Who is we?'

'Me, Kristina, Albert, Conni, and Frank.'

'Who is Frank?'

'Frankie Absalom, he's Albert's good friend. Conni was Krissy's roommate a few years back.'

'I've met Conni. And Albert?'

'Albert is Conni's boyfriend.'

Spencer noticed Jim winced when he said that.

'How long have they been going out?'

'A few years.'

'So...' Spencer glanced at Will. 'What's Albert's connection to Kristina?'

Jim became jittery and wouldn't answer until Spencer asked him again. 'Through me, through Conni, I guess. We were good friends.'

'Were?'

'Are, I mean. Are.'

'You said through you?'

'Yes. Albert and I were roommates in our freshman year.'