'Nothing.'

'Frankie, I know you're hiding something from me.'

'No.'

'Okay, you see Conni. This is twenty minutes after you last saw Kristina. Aren't you wondering where Kristina is?'

'She could've already gone inside.'

'But she didn't. And you left for home early on Wednesday morning. You didn't say good-bye to your house brothers, you didn't say good-bye to Albert. You didn't call Kristina to check if she was okay. You went home and didn't come back after Thanksgiving. When I called you two days ago, you broke down, but I bet you weren't surprised.'

Frankie played with the crease of his pants but did not look up at Spencer.

'I bet you weren't surprised, were you?' repeated Spencer impatiently.

Frankie moved his head imperceptibly from side to side. 'No.'

Spencer studied Frankie for a long moment and then said, 'Were you surprised to see Conni on the bridge?'

Frankie almost looked relieved when he answered. 'No, I wasn't.'

As I'm not, thought Spencer. 'Why not?'

'You see, Detective O'Malley ...' Frankie broke off, looking extremely uncomfortable again. 'I've seen her there before.'

'There where?'

'On the bridge.'

Spencer paused, trying to formulate his next question. 'You mean, late at night? In the middle of a snowstorm? Coming from the woods? Which one?'

'Seen her on the bridge before. In the middle of a snowstorm. Late at night.'

'Also alone?'

Here Frankie hesitated.

'Not alone?' Spencer asked. 'With someone else?'

'Sort of.' Frankie sighed. 'Shit, I don't want to do this.'

'Frankie!' Spencer exclaimed. 'You're very close, very close. Don't stop now.'

'Is this being taped?'

'Yes.'

'Will Conni hear this?'

'Absolutely. What was she doing on the bridge when you saw her there before?'

'Look, this is wrong,' said Frankie uncertainly. 'This doesn't feel right at all. This is not making the universe better, man, this is '

'Frankie, let me ask you. Did you shove a helpless, hurt girl into the snow? Did you sit on top of her and hold a pillow over her nose and mouth till she suffocated, and then did you leave her dead and go home?' Spencer paused. 'Your friend was killed. Someone killed her with his bare hands. It's a terrible injustice. Isn't that worth something?'

'Yes. But it's too late for Kristina. Nothing is going to right that.'

'Except justice. The guilty should not go free.'

'Well, it might make you feel better. But how can I right the wrong of a dead person by ratting on another person, who happens to be alive? Besides, all I saw this time was Conni walking back to Hinman.'

'This timer Spencer exclaimed.

Frankie went on, his voice lowered, surreptitious even. 'It was last year in the winter. February, about. Yes, it was just before the winter carnival, which was in the middle of the month.'

'Yes? Yes?' said Spencer, nearly shouting.

Frankie lowered his voice another notch and leaned into the table. 'Conni,' he whispered, 'pushed Kristina off the bridge.'

The assistant DAs arrived from Concord. Both wearing dark gray suits, John Artell and Daphne Silas were young, serious, and eager. They were clones of each other, and they came ostensibly to help Spencer with the case, but Spencer knew better.

What was it that bothered Spencer about the assistant district attorneys? It wasn't that they became involved. They always became involved in a capital case; after all, they represented the people, and the people had to send the guilty to prison. So the AD As had to get involved. Their investigative teams were formidable, they had a large budget, and Spencer relied on their experts all the time to seek out assaulters and thieves.

But not killers.

This time, Spencer took it personally that they were here, because they were here not to help him, but to supplant him. They were here because Gallagher and they didn't trust him. It was murder in the first degree, and their moral fires were stoked. Murder meant a high-profile case, murder was a political ace in a reelection. They were here to win.

They all sat in the large conference room. Spencer held the tape recording of his conversation with Frankie in his hands. He was thinking of a way to tell these people about his talk with Kristina's mother.

However, Daphne had a plan. In a very businesslike tone she said, 'We're going to thoroughly question the two men the victim knew '

'What two men? She must have known more than two men,' said Spencer, looking at John Artell. He raised his eyebrows. 'Unless you mean biblically.'

'O'Malley!' thundered the chief. Daphne and John did not laugh.

'Listen,' said Spencer, gentler, trying to smile. 'Before we listen to Frankie Absalom's interview, I want to tell you about Katherine Sinclair.'

'Who?' said Daphne.

Will shook his head, mouthing, no, no.

'The dead girl's mother '

'I thought her last name was Kim?' said John.

'It was. By marriage. She was Sinclair at birth. Her mother told me '

'Well, I'm sure it is very interesting, detective,' Daphne interrupted, 'but we would just as soon talk to Howard Kim'

'Howard Kim? Her ex-husband?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you can find him at the funeral home. He's arranging for his exwife's burial. You can find him there till tomorrow,' Spencer said caustically. 'After that he'll be at the Pine Knoll Cemetery, burying her.'

Daphne Silas had no sense of humor. Or if she did, she didn't show it. 'What about this Frankie Absalom? Does he have an alibi?'

'Yes,' Will interjected. 'Someone saw him studying and then leaving the building around one-thirty or so.'

Spencer said, 'Why don't you guys question the Crimson women's basketball team? I hear they hated Kristina.'

'Really?' Daphne livened up.

'Oh, please.'

Gallagher coughed into his hand to get Spencer's attention, and then hissed quietly. Spencer shut up.

Then he said, 'Why don't we listen to the tape, then? You might find it of interest. We have some time before Landers and Innis call. Or would you rather wait for the pathology and the fingerprints and have a look at those first?'

'I thought we could look at them together,' said Daphne. If Daphne Silas hadn't been so proper and dry, Spencer could've sworn she was coming on to him. He looked at her carefully as she stretched her lips in a slight smile.

Spencer hated the look on the chief's face when the Frankie tape was played. Gallagher looked like a man who had just heard he'd won four million dollars, or was getting a promotion and a raise. Even subdued Will became animated. Daphne and John remained calm, but their eyes sparkled.

'This is pretty incredible stuff, Tracy,' said Gallagher.

'Well, I'm glad you think so, sir,' replied Spencer. Gallagher's smile dulled a notch.

Daphne stood up. 'John, call Dr Innis. Tell him we need the results of the blood work immediately.' She turned to Spencer. 'Nice work, detective-sergeant.'

Spencer swore under his breath.

Ed Landers called first, with the fingerprints. There had been numerous prints everywhere in Kristina's room, belonging to at least three people besides Kristina. All of them matched prints taken from Conni Tobias, James Shaw, or Albert Maplethorpe. The only prints on the bottle of Southern Comfort were Kristina's and Conni's.

For some reason that seemed to excite Will. 'She never liked to walk that bridge unless she was drunk,' he said to Spencer. 'Right, Trace? Conni could've given her that bottle to get her drunk, get her out there, you know?'

'Oh, Will,' said Spencer tiredly. 'That's a lot of conclusions from a little information. No one saw Conni bring that bottle to Kristina.'

'Yes, but Frankie saw Kristina on the bridge. And he saw Conni on the bridge,' said Gallagher.

'Yes, she was a jealous girl,' said Spencer. 'There was a triangle of sorts '

'Are you saying Frankie's testimony is not compelling?' Gallagher said loudly.

'I'm not saying that, sir,' said Spencer. 'But compelling us to what? Over-look other things?'

'Other things like what?' the chief said unpleasantly. Spencer looked at Will. Even Will didn't seem to be on Spencer's side.

Spencer opened his mouth to try again with Katherine Sinclair. Wait, Spencer wanted to say. Listen carefully. Hear me out. But nothing he had to tell them would have given them the same intense, zealous look in their eyes.

The chief had to take a call. John Artell had to make a call. Will patted Spencer on the back. Daphne sat across from Spencer and stared at him.

And then the blood-work report came through the fax machine.

In the middle of reading the report and looking at the jubilant faces around him, Spencer broke off and excused himself. Will followed him out of the conference room.

'What's the matter with you?' Will whispered. 'What the hell has gotten into you?'

'Nothing,' said Spencer, quickly walking to his desk and grabbing his keys and coat. 'I'll be back.'

'Spencer!' Will exclaimed. 'What the hell is going on? We are in the middle of a '

'No, see, that's the whole trouble,' Spencer said. 'You all seem to be at the end of a murder investigation, and at the beginning of a people's case. I am still in the middle of a murder investigation.'

'O'Malley,' said Will, 'what are you talking about? Did you see? Did you see all the evidence? Did you listen to Frankie?'

'I saw all the evidence. I listened to Frankie.'

'So where the hell are you going?'

'I'm going to talk to Conni Tobias,' said Spencer.

On the way to Hinman Hall, Spencer thought about Molly's potato skins, which he hadn't had yesterday for the first time in two hundred Sundays, because yesterday he had been in Norwalk State Hospital for the chronically ill. His only source of nourishment had been five cups of black coffee, which were lifting him off the ground, and Jack Daniel's, which he had stumbled on late last night after he returned from Connecticut.

Spencer knew he didn't have much time.

Conni was not in her room. Neither was Jim, nor Albert.

Spencer figured Conni had to have lunch eventually, so he walked to Collis Cafe. There was a big bay with four ten-foot-tall windows. Spencer waited at one of the round tables in the bay.

Constance Tobias, the nice girl from the right side of the tracks, from Cold Spring Harbor, from where only one kind of girl ever came the loved, pampered, well-bred, well-educated kind. Cold Spring Harbor, where the trees were taller than the tallest house, where Long Island Sound peeked through the sycamores, shined, reflected, danced through the oaks and the pines. Cold Spring Harbor, where the driveways were an eighth of a mile long, where the houses had two maids' quarters and two guest quarters and seven bathrooms and heated, lighted pools and tennis courts and French-brick siding and slate roofs. Cold Spring Harbor, where Conni Tobias colored her hair lighter blond to look pretty for Albert Maplethorpe, where she put Lancme blush on the cheek with the gash on it.

In high school Spencer hadn't even known girls like Conni. Spencer's high school hadn't had girls in her league. Girls who had thought they were too good for Spencer, who would walk past him with their books and their white sweaters and their upturned noses.

Spencer sometimes thought he had become a Suffolk County traffic cop so he could give all those girls speeding tickets as they raced by in their Trans Ams breaking eighty. Sometimes when he was in a generous mood, he let them go with a warning.

But this could not be one of those times.

After all, this was not about a Trans Am breaking eighty.

This was about being close to death.

Dressed in tight jeans and a high-waisted pink sweater, Conni walked in with friends Spencer didn't recognize. When she saw Spencer, she stopped smiling. Spencer nodded and stood up, thinking, she's hoping I'm not waiting here for her, but I can see by her face she knows I'm waiting only for her.

Spencer slowly walked toward her. Conni put on a brave face. 'Detective O'Malley, can I have my lunch? I haven't eaten since seven this morning.'

There she is, peeking at me out of the window of her black Trans Am, saying in a high-pitched, flirtatious voice, What's wrong, officer? Was I going too fast?

'No, Conni,' said Spencer. 'You can't. I have to talk to you.'